Furthermore, it’s worth mentioning that Salinger published a short story that mentioned Holden Caulfield six years before The Catcher in the Rye appeared as a book. The Catcher in the Rye is ranked among other great coming-of-age stories such as James Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and Cormac McCarthy's All the Pretty Horses. Having said that, similar themes arise in books like John Knowles’s 1959 novel, A Separate Peace, which, much like The Catcher in the Rye, is a coming-of-age novel set against the backdrop of an East Coast prep school. Even if that’s true, it’s difficult to trace any particular author’s influence in Catcher because the novel is written in such a fresh and unique voice with a degree of candor and brashness perhaps unprecedented in American fiction. It is known that during World War II he met with Ernest Hemingway in Paris, which suggests that Salinger admired Hemingway’s work. Not much is known about the influences Salinger drew upon to write The Catcher in the Rye. World War I was supposedly “the war to end all wars,” but World War II proved that this claim was as hollow as the "phony" ideas that adult characters force upon Holden throughout The Catcher in the Rye. Holden views growing up as a slow surrender to the “phony” and shallow responsibilities of adult life, such as getting a job, serving in the military, and maintaining intimate relationships. In Catcher, we see the impact of Salinger’s World War II experience in Holden’s mistrusting, cynical view of adult society. World War II robbed millions of young men and women of their youthful innocence, and Salinger himself witnessed the slaughter of thousands at Normandy, one of the war’s bloodiest battles. It’s no surprise, then, that Salinger’s experience in World War II should cast a shadow over Holden’s opinions and experiences in The Catcher in the Rye. Salinger: both grew up in upper-class New York City, both flunked out of prep schools, and so on. Many parallels exist between Holden Caulfield, the protagonist of The Catcher in the Rye, and J. In his final years, he continued to avoid contact with the media, and ceased publishing any new works. Salinger hated his sudden fame and retired from New York to Cornish, New Hampshire, where he lived until his death in 2010. In 1951 he published his only full-length novel, The Catcher in the Rye, which rocketed Salinger into the public eye. He went on to publish many stories in The New Yorker, the Saturday Evening Post, Esquire, and others from 1941 to 1948. Salinger continued to write during the war, and in 1940 he published his first short story in Story magazine. Army’s infantry division and served in combat, including the invasion of Normandy in 1944. During World War II, Salinger ended up in the U.S. He took a fiction writing class in 1939 at Columbia that cemented the dabbling in writing he had done since his early teens. He went on to enroll in several colleges, including New York University and Columbia, though he never graduated. After struggling in several prep schools, Salinger attended Valley Forge Military Academy from 1934 to 1936. His father was a successful Jewish cheese importer, and his mother was Scotch-Irish Catholic. Everything you said made him sore.Jerome David Salinger grew up on Park Avenue in Manhattan. He was about the touchiest guy I ever met. “You’re goddam right they don’t,” Horwitz said, and drove off like a bat out of hell. “If you was a fish, Mother Nature’d take care of you, wouldn’t she? Right? You don’t think them fish just die when it gets to be winter, do ya?” They stay right where they are, the fish. He turned all the way around again, and said, “The fish don’t go no place. I stopped having a conversation with him, if he was going to get so damn touchy about it. “How the hell should I know a stupid thing like that?” Old Horwitz turned all the way around and looked at me. Do you know, by any chance? I mean does somebody come around in a truck or something and take them away, or do they fly away by themselves – go south or something?” You’d think a prostitute and all would say “Like hell you are” or “Cut the crap” instead of “Like fun you are.” She didn’t care what the hell my name was, naturally. She never said thank you, either, when you offered her something. She had a tiny little wheeny-whiny voice. I sat down in the big chair, next to her, and offered her a cigarette. I think it was because she was young as hell. She crossed her legs and started jiggling this one foot up and down. Then she sort of sat down sideways on the chair that went with the desk in the room and started jiggling her foot up and down. She came in and took her coat off right away and sort of chucked it on the bed.
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