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My desire to identify with Holden–and who doesnât read Catcher in the Rye to identify with Holden?–underscored our vast differences as much as it made him a companion or guide. Literary liberation and rebellion for me, rather, took the form of Nora leaving in A Dollâs House and Margaret Atwoodâs female leads. By the time I read Catcher in the Rye, its colloquialisms seemed âœphony,â  to sling Holdenâs favorite insult. His lingo had long ago ceded to other teenage argot. This alone I could have forgiven.
But Holden also embodied adolescent maleness so completely that he left no room for a frustrated girl of a commensurate age. To be fair, he left little room for anyone else. His alienation was the point. The female characters were colored by Holdenâs conflicted desire. They were either vulnerable (like and Jane and Phoebe), a source of ambivalent attraction (Sally and the hotel prostitute), or playthings (the Pencey mother on the train and âœstupid girlsâ who dance well). I doubt itâs a coincidence that most of the tributes to Salinger have been penned by men.

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