January 30: "A Farewell to Arms," War, "11/22'63"

...What gets me about D.B., though, he hated the war so much, and yet he got me to read this book A Farewell to Arms last summer.  He said it was so terrific.  That's what I can't understand.  It had this guy in it named Lieutenant Henry that was supposed to be a nice guy and all.  I don't see how D.B. could hate the Army and war and all so much and still a phony like that.  I mean, for instance, I don't see how he could like a phony book like that and still like that one by Ring Lardner, or that other one he's so crazy about, The Great Gatsby.  D.B. got sore when I said that, and said I was too young and all to appreciate it, but I don't think so.  I told him I liked Ring Lardner and The Great Gatsby and all.  I did, too.  I was crazy about The Great Gatsby.  Old Gatsby.  Old sport.  That killed me.  Anyway, I'm sort of glad they've got the atomic bomb invented.  If there's ever another war, I'm going to sit right the hell on top of it.  I'll volunteer for it, I swear to God I will.

Holden's older brother, D.B. is a writer.  He also served in the Army during World War II.  D.B. is always giving Holden books to read, and Holden dutifully reads them.  For the most part, Holden likes D.B.'s taste in literature.  In this passage, however, Holden can't understand D.B.'s appreciation of A Farewell to Arms.  Perhaps it's Hemingway's  bluster or style that turns Holden off.  Holden doesn't like anything that even smacks of pretension or falseness.  Lieutenant Henry and Hemingway join the long list of phony bastards in The Catcher in the Rye.

At the moment, I am racing to finish Stephen King's novel 11/22/63 for my book club meeting tomorrow night, and I'm not sure if I'm going to win the race.  It's a huge novel, over 800 pages.  I'm not pulling a Holden here.  I actually love this book and the characters in it,  It's just finding the time to sit down and get through the last 200 or so pages.  I'm trying.  Every spare chance I get, I read it.  It reminds me of the young Stephen King, the guy who wrote books I just didn't want to set down.  I literally could let my legs go numb sitting on the toilet reading this book.

That's my worry for this Wednesday.  Not sitting on the toilet with numb legs, but finishing the book.  Well, that's the worry I'm focusing on.  I have this free-floating anxiety plaguing me today, and I can't nail down what's bothering me.  Perhaps it's a collection of smaller worries ganging up on my psyche.  Whatever it is, I've got this nervous feeling like something is about to fall on my head and knock me out.

Perhaps I should join Holden on top of the atomic bomb and ride it down, a la Dr. Strangelove.

Or perhaps Saint Marty needs to do some deep breathing and get on with his day.

Just hanging on for the ride...