the catcher in the rye

I just got back from Tokyo. But it does not attract me to write what happened or what I did in Tokyo. It, what I am going to write, is something to do with what I did in Tokyo. It’s not all, anyway. What I did, I read THE CHATCHER IN THE RYE again. I have not read this book for a year and half. I had read in Wisconsin. Wisconsin, it sound it gets in my nerves. There are some Americans who cheated me. Whenever I remember Wisconsin, I can’t help remembering them. Anyway, I took one week to read that book again. I did remember most of, but back then I didn’t understand everything, if you want to know the truth. But I still liked them. There are million people who had read that book, The Catcher in the Rye. And there are same million people who went by it. I mean somebody that book doesn’t do anything for them anymore. I may don’t care about this book ten years later, and may do. At least this time, this moment I care about this book. Even, this book is so old, and somebody call people who likes this book crazy or anything. I dare to say I like that.

Who likes this book are guys who have Holden in them. In this book that Holden Caulfield is alive as Holden. He doesn’t smell the author J.D. Salinger. What I am amazed by is a book which doesn’t smell the author at all. Most books, I can see authors when I read them, their plot, as it were, and all. I don’t like that when author tries to make a novel better or show it better or something like that. These intensions stink a lot. As for The Catcher in the Rye, it doesn’t stink, it already stinks another way. What a difference between these stink? For example, the one I don’t like is I can’t eat if it was a food, but the other one I can eat even that is stink. And there is gigantic difference between them.

I am not going to mention about that book, because most people had read already as I wrote.

“The best thing, though, in that museum was that everything always stayed right where it was. Nobody’d move. You could go there a hundred thousand times, and that Eskimo would still be just finished catching those two fish the birds would still be on their way south, the deers would still be drinking out of that water hole, with their pretty antlers and their pretty, skinny legs, and that squaw with the naked bosom would still be weaving that same blanket. Nobody’d be different. The lonely thing that would be different would be you. Not that you’d be so much older or anything. It wouldn’t be that, exactly you’d just be different, that’s all.”

What made author wrote it? This was my first question. This question, I can do for whole this story.

…I am so tired. I will take a break.