My rating: 2 of 5 stars
I once heard JD Salinger’s writing described as “rich people complaining about being bored.” I think that description is remarkably apt for this book. Nine stories, every single one of which was of upper class being bored in a way that makes the reader bored. At one point, I stopped reading this to go burn through a more exciting book, and the only reason I could make myself return to it was because I was down to a single story (incidentally, the closest any story comes to being the “best” one of the group).
The writing was bland, the dialogue repetitive feeling without actually being repetitive, the characters empty and flat, and the stories went absolutely nowhere. I kept trying to assign meaning where there was none, and trying to imagine excitement where, again, there was none. I normally like Salinger, but this one? Only read it if you really feel the need to have read it. Otherwise, you won’t have missed anything particularly important. Or interesting, for that matter.
