The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger is one of the most boring books I have ever read. Not a single sentence in the books sparks any kind of interest in me. The entire thing is just Holden, the main character, recounting events in the most dull way possible– and not even interesting or important events, such as many non-fiction books would, but, instead, simply three extremely monotonous days of his life. An example of this is the four pages spent describing a movie Holden watches.
It was about this English guy, Alec something, that was in the war and loses his memory in the hospital and all. He comes out of the hospital carrying a cane and limping all over the place, all over London, not knowing who the hell he is (p. 153).
I would be hard pressed to think of something I care less about than what film Holden watched. To me, this seems to have absolutely no relevance to the story, and does not forward it at all. Then again, could this book really be said to have a “story”? It is more similar to a diary than anything else. I would be happy to read the diary of someone who participates in interesting and thought-provoking events, such as, for example, Anne Frank. However, I am not even in the slightest interested in reading about Holden watching a film. I cannot adequately express the tedium I experience each time I pick up this novel. I have never read a book so slowly.