The pervasiveness of smartphones and tablets has helped to make audiobooks and e-books popular choices for readers. However, this. Editorial Reviews. scretch.info Review. Since his debut in as The Catcher in the Rye, Kindle Store · Kindle eBooks · Literature & Fiction. As of today we have 78,, eBooks for you to download for free. THE CATCHER IN THE RYE by J D Salinger () Salinger's last published work.
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THE CATCHER IN THE RYE by J.D. Salinger. TO. MY. MOTHER. 1. If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was. The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger; 84 editions; Subjects: Internet Archive Wishlist, DAISY for print-disabled Download ebook for print-disabled (DAISY). Read "J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye A Routledge Study Guide" by Sarah Graham available from Rakuten Kobo. Sign up today and get $5 off your first.
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Salinger's famous work. You can listen to Holden Caulfield's voice in the version offered up by Ray Hagen, which may be the only voice associated with Holden Caulfield in audiobook format. It is currently unlikely that any of J. Salinger's books will be turned into e-books or audiobooks due to the wishes of his estate. The author was well known for fiercely protecting his copyright and following his death, his wife Colleen O'Neill Zakrzeski Salinger and son Matt became the executors of his estate.
As e-books are often subject to digital piracy, it is theorized that the family wants to avoid such thefts. Copyright law states that authors maintain their copyright for their life plus 70 years. This means that J. Salinger's work will enter the public domain in Share Flipboard Email. I suddenly remembered this time, in around October, that I and Robert Tichener and Paul Campbell were chucking a football around, in front of the academic building. They were nice guys, especially Tichener.
It was just before dinner and it was getting pretty dark out, but we kept chucking the ball around anyway.
It kept getting darker and darker, and we could hardly see the ball any more, but we didn't want to stop doing what we were doing. Finally we had to. This teacher that taught biology, Mr.
Zambesi, stuck his head out of this window in the academic building and told us to go back to the dorm and get ready for dinner. If I get a chance to remember that kind of stuff, I can get a good-by when I need one--at least, most of the time I can.
As soon as I got it, I turned around and started running down the other side of the hill, toward old Spencer's house. He didn't live on the campus. He lived on Anthony Wayne Avenue.
I ran all the way to the main gate, and then I waited a second till I got my breath. I have no wind, if you want to know the truth. I'm quite a heavy smoker, for one thing--that is, I used to be.
They made me cut it out. Another thing, I grew six and a half inches last year. That's also how I practically got t. I'm pretty healthy, though. Anyway, as soon as I got my breath back I ran across Route It was icy as hell and I damn near fell down. I don't even know what I was running for--I guess I just felt like it.
After I got across the road, I felt like I was sort of disappearing. It was that kind of a crazy afternoon, terrifically cold, and no sun out or anything, and you felt like you were disappearing every time you crossed a road. Boy, I rang that doorbell fast when I got to old Spencer's house. I was really frozen.
My ears were hurting and I could hardly move my fingers at all. Spencer opened it. They didn't have a maid or anything, and they always opened the door themselves.
They didn't have too much dough. Spencer said. Come in, dear! Are you frozen to death? She liked me. At least, I think she did.
Boy, did I get in that house fast. She didn't hear me ask her how Mr. Spencer was. She was sort of deaf. She hung up my coat in the hall closet, and I sort of brushed my hair back with my hand.
I wear a crew cut quite frequently and I never have to comb it much. He over his grippe yet? Holden, he's behaving like a perfect--I don't know what He's in his room, dear. Go right in. They were both around seventy years old, or even more than that. They got a bang out of things, though--in a half-assed way, of course. I know that sounds mean to say, but I don't mean it mean. I just mean that I used to think about old Spencer quite a lot, and if you thought about him too much, you wondered what the heck he was still living for.
I mean he was all stooped over, and he had very terrible posture, and in class, whenever he dropped a piece of chalk at the blackboard, some guy in the first row always had to get up and pick it up and hand it to him. That's awful, in my opinion. But if you thought about him just enough and not too much, you could figure it out that he wasn't doing too bad for himself.
For instance, one Sunday when some other guys and I were over there for hot chocolate, he showed us this old beat-up Navajo blanket that he and Mrs. Spencer'd bought off some Indian in Yellowstone Park. You could tell old Spencer'd got a big bang out of downloading it. That's what I mean. You take somebody old as hell, like old Spencer, and they can get a big bang out of downloading a blanket.
His door was open, but I sort of knocked on it anyway, just to be polite and all. I could see where he was sitting. He was sitting in a big leather chair, all wrapped up in that blanket I just told you about.
He looked over at me when I knocked. Come in, boy. It got on your nerves sometimes. The minute I went in, I was sort of sorry I'd come. He was reading the Atlantic Monthly, and there were pills and medicine all over the place, and everything smelled like Vicks Nose Drops. It was pretty depressing. I'm not too crazy about sick people, anyway. What made it even more depressing, old Spencer had on this very sad, ratty old bathrobe that he was probably born in or something.
I don't much like to see old guys in their pajamas and bathrobes anyway.
Their bumpy old chests are always showing. And their legs. Old guys' legs, at beaches and places, always look so white and unhairy. Thanks a lot.
I'd have come over to say good-by anyway. He meant the bed. I sat down on it. That knocked him out. He started chuckling like a madman. Then he finally straightened himself out and said, "Why aren't you down at the game?
I thought this was the day of the big game. I was. Only, I just got back from New York with the fencing team," I said. Boy, his bed was like a rock. He started getting serious as hell. I knew he would. I guess I am.
You never saw anybody nod as much in your life as old Spencer did. You never knew if he was nodding a lot because he was thinking and all, or just because he was a nice old guy that didn't know his ass from his elbow. Thurmer say to you, boy?
I understand you had quite a little chat. We really did.
I was in his office for around two hours, I guess. And how you should play it according to the rules. He was pretty nice about it. I mean he didn't hit the ceiling or anything. He just kept talking about Life being a game and all. You know. Life is a game that one plays according to the rules. I know it is. I know it. Some game. If you get on the side where all the hot-shots are, then it's a game, all right--I'll admit that. But if you get on the other side, where there aren't any hot-shots, then what's a game about it?
No game. Thurmer written to your parents yet? This is about the fourth school I've gone to. I shake my head quite a lot. I also say "Boy! Partly because I have a lousy vocabulary and partly because I act quite young for my age sometimes.
I was sixteen then, and I'm seventeen now, and sometimes I act like I'm about thirteen. It's really ironical, because I'm six foot two and a half and I have gray hair. I really do. The one side of my head--the right side--is full of millions of gray hairs.
I've had them ever since I was a kid. And yet I still act sometimes like I was only about twelve. Everybody says that, especially my father. It's partly true, too, but it isn't all true. People always think something's all true.
I don't give a damn, except that I get bored sometimes when people tell me to act my age. Sometimes I act a lot older than I am--I really do--but people never notice it. People never notice anything. Old Spencer started nodding again. He also started picking his nose.