The Catcher in the Rye

I should have liked this book, after all I love classics, but I just had no patience at all for Holden Caulfield.

It all started when I was a university student. Holden Caulfield was just a name stored in the department of my brain called "To read books", and then one day I met a Holden Caulfield. 

This Holden was 20 years old and it only takes a brief exchange of words to conclude that, 10 years later, he is still 20 years old. This Holden had parents that could afford his multiple attempts at different universities, but he soon lost interest and spent the rest of the year wandering around aimlessly and attending university parties. This Holden had brief infatuations that disappeared into thin air after a slap in the face from reality. He soon disliked what he once thought to be a source of pleasure. 

While I was reading The Catcher in the Rye I couldn't picture the characters or New York. All I could think of was the person I met 10 years ago still wandering around at night in my hometown. It was suffocating and slightly disturbing. 

With the exception of the alleged diagnosis of PTSD, depression and anxiety, reading The Catcher in the Rye was like reading a biography of a real person that was, truth be told, a spoiled brat.