stop pretending you like ---or GET--- The Catcher in the Rye. Now that he's dead and there is no chance of him hovering Banquo-like over your shoulder as you pretend to hum harmoniously with his disembodied words--- you can tell the FRAKKIN' TRUTH
you don't like that book
you never liked that book
you don't understand that book
you admitted to saying "oh yes! I love that book!" just because you were afraid to admit you DIDN'T LIKE IT
( you now acknowledge that the aforementioned was a trend that caught on like wildfire after a view sardonically and dishonestly constructed to throw the literary world off forevermore. With banishments! and sneers! extensively expanding its popularity thereafter)
Yes, world, you can now admit ( as you will now find the courage to admit for another book you secretly despise ---that little ditty known as Ulysses by James Joyce) that you are befuddled and bedraggled and would rather read SIDNEY SHELDON because BY GOD! Sidney Sheldon is bad writing but at least you BLOODY UNDERSTAND WHAT'S GOING ON!...
and ... and ... furthermore....
not EVERYTHING needs to MAKE a BOLD statement on the HUMAN CONDITION
and your life doesn't need to be populated by a James Dean rebel named Holden.
you're moving on.
RIP Salinger. I hope all they find in that secret safe the media is all excited about is decade old Jelly Bellys.