I had another root around in my bookcases the other day and came across this. It proved to be a difficult book to read, not because of its content but because the pages kept falling out. Like Brideshead, it is a book I hadn’t read but had often wondered about (strange, isn’t it? going through life wondering what a book is about and not reading it). My renewed interest arose from hearing that Salinger had died, and the media hype about whether or not he had other unpublished gems lying around. The answer to that is probably not; Catcher wasn’t the only book he had published, and the world hasn’t heard much about the others. When Catcher was published in 1951 it received a mixed reception, mostly because of its coarse language, generally unacceptable at the time. I suppose I liked it so much because it reminded me of some of my mates at school.