"If a Body Meet a Body"

I grew up thinking J.D. Salinger must be an Evil Man because his novel The Catcher in the Rye had been banned by so many schools and libraries. Censorship is the only way to protect the hearts and minds of our children, isn't it? I mean, it is just so much healthier to pretend like these things don't exist than to brave some potentially embarrassing and honest conversation.

The recent Mississippi school ban of Ray Bradbury's anti-censorship classic Fahrenheit 451--during the celebration of ALA's Banned Books Week, no less--made me reconsider the whole "banned books are evil books" thang of my dewy youth.* Having read F-451 during said youthful period, I knew this was not an Evil Book; in fact, the worst slight I can throw at it is that its narrative pacing is occasionally boring. What the heckles, I wondered, could have caused such a fuss? Goddam.

The almighty epithet Goddam is the No.1 excuse given for most banned books. Salinger used it 225 times** in The Catcher in the Rye, and then sprinkles in a handful of "Fuck you"s towards the end of his angst tome. Swearing, plus a chaste encounter with a frosty prosty, outraged enough earnest citizens to get the book banned in large portions of the U.S. The Message was obscured by the Vehicle of Expression.

Salinger's novel is unsettling, thick with sadness, and as accurate a depiction of depression as I have ever read. Our "unreliable" narrator, Holden Caulfield, grapples with capital-C Communication from the first sentence. "If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is....all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth." But The Truth is submerged in the mundane details of two days of Holden's life. The plot follows Holden meeting body after body, meeting but never connecting, never catching one another.*** Two of his most meaningful relationships are merely memories--the first, with his dead younger brother, Allie; the second, with crush Jane, to whom Holden cannot make himself reach out.

In one memorable scene, Holden tries to explain his childhood love of visiting the museum:

"The best thing, though, in that museum was that everything always stayed right where it was....Nobody'd be different. The only thing that would be different would be you. Not that you'd be so much older or anything. It wouldn't be that, exactly. You'd just be different, that's all. You'd have an overcoat on this time. Or the kid that was your partner in line the last time had got scarlet fever and you'd have a new partner. Or you'd have a substitute taking the class, instead of Miss Aigletinger. Or you'd heard your mother and father having a terrific fight in the bathroom. Or you'd just passed by one of those puddles in the street with gasoline rainbows in them. I mean you'd be different in some way--I can't explain what I mean. And even if I could, I'm not sure I'd feel like it."****

Holden's melancholic shields tinge every conversation, every jaded reflection. He is trying, with every word, to Communicate, but wants to protect himself from the painful Void of Lost Connection. Isn't this what every teen experiences? Isn't this what every person experiences? Why are people afraid of this book? I found great hope: I Am Not Alone.

*Actually, I had reconsidered years ago; I just felt spurred (like a pony!) into action. And by action, I mean reading. Lots of reading.
**I'm no sadist; I did no counting, but took the figures from the Wikipedia site.
***Pssst, wanna know a secret? The title is explained in Chapter 22. If you read it, then you can see how clever I am!
****I also loved the line, "The thing Jesus really would've liked would be the guy that plays the kettle drums in the orchestra."