Post 38

So. I started The Catcher in the Rye today; I went to the library, checked it out, and started reading it as I walked home. I had every intention of swallowing it whole as I have done with so many other books, but now I'm right about halfway through it and may be done with it. It's just too long. When I picked it up, I was happy to see that it was barely over 200 pages--a nice, short volume, I thought--and when I started reading, I immediately liked the narrative style; I expected those 214 pages to fly by.

One of my very most favorite books is Goodbye, Mr. Chips. As far as plot goes, it really doesn't have much going for it, and if you're looking for an engaging read, forget it. If I was only allowed one word to describe Goodbye, Mr. Chips, I'm afraid the only honest description I could give would be "Boring," but were I allowed two words, I would describe it as "Frickin' AMAZING." The two descriptions may strike you as irreconcilable, but they aren't really. The reason I love Goodbye, Mr. Chips is because it's a good, down-to-earth, human story. You want a look at the human condition, if you want to know what it means to be human, Goodbye, Mr. Chips is about as good as it gets--in my limited experience, at least; I've never read, say, Stranger in a Strange Land. But because Mr. Chips is a fairly normal man who lives a fairly normal life, it's not very exciting; honestly, had I not been in an RV on a long road trip, I probably wouldn't've ever read the book because it is, as I said, boring. But I was fascinated that, even though the whole time I read it I was thinking, "This really isn't very exciting," when I was done with it, I thought, "Hm. That was--really quite good."

After getting a few chapters into The Catcher in the Rye, I kinda got the impression that it was going to be a similar kind of read--not a whole lot of story, just a whole lot of--erm--human interaction stuff. I could be wrong; the first 100 pages have felt like--I dunno-- something's gonna happen--eventually, but--freak! I'm a hundred pages into this book! If there's gonna be a plot, it should've started developing a long time ago; if there isn't going to be a plot, the book should've ended by now (Mr. Chips was 115 pages long, but it had several illustrations; I don't imagine it has more than, like, 90 pages of actual text).

Then again, I had a bit of a revelation as I was reading today: books like The Catcher in the Rye weren't written to be studied or even swallowed whole; they were meant to be enjoyed. Author's don't write classics; readers make them classics. I had this idea that by binging on important works of fiction, I'd somehow strengthen my intellect and make myself a better, wiser, higher quality sort of human being, but the truth is that a lot of these books--especially Catcher in the Rye--weren't created to that end; what I thought was actually meat and potatoes is really just highly acclaimed junk food. Sure, a milk shake has calcium in it, but focusing your entire diet around them is no guarantee of good health, probably isn't even a respectable means of fighting off osteoporosis.

Well, I've been reduced to silly, off-the-cuff metaphors, so it's time to end this post. Bye.