don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody

I think I was 13 when I read The Catcher in the Rye for the first time. I don't think at the time I knew quite why I liked it, but I definitely did. I distinctly remember it being one of, if not the first 'adult' book I'd read and I think at the time that was probably part of its charm. My dad had always let me read whatever I wanted to read (eternally grateful) and I think that's one of the reasons I find censorship so difficult to comprehend. But that's a story for another day.

I re-read Catcher for GCSE English, and I'm almost certain I was the only class member to have read it before. We were the only class that had it assigned to us (eternally grateful), our teacher insisted upon having us read it instead of Of Mice and Men.

I began to read differently. Obviously we'd analysed prose before, but this was something so much more than just looking at sentence structure. What did the hunting cap mean? Why all the fuss about the ducks? Do I really care about this kid, who let's face it, can sometimes be a bit annoying?

But I did care. I cared so much. I hated Holden one minute and loved him the next and over time I realised I could feel so many different things towards this figment of Salinger's imagination because he was opening up facets of myself that I hadn't quite been able to access before. He's alone and afraid and he doesn't know what's going to happen to him when the pond freezes over.

Without Salinger I wouldn't be studying Literature. Eternally grateful.