Site Meter Reflections on Playboy: <i>The Catcher in the Rye</i> left me cold; “Teddy” gave me chills

January 30, 2010

The Catcher in the Rye left me cold; “Teddy” gave me chills

I don’t get Holden Caulfield, the first-person narrator of The Catcher in the Rye. His hatred of the “phoniness” of the movies alienates me. I find him sanctimonious, almost morbidly so, for damning Hollywood’s game of iconographic make-believe. A philistine like Caulfield can never admire the cultivated phoniness of Oscar Wilde, for example. If I say so myself, my own essay on the magnificent phoniness of Playboy photography has aged well over the past 45 months. Although I’ve read Catcher only once, roughly twenty years ago, I remember my impression of Caulfield as an overrated antihero.

However, the death of 91-year-old J. D. Salinger moved me to sample more of his work online yesterday. Even if you don’t like Catcher, try his short story “Teddy,” originally from the January 31, 1953, issue of The New Yorker. Salinger’s lifelong quest for transcendence finds a much better spokesman in ten-year-old genius Teddy McArdle than in Holden Caulfield.
“I was six when I saw that everything was God, and my hair stood up, and all that,” Teddy said. “It was on a Sunday, I remember. My sister was only a very tiny child then, and she was drinking her milk, and all of a sudden I saw that she was God and the milk was God. I mean, all she was doing was pouring God into God, if you know what I mean.”
Far out, man! I’m shocked and fascinated by Teddy, his words, and his fate. See if you aren’t also.

Posted by Brian Sorgatz at 3:49 PM

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