Word: caulfield
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GLENDON HACKNEY Indianapolis Holden Caulfield Today Sir / Many thanks for Stefan Kanfer's Essay "Holden Today" [Feb. 7]. Yes, Holden Caulfield, the 16-year-old hero of The Catcher in the Rye, is already one of the immortals of American literature...
...come at me I would've stood there dry-snapping it at him. You just don't have time to crank one in when you need a piece, is all." Higgins may do for "is all" what Salinger's Holden Caulfield did for "and all" in The Catcher in the Rye. Still another Boston locution is the proliferation of the word "there," uttered as often and as meaninglessly as "well" elsewhere in the U.S. To wit: "When he was in Billerica the last time there," or, "So this broad hollers at me there." It would gladden...
...some business office, throwing paper clips at the nearest stenographer." I chose all three. I hated jocks, grimaced at grocery stores with signs selling APPLE'S, and I threw paper clips at stenographers. Then I threw myself. The old Caulfield Charm. I couldn't believe what was happening to me. But then I could never believe what happened to me-in life...
...rain. And it came, it came. Take my love/hate for movies. Wouldn't you know that College English would run a piece, without irony, suggesting that my name, "one suspects"-one maybe, two never-"is an amalgam of the last names of Movie Stars William Holden and Joan Caulfield." Yeah, well . . . And yet my obsessive cinematic fantasies were really everyone's hang-up with nostalgia, camp and collective memory. Remember me camping it up with my roommate Stradlater: "I'm the goddam Governor's son ... He doesn't want me to be a tap dancer...
...hours are long and the demands are unending. At night the streets are dangerous; during the day the air is dirty. It is a hassle getting to and from anywhere. We are all well. I push the stone up the hill and down it falls. Holden S. Caulfield. Holden Sisyphus Caulfield. Camus, that nightingale who thought he was an owl, was right. At the end of The Myth of Sisyphus, he says, watching the old boy toil up and down forever, "We must imagine him happy." Happy. That kills me. It really does...