This one took all of a few hours to read, partly because it was pretty small but largely because it was amazingly natural. It was rambling but seemed just like some guy telling me things that happened. Maybe it was because it was written very much like I talk, tell stories or think. Since the main characters’ mental stability is somewhat in question from the onset, maybe that means I’m a madman too. Its honesty impressed me. I think it fits well into my current life theme of failure. I couldn’t have picked a better time to read this book.

Holden is an interesting character, I felt like I could relate to him sometimes. Other times I felt like he had a lot in common with my more annoying friends. A hypocrite hating hypocrite who has a bad case of the rich kid blues. Where they’ll spend hours complaining about phonies and then do the very things they were complaining about right after. And during rare times he reminded me of guys I’ve dated, someone I could fall in love with just because I find their thoughts and the inter-workings of their mind fascinating. I just want him to tell me all about what he’s thinking. Throughout the book he tries to find someone to talk to that’s on the same wavelength with him and I felt like I was there on it the whole time. Perhaps that makes him a near perfect every-man. He’s a mirror for the reader, a metaphor of forming adult character.

I found this book to be an awesome description of someone on the verge of a breakdown. The frenetic energy and fear and constant thought came across very well. At first I thought I had read the book before, and just forgotten about it but I think I had started it at some point and never finished it. I think I’m the only person in the country that didn’t have to read it in high school. But I’m glad that I read it now, I’m sure when I picked it up before it bored the shit out of me and that’s why I didn’t finish it. Like Holden’s observations about the museum exhibit that doesn’t change but is different each time because he’s different, this book was a lot better to me now because I’m different from the middle school me. For one thing, I stopped reading the Babysitter’s Club books.

In short, this book just killed me.