I finished reading J.D. Salinger's "Franny and Zooey." for the third or fourth time today. I can remember reading this book for the first time and closing it slowly and thoughtfully. I remember thinking that it was my new favorite book, and I have since considered it my favorite book. It seems important to have a favorite something and for whatever reason this story resonated with me to such a degree that I chose it then and there as my one and only. I closed the book again today and felt nothing like the deep understanding that I felt then. It's been probably six or seven years since I read it for the first time and there wasn't even a hint of nostalgia. In fact, much of the book was unrecognizable and distant to me. Halfway through the book I began to question whether or not I had even read this story before. Now, I'm no stranger head injuries and perhaps I can blame this blank space to some residual amnesia, or maybe some early dementia. I think the answer though is a bit more profound. I think the answer lies in time itself, and its ability to change everything around us. Apparently our bodies regenerate in their entirety every seven years or so. If I believe that dated and probably overly simplified data, then I am literally almost a completely different person than the young man that read the book for the first time. As creatures of habit we tend to take comfort in the constants of life. We create patterns wherever we can find them, and are constantly searching for order among the chaos of the world and beyond. Having a favorite is a comforting thing. Favorites provide an answer and a window into who a person is or who they would like to be seen as. A favorite is generally perceived as being a definitive fact, and it's not supposed to change. Everything changes though, and to ignore that is to ignore reality."Franny and Zooey" is a good book. It is not my favorite book. I do not have a favorite book. I am lost in the chaos and I am satisfied.
