I think if you sit in an English class long enough, you might get the mistaken belief that writers actually know what they’re talking about. I do not mean this in a pejorative way,...
Sometimes a friend really seeing you, holding space for you as you figure yourself out, can make all the difference.
Everything Holden says about missing and loving his dead brother Allie, and his kid sister Phoebe, stirs me up. His distress about school, parents, girls, sex, adults, and “phonies” registers with me. Pernnially.
Although many other chronicles have reduced these decades to the cliched dichotomy of “conformist” vs. “radical” or “square” vs. “hip,” Dickstein’s restrained, modest, and tasteful memoir offers the middle way.