The Catcher in the Rye: What’s Up with That Red Hat?

The Catcher in the Rye is full of symbols: the ducks in Central Park, the Museum of Natural History, the very title of the book itself. But perhaps no symbol captures the many layers and the inherent contradiction of Holden Caulfield himself better than the red hunting cap. Yes, Holden’s questions about the ducks symbolize his confusion about the very murky business of growing up. Yes, the museum certainly represents his discomfort with change and desire to preserve everything (particularly innocence) just as it is. But the red hunting cap is something that Holden intentionally purchases and wears as an expression of himself. Thus, in understanding the hat, we understand Holden. So, the question becomes: What’s up with that red hat?

First and foremost, the red hat is a hunting hat. But what are the odds that Holden has ever even held a gun? His entire environment—from the hallowed halls of Pency Prep to his parents’ high-rise luxury apartment in Manhattan—is one of urban wealth and privilege. A hunting hat in New York City, and certainly within Holden’s particular social circle, is probably very uncommon. So, in this sense, the hat is a bright red mark of distinction, individuality, and it gives him a bit of confidence (even if it’s simply a mask for all of his insecurities). It says, Look at me! I’m different! And Holden certainly feels different. Everyone is a moron, except for him. Everyone is a phony, except for him. Nobody understands him. It’s Holden against the world. He even refers to his hat as his “people shooting hat.” What a tough guy!

However, the hat looks so goofy that wearing it also offers Holden an unconventional form of protection. A young man his age, wearing a hat like that, seems childish and marks him as strange, which keeps people at a distance, thereby reinforcing his feelings of alienation. But that distance also affords Holden protection: from expectations, from criticism, from rejection. In a sense, by wearing the hat, he’s abandoning people before they can abandon, which is his way of protecting himself. Seen in this light, the hat represents a sort of security blanket for Holden, something that brings comfort merely by keeping it near (or on). The hat is both a vehicle of alienation and an agent of protection against the very alienation it fosters. Ironic, huh? Sort of a confusing or contradictory, huh? Well, so is Holden.

This confusing combination of comfort, security, alienation, protection, and pseudo-confidence illustrates what a multifaceted symbol the red hunting hat becomes. It’s sort of like a Swiss army knife in its assorted utility. In a nutshell, the red hunting hat is just like Holden, and his continual desire either to put it on or to take it off represents the internal conflict, the struggle, the confusion from which Holden suffers as he attempts to figure himself out in relation to the world around him. Eventually, Holden gives up the hat to his little sister—a meaningful and symbolic passing of the torch, as he finally begins to recognize that he must inevitably leave childhood behind, and slowly inch into adulthood—he no longer needs the hat.

It’s after this symbolic gesture, in the final pages of the book, that we see Holden really begin to settle into his own skin. When he takes Phoebe to the park, he chooses not to participate, and instead simply watches her on the carousel, without interfering, from a distance, with the other adults… where he should be. It’s here that Holden finally experiences a few epiphanies: “The thing with kids is,” he says, “if they want to grab for the gold ring, you have to let them do it, and not say anything. If they fall off, they fall off, but it’s bad if you say anything to them.” He might as well be talking about himself.

And in the final chapter, Holden actually begins to reveal the sort of vulnerability that he had previously been masking with false bravado throughout the story. He’s finally beginning to let down his defenses. Such openness requires tremendous maturity: something Holden has only now begun to realize. “If you want to know the truth,” he says in the final lines of the book. “I don’t know what I think about it. I’m sorry I told so many people about it. All I know is, I sort of miss everybody I told about […] It’s funny. Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.” And this is what gives the reader hope for Holden, that with this new vulnerability and far deeper understanding of himself, perhaps he might just turn out okay.

The Catcher in the Rye: The Two Holdens

All readers are, in some small part, psychologists. The act of reading a work of fiction in which we are privy to the internal monologues and unconscious actions of characters means that we are always interpreters of their motivations. This is certainly the case with The Catcher in the Rye. As mentioned earlier, Holden’s book-length rant is not unlike a version of talk therapy. So, rather than growing annoyed with him (as I’m sure many of you already are), try to enjoy your unique position as psychologist, privy to the internal workings of a very confused teenage boy.

Holden is struggling through a transition from childhood to adulthood. He’s confused. And as we continue through the novel, you’ve probably realized that Holden seems to be in constant conflict with himself. One might even call him a hypocrite. The qualities he ridicules and despises in others are many of the same qualities that he himself possess: He thinks adults are liars and “phonies,” but Holden is a tremendous liar and is always trying to engage people he says he doesn’t even like (Mr. Spencer, Ackley, Sally, the three young women at the hotel). He thinks adults are hypocrites, but Holden continually contradicts himself (he’s an atheist who prays, he hates movies but immediately invites Ackley to one, etc.). He hates when people repeat themselves, but how often does Holden talk about calling Jane Gallagher? He hates when people exaggerate or go off on tangents, but that pretty much describes this whole book—on the very first page Holden tells us that his parents would have about two hemorrhages apiece if he shared anything too personal right before going into one long, self-absorbed, tangent-filled, angst-ridden rant.

As mentioned in the previous post, this novel was not met with open arms by many in the literary establishment. One prominent review complained that the reader “wearies of [Holden’s] explicitness, repetition and adolescence, exactly as one would weary of Holden himself.” But that’s the point! That’s exactly how many teenage boys think. That’s how many teenage boys talk. And that’s how many teenage boys feel. What Salinger accomplished was to capture this teenage stage in its purest, rawest, most direct form, and then to allow you, the reader, to play the role of adolescent psychologist.

Holden is full of hypocrisy, hyperbole, and insecurity—and this leads to the two Holdens. Holden feels alienated. (But he often alienates himself: Why else do we find him sitting on a hilltop, apart from everyone else, at the beginning of the story?) Holden feels victimized by the world. (But he often sabotages himself: Why else flunk every subject but English?) Holden wants to grow up. (But he’s obsessed with innocence and incredibly uncomfortable with change: Why else is he so fascinated by the Museum of Natural History?) Holden is completely obsessed with sex (But he’s terrified at the same time: Why else continually talk about “giving Jane a call” but never actually calling?) The story Holden tells the reader happens outside the parentheses. But the real story (and the real Holden) resides inside the parentheses… and that’s where you the reader, as psychologist, come in. Though he’s narrating his own story, Holden is about as unreliable a narrator as one will find, but his actions give him away, and an observant reader will pick up on that… like a good psychologist.

Holden is broken: It’s clear that he has never dealt with his underlying feelings about the loss of his brother Allie (think how lovingly he talks about Allie compared to everyone else; remember the topic he chooses when writing Stradlater’s paper; and recall where he slept and what he did on the night Allie died).  Allie’s death is very likely the moment Holden’s life went off track, and he’s never been able to get it back under control. Holden has never recovered from that loss. He’s struggling. He’s lashing out at others when he’s really angry with himself. All this is remarkably clear… to everyone but Holden.

The Catcher in the Rye: The Unlikeable Protagonist

The thing that some young readers say they hate about this novel is the main character himself. That’s a fair point. This is a first-person-central narrative, which means that we as readers are stuck with the voice and the mind of the protagonist, and this particular protagonist is confused, angry, anxious, and full of insecurities—all of which he’s trying to cover up, which can make for a pretty toxic experience. Holden is no Nick Carraway, the affable first-person narrator of The Great Gatsby. Nick was a slightly removed, secondary character, telling us about the main character, Jay Gatsby. Nick’s cool-headed, humble, and non-judgmental demeanor make for a trustworthy and likeable narrator. On the other hand, Holden is impulsive, boastful, and severe in his judgments. He is the main character in his own story, so everything is always about him. Me! Me! Me! Me! Me! At times, it can feel like being stuck on a cross-country road trip with your most obnoxious and egotistical friend. But… that’s the most impressive quality of the novel.

Remember, at the time of its publication there were very few representations of teenagers in the media, even fewer in which the teenager was also the main character, and virtually none of those representations were honest and authentic. What Salinger did was revolutionary. Not only did he write a novel about a teenager, but he allowed that teenager to tell his own story, and then imbued his protagonist with perhaps the most honest and authentic teenage voice that anyone had ever heard… and it upset a lot of people. Quite a few book critics panned the novel. Many parents were deeply disturbed by Holden’s behavior and concerned that their own children might emulate the main character’s profane vocabulary, academic lethargy, and general hatefulness. Libraries and schools banned the book for fear that it would promote juvenile delinquency.

But let’s step back for a moment. Throughout the course of a day, who do you think about more than anyone else? Yourself. Who do you worry about more than anyone else? Yourself. How many opinions do you have but are careful not to share? How many insecurities do you have but never openly acknowledge? How many desires do you have but never express? How often do you know exactly what must be done but fail to do it? Now, imagine if all those thoughts, opinions, anxieties, insecurities, and desires were broadcast all day, every day, in real time, for the rest of the world to hear. And imagine if everyone could watch you all day, every day, even in your most private moments, as you struggle to temper those opinions, battle those anxieties, overcome those insecurities, and back up your words with actions. That’s a lot of teenage angst to take in. You might not be the most likeable protagonist either. And that’s the brilliance of Salinger. He has given us a protagonist that is, in many ways, a lot like us.

This whole book is, for Holden, a form of therapy. He’s talking (some would say ranting) out loud and somewhat extemporaneously. And as many of us would, he rambles, repeats himself, goes off on tangents, speaks in hyperbole, curses, and sometimes contradicts himself. That’s because he’s caught up in the moment. His story is something of an exercise in free association, almost stream of consciousness. In telling his story in such a raw and uninterrupted way, he’s figuring himself out… even if he doesn’t realize it.

Catcher in the Rye: Youth Culture

As an introduction to The Catcher in the Rye it’s important to understand the development of youth culture—or rather, it’s lack of development. Salinger published this novel in 1951. That means that Holden’s story unfolds just as we’re approaching 1950. This is significant to understanding the book, because it’s significant to understanding Holden and his central dilemma: How do I grow up?

The place and the role of the teenager in American society was very different from the ways in which most of you experience culture today. In fact, the very word—teenager—was not even a part of our common vocabulary at that time and never appears in the novel. Holden’s world looked nothing like yours. America at that time was more or less binary when it came to the ways in which our culture addressed age: there was childhood and adulthood, and very little in between. Teenagers were not largely represented in the media or pandered to in advertising; the very notion of adolescence was something of a new concept and not fully understood or even accepted. YA fiction was not a thing: there were no Katniss Everdeens or Edward Cullens or even Harry Potters. The Marvel universe was not a thing: there were no X-Men or Avengers or even Stan Lee. Youth-driven music was not a thing: there were no Rihannas or Madonnas or even Elvis. The popular culture of America simply did not cater to teenagers.

As a consequence, the transition from childhood to adulthood could be confusing, difficult, and abrupt. You went from reading Alice in Wonderland to reading Ernest Hemingway. You went from watching cowboys and pirates during the matinee hour at the local movie theater to watching Gone with the Wind. And if you were looking for something edgy to listen to, you chose Jazz. All the things that teenagers now read and view and listen to are virtually nonexistent for Holden Caulfield. America did not fully recognize the role, the importance, or the distinctive characteristics of the adolescent mind at that time. Around 1950, the median age of marriage for men was about 23, and for women the median age of both marriage and motherhood was around 21. Imagine that! Holden’s world is one in which you are expected to go from child to adult almost overnight. But the question remains: How?

This is where we find our protagonist Holden Caulfield: sixteen years old, struggling through the middle of his high school education, leaving childhood behind (reluctantly) and about to enter adulthood (even more reluctantly). But where is that pathway? What are the rules? There are no guideposts, no cultural route to map this transition. Unlike you, Holden has none of the movies, books, or music to reflect his current stage of life, nor the social understanding to chart his journey through adolescence. He is on his own. He is confused, angry, anxious, and full of insecurities… but more on all that later.