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Salinger must not be that reclusive, or else his lawyers are the ones mainly behind the suit against this much talked-about sequel to Catcher in the Rye. Although I hate to admit it, I don’t feel strongly either way, and yet I can explain my apathy. First, let’s think about the title- 60 Years Later: Coming Through the Rye. Frankly, author John David California deserves what he gets for dreaming up such a horrible name for a book. Second, let’s think about the plot. A 70-something Holden wanders through New York after escaping from his nursing home. Don’t know about the rest of the world, but that sounds as interesting as a novel about 18 holes of golf. I mean, what all can we expect? Ancient Holden C visits the graves of his sister and favorite teacher? Gets beat up by some college girl’s pimp, again, except this time a hip’s broken in the struggle? This Holden wouldn’t just write laughably ignorant essays about mummies. He’d be a mummy.

Why not give us a Holden in his mid 40s? Holden in the midst of a midlife crisis. Let’s give him a wife, or an ex-wife, and an estranged daughter who he sneaks into the house to see as he did Phoebe. Why not a merry-go-round scene with his daughter reaching for a brass ring? Or if that sounds cheesy, how about we take her to an Apple store?

I’m now in Kentucky. Rain pours on statues of horses on street corners. At Borders, you can buy four books and get the fifth one free. The International Convention Center served Cajun chicken for lunch.