Hello fellow bananafish-of-a-feather-who-flock-together, Well, it looks like we have heard from all the districts and I think I had better try to get a refund on my deposit on that house in Cornish. Not that my little vignette was intended to be a work of literature; rather I hoped to address in a more subtle way to address many of the open questions, the unresolved issues, in The Catcher in the Rye - sort of a term paper in story form. And while I have seen many of you nodding silently at your monitors, and can think of only one good explanation for the plethora of cigar ends I've been receiving in the mail, I think I might make better use of my commended limpidity by addressing these same issues in a didactic manner instead. Before I do, I will recurse (this does not involve foul language, for you non-programmers out there) and preface this soon to be too long essay with another pseudo-creative giveaway. why go on and on? because self, self expression, is like a dead horse Those of you who caught the reference to equine abuse, and who humanely shout "Stop!" are invited to change the channel. As a counter balance, I would inform you that I am going to turn off the charm soon, Soon. I read an interesting line in the special-education mid-year evaluation of my youngest, almost two year old, son (who has the distinction of an extra 21st chromosome). It said "Will search for a highly motivating object, such as his bottle, by removing three layers of superimposed coverings (9-12 months)". Let it be in his merit, then, that I attempt similar task here. </charm> The strength of the original question "will Holden ever give old Jane a buzz", in my opinion goes beyond speculative fantasies, or fan fiction. It addresses a basic aspect of Holden's personality, indeed many aspects, and to form an answer requires a close reading, as Will says, and a rereading. As such, it is as infinitely distant from "what would Phoebe think of Jane", as intriguing as that does sound, as it is from the amusing "what was Walt's favorite song". When we consider those aspects of Holden, and combine it with Will's rightfully expected close reading, I admit that the first answer that suggests itself is much closer to the pathetic rendition first presented. Holden has demonstrated a tendency to romanticize the past, and resists and resents any possible assault on the sanctuary of his idealized memories. Think of Stradlater and the baseball mitt, the obscenity on school wall. Sometimes I even miss old Maurice. Once we learn that he has such an affection for the childlike petulance of his now sexually active former playmate, it follows that he would be reluctant, to say the least, to jeopardize his iconic image of her. Another consideration is the veracity of his announced intention. More than just warming himself in the glow of his nostalgic affection, Holden teases himself with the thought of calling her, repeatedly evoking Jane's memory as his rescuing train in the distance. Yet Holden is a master of immature self-deception. What is there to suggest that he is not just using the mantra of "maybe I'll just give old Jane buzz" as his way of fooling himself into thinking that she is literally the girl of his dreams? That he has any intention of calling her? If we take what we read about Holden and apply it, then, to our question the answer seems to be Camille's and Liz's "No!". I think a close reading might take other things into account. The narrative takes place in the past, yet it deliberately points to the future both at its beginning at its end. He has been called an unreliable narrator, indicating that we cannot always take his word for the true nature of the people and events described in the book. As an example, many of our list members have pointed to his quick judgement of Mr. Antolini, whose true nature appears to be deliberately ambiguous. Another thing, I think our affection for (and in some cases identification with) Holden comes from more than a condescending form of empathy, a head-shaking, smiling, conspiratorial wink. He has, after all, a highly tuned set of perceptions and an innocent childlike standard of judgement for everything, it seems, except himself. If we take these things together, the possibility that Holden's description of the world may not be accurate, that he has some remarkable, exceptional, capabilities of his own, and the suggestion that he has already set a foot into the future, then I think that we can reunderstand our question, emphasizing the word "ever", as asking if Holden has within himself the capability to graduate from pathetic to enlightened, from self-contradictory to consistent, and any other applicable adjectives, and if so by what means. I took the approach that as Jane and Esme's old playmate, and a first cousin of Seymour's, that Holden was certainly going to make it. By reversing a bit of the unreliable reality, adding a dash of the Wizard of Oz and Kurt Vonnegut, some personal experience and some pseudo-Seymourisms, I hoped to get a glimpse of what his path might have been and share it with you. The whole exercise, including this overly long term paper, was basically the result of a slow period in the list. I really have no desire to turn it into the bananafishman list, and would rather read a hundred posts by all of you than one of mine. I really did think that there would have been more discussion, though what there has been, has certainly been educational and informed. You may recall, that I find your silent nods agreeable as well. I would like to make one observation, though. I think I can make it even though I am aware that it may sound like a complaint, and even though I may lapse into charming-mode, which you all realize is a coverup by now. For all that this is a group of friendly, essentially non-confrontational human beings, kind enough to deserve the warm write-up in the Australian press for its magnanimity, I don't have the sense that we have managed to build much of what is called in touchy-feely an "online community". I have no right to expect, but no right not to expect as much from you as I would get from my high school wrestling teammates, those semi-literate future fraternity brothers who had dubbed me "Merv" to go along with my thick glasses, jewish name, and good grades, and who would, after I had invariably taken all too short a time to find myself staring up at the gym ceiling in my latest defeat, pat me gently on the shoulder and say "nice try, Merv". I hope I have made that last sentence long enough so that only those of you who understand it understand it, and will be considerate enough not to comment upon it. The secretary will disavow any knowledge of my actions. Anyway, I think I'll give old Camille a buzz. all the best, Merv