Ah. Catcher In The Rye.
Actually, I have come to the conclusion that sometimes, your encounter with a book can come a little too early, or, that bit too late, in your life for that perfectly magical moment when you meet a book you just immediately and instantly click completely with, to occur. This is the magical moment when you experience that wild flash of savage joy, an intense insight of complete comprehension - and utter understanding - as what the book describes mirrors exactly what you have thought, or felt, or wondered, but perhaps had been unable to - or didn't dare to - quite articulate, or put into words.
I suspect that Catcher In The Rye is a teenagers' book, and I have no doubt that had my 14 year old, or 15 year old, or 16 year old self tripped over it, I would have been - maybe not ecstatic, but certainly utterly gripped by the thought that here was someone who could actually see through the facade of much modern life, life as lived and lied by adults, that here was someone who actually 'gets it' and whose outrage at sham is liberating to read.
However, I read it when I was well into my twenties, and with it came a searing (and yes, surprising) insight that I no longer felt, thought, or acted like a teenager. That world was now behind me.
In fact, my response surprised me, as I wanted to shake Holden Caulfield - hard, and administer a robust booted kick to his rear end. It was this response which triggered my rueful recognition that I no longer empathised with the teenaged mindset or dwelt psychologically in the alienated teenage world.
