J.D. Salinger: The Catcher in the Rye
If you
really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to
know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how
my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David
Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you
want to know the truth. In the first place, that stuff bores me, and in
the second place, my parents would have about two hemorrhages apiece if
I told anything pretty personal about them. They're quite touchy about
anything like that, especially my father. They're nice and all--I'm not saying
that--but they're also touchy as hell. Besides, I'm not going to tell
you my whole goddam autobiography or anything. I'll just tell you about
the madman stuff that happened to me around last Christmas just before
I got pretty run-down and had to come out here and take it easy. I mean
that's all I told D.B. about, and he's my brother and all. He's in Hollywood.
That isn't too far from this crumby place, and he comes over and visits
me practically every week end. He's going to drive me home when I go
home next month maybe. He just got a Jaguar. One of those little
English jobs that can do around two hundred miles an hour. It cost him
damn near four thousand bucks. He's got a lot of dough, now. He didn't used to. He used to be just a
regular writer, when he was home. He wrote this terrific book of short
stories, "The Secret Goldfish." It was about this little kid that
wouldn't let anybody look at his goldfish because he'd bought it with
his own money. It killed me. Now he's out in Hollywood, D.D., being a
prostitute. If there's one thing I hate, it's the movies. Don't even
mention them to me.