Caulfield's Implicature

Speranza

There is something Griceian about Holden Caulfield. J. D. Salinger’s novel, “The Catcher in the Rye,” was published in 1951, when Grice was teaching at Oxford. That is the first coincidence. Apart from their respectively philosophical and literary interests, H. P. Grice’s oeuvre and J. D. Salinger's novel, “The catcher in the rye,” (if I may repeat myself) can also justified, both of them, on the basis of their linguistic significance.  J. D. Salinger’s “The Catcher in the Rye” has been compared, and justly too, to Mark Twain’s “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn”, and this on various counts. Grice’s oeuvre has not – but then Grice went to Clifton – where they speak a DIFFERENT vernacular (the ending in ‘-ol’, for example). But back to Caulfield and Huckleberry, “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn” is not only as a great novel, but also a valuable study in 1884 “dialect,” or so they say. “The Catcher in the Rye” is an example of 1951 dialect – AND, as we shall see, implicature! Most of those who read “The Catcher in the Rye” at the time of its publication did think that Caulfield’s language was a true and authentic rendering of colloquial speech. In the same vein, most tuttees who attended Grice’s tutorials back in 1951, think that Grice’s speech was an authentic rendering of an Oxonian don’s dialect, as he was. The language of Holden Caulfield, the narrator in J. D. Salinger’s “The Catcher in the Rye” strikes one as an accurate rendering of the informal register of an intelligent, educated, North-Eastern type, compleat with implicatures. (It is said that ‘implicature’ is more of a “New England” thing – and Salinger wasn’t a New Englander – but never mind). One commonly noted feature of the language of “The Catcher in the Rye” has been its “perlocutionary” (as J. L. Austin would have it) comical effect via implicature. As Salinger asks the editors in the biopic film “Rebel in the rye” – where Nicholas Hoult plays Salinger: “But you didn’t find it [i.e. “The Catcher in the Rye”] at least funny?.” The implicature being that Salinger thought they did not – “them ‘phony’ editors”. And yet there has never been an extensive investigation of Caulfield’s language itself – and its implicatures. Not until Mary Louise Pratt, who taught near Grice, thought it worthwhile! Even though Caulfield’s language is authentic, recording that register was certainly NOT the major m-intention of Salinger (By “m-intention,” we mean the intention behind Salinger’s uttering his novel. It’s a term of art introduced by Grice – ‘m-intention’ stands for the intention an utterer has to mean this or that). Salinger’s primary task, in offering “The Catcher in the Rye” is notably NOT that of reproducing the exact register of this or that individual or population. Yet Holden Caulfield speaks a recognizable register. Salinger achieves the goal of giving Caulfield, as Twain did with respect to Finn, an extremely typical register, yet overlaid with strong personal, individual idiosyncrasies (vide Grice, “Personal identity”). There are two major expressive habits which are Caulfield’s s own and which, as such, are endlessly repeated throughout “The catcher in the ryle’, and which are, nevertheless, typical enough of his population, so that Caulfield can be BOTH typical and individual in his use of these ‘habits’. Griceian, no? It is certainly common to end utterances with a loosely dangling “and all,” just as it is common to add an insistent, “I really did,” or “It really was.” – cfr. “Honestly”. But Caulfield uses these two family of phrases to such an overpowering degree that they become a clear part of the flavour of “The Catcher in the Rye.” We can say they become a part of Caulfield himself, and actually help to characterise him (“Oh, no! That’s Caulfield!”) Let’s start with the implicatures of the conjunctive “and all”. Holden's “AND all” has a few its twins, both disjunctive in nature: “OR something,” and “OR anything.” The three danglers may be alleged to serve no consistent conversational (alla Grice) function, some logician might say. Their value is, shall we say, in the implicature. The three expressions – “and all,” “or something,” “or anything” -- give a sense of looseness of expression. This is especially true of the disjunctive expressions, “or something,” and “or anything”. The conjunctive “and all” has a different logic, admittedly. Often, these expressions, as uttered by Caulfield, signify that Caulfield BELIEVES that there is *more* that could be ‘explicated’ (this is a Griceian term of art) about the issue at hand, AND that he further believes that he is not going to bother going into it. Caulfield will leave that communicated content at the level of the implicature. Let me give you three examples:

1.        I will NOT go into how my parents were occupied AND ALL before they had me. (+> because, who cares?)

2.        They are nice AND ALL, my parents are.

3.        I am yet not going to tell you my whole autobiography OR ANYTHING. (+> I’ll leave that to St. Augustine).

4.        That is splendid and clear-thinking AND ALL. (+> and all that’s nice, as my aunt Matilda would put it).

But, alas, for the Griciean, just as often, the use of these three expressions, as uttered by Caulfield, is purely arbitrary, with no apparent discernible meaning or implicature. Consider:

5.        He is my brother AND ALL. (+> yet, who cares?)

6.        It was in the Revolutionary War AND ALL. (+> yet it seems like yesterday)

7.        It was December AND ALL. (+> i.e. with all the “Dreaming of a white Christmas” stuff).

8.        No gloves OR ANYTHING. (+> i.e. or any other piece of cloth you can cover your hands with).

9.        It was right in the pocket AND ALL. (+> of all places, can you believe it!)

The general implicature – or generalised, as Grice would prefer – of this is obvious. This habit of adding “and all,” “or something” and “or anything,” seems, if anything, indicative of Caulfield’s tendency to “generalise”, i.e. to find the “all” in the one.  Salinger has an ear not only for idiosyncrasies of diction and syntax, but for the psychological processes behind them. Let us examine Caulfield's favourite phrase – now seen as ‘universally quantified,’ and not just ‘conjunctive’ in more detail, through some further example:

10.     She looked so damn nice, the way she kept going around and around in her blue coat -- AND ALL --

It is as if each experience wears, for Caulfield, a halo. Caulfield’s trope seems to be “ab uno disce omnes.” In other words, Caulfield abstracts and generalizes wildly. Regarding Holden Caulfield’s *second* most obvious idiosyncrasy -- the use of what Grice, echoing Austin, calls the trouser ‘really’ -- it would be as if, in a phony world, Caulfield feels compelled to re-inforce his sincerity and Griceian truthfulness and candour constantly with expressions like ‘it really is,” or “it really did.” There seems to be something of a double implicature or function (to echo Buehler, a language philosopher favoured by Popper) about these quasi-perpetual insistences of Caulfield’s. Caulfield is so aware of the danger of slipping into “phoniness” himself that he has to repeat over and over expressions like “It really does” or “I really MEAN it.” Note incidentally, in the latter expression, the Griceian use of ‘mean,’ as applied to the utterer himself. Caulfield uses this idiosyncrasy of insistence almost every time he makes an affirmation or statement. Allied to Caulfield’s habit of insistence is this phrase that J. O. Urmson (a colleague of Grice) would call a parenthetical: “if you want to KNOW the truth.” One is able to find a Griceian characterization of the implicature behind this habitual parenthetical too. Caulfield uses this conditional parenthetical phrase – what J. L. Austin would have as a ‘biscuit conditional’ – “If you are hungry, there are biscuits in the cupboard” -- only AFTER affirmations, or statements, just as he uses “It really does.” But Caulfield restricts “if you want to KNOW the truth” usually after the a personal affirmation or statement, where he is consciously being frank or candid. Some examples:

11.     I have no wind, if you want to KNOW the truth.

Seeing that one of Grice’s maxims is “Try to make your conversational contribution one that is true,” it’s a bit like, “Honestly” – or as Albritton would say, ‘otiose’, unless we implicate.)

12.     I do not even think that bastard had a handkerchief, if you want to KNOW the truth.

  

This may be contrasted with “That bastard didn’t have a handkerchief, if you want to know the truth.” By using “I do not even think,” the utterance-ending parenthetical is not THAT otiose, and in any case, it may have the utterer calculating TWO implicatures: That the truth is that the individual referred to did not have a handkerchief, AND that Caulfield does not think that the individual referred to had one (cfr. “p” and “I believe that p.”). Then there’s:

13.     I am a pacifist, if you want to KNOW the truth.

14.     She had quite a lot of sex appeal, too, if you really want to know. [+> the truth].

15.     I was damn near bawling, I felt so damn happy, if you want to KNOW the truth.

These personal idiosyncrasies of Caulfield’s Griceian utterances (qua flouts of Grice’s maxims) are in keeping with general language. Yet, they are so much a part of Caulfield and of the flavour of “The Catcher in the Rye” that they are much of what makes Caulfield to BE Caulfield (“The style, it’s the man.”). They are the most memorable feature of the language of “The Catcher in the Rye.” Although always in character, the rest of Caulfield’s register is more “typical” than individual or idiosyncratic. The distinctive quality of Caulfield’s language comes, paradoxically, from its lack of a distinctive quality. Caulfield’s informal vernacular is particularly typical in its alleged vulgarity or obscenity. No one familiar with colloquial speech can seriously contend that Salinger over-played his hand in this respect. On the contrary, Caulfield's restraint helps to characterise him as a sensitive ‘utterer’ who avoids the most strongly forbidden terms, and who never uses vulgarity in a self-conscious or phony way to help him be 'one of the gang.' Four-letter expletives, for example, are never used as a part of Caulfield’s direct utterances – only when he is reporting conversations. A four-letter expletive notably appears in “The Catcher in the Rye” four times, admittedly, but only when Caulfield disapprovingly discusses its wide appearance on walls. As for the Divine name, it is used habitually by Caulfield, but only in the comparatively weak phrases, “for God's sake,” “God,” and, “goddam.” The stronger and usually more offensive “for Chrissake,” or “Jesus,” or “Jesus Christ,” are used habitually by Ackley and Stradlater, NOT by Caulfield. Caulfield does use them, granted, but only when he feels the need for a strong expression. Caulfield almost never uses “for Chrissake” in an “un-emotional” situation. “Goddam” seems to be Caulfield’s favourite adjective, granted. However, “goddam” is used with no relationship to its original meaning (“damned by God,” that is), OR to express Holden’s attitude toward the noun to which the adjective is attached. “Goddam,” rather, simply expresses an emotional feeling toward the object: either favourable, or “pro” (as Grice’s favourite philosopher, C. L. Stevenson, would have it), as in phrases like:  

16.     goddam hunting cap.

or an unfavourable one, as in

17.     ya goddam moron.

or (if we go by Strawson’s truth-value gap theory), an indifferent attitude, as in

18.     coming in the goddam windows.

The simpler “damm” is used interchangeably with “goddam.” No differentiation in its implicature seems detectable. Other crude words are also often used by Caulfield. “Ass” keeps a fairly restricted literal meaning as a part of animal anatomy. But “ass” is also used in a variety of other implicatural ways. “Ass” can refer simply and literally (via explicature, as Grice would have it) to a specific part of the body:

19.     I moved my ass a little.

Or “ass” may be a part of an idiomatic phrase:

20.     freezing my ass off.

21.     in a half-assed way.

Or ‘ass’ may be an expletive, when qualified by the possessive adjective:             

22.     Game, my ass.

“Hell” is perhaps the most versatile expression in Caulfield’s “procedures,” as Grice would put it. “Hell” serves most of the meanings and constructions which Mencken lists in his essay on linguistic ‘profanity.’ So far is Caulfield’s use of ‘hell’ from its original LITERAL meaning that he can utter the utterance:

23.     We had a helluva time, Phoebe and I did.

to mean (alla Grice) that he and Phoebe had a decidedly *pleasant* time downtown shopping for shoes. The most common function of “hell” is as the second part of a simile, in which a thing can be

24.     hot as hell.

or, strangely:

25.     cold as hell.

The implicature here seems to have a rather difficult ‘calculability,’ to use Grice’s jargon. There’s also:

26.     sad as hell.

27.     playful as hell.

28.     old as hell.

and

29.     pretty as hell.

Like all of these words, “hell” seems to have no close relationship to its original, literal, eschatological meaning, as per Dante’s Inferno (antonym: heaven – cfr. Dante Alighieri on ‘purgatory’). Both “bastard” and “sonuvab*tch” have also drastically changed in meaning or implicature – and mean ‘by implicature’ something gratuitous. Neither expression any longer, of course, in Caulfield’s vocabulary, has any connection with the accidents of birth. Unless used in a trite simile, “bastard” is a pretty strong word, reserved for things and people Caulfield particularly dislikes, especially, as you can guess, 'phonies.'  “Sonuvab*tch” has an even stronger meaning to Caulfield. Caulfield uses it only in the deepest anger.  When, for example, Caulfield is furious with Stradlater over his treatment of Jane Gallagher, Caulfield repeats again and again that he

30.     kept calling him a moron sonuvabitch.

The use of crude language in “The Catcher in the Rye” increases, as we should expect, when Caulfield is REPORTING a conversation. When he is directly addressing his addressee, Caulfield’s use of such language drops off almost entirely. There is also an increase in this type of language when any of the characters are excited or angry. Thus, when Caulfield is apprehensive over Stradlater’s treatment of Jane, his “goddams” increase suddenly to seven on a single page. Caulfield’s utterances are also typical in his use of slang. One can catalogue over a hundred slang terms used by Caulfield, and every one of these is in widespread use. Although Caulfield’s slang is rich and colourful, it, of course, being slang, often fails at precise communication in terms of explicature, and the addressee is left to calculate the implicature. Thus, Caulfield’s "crap" is used in seven different ways. “Crap” can mean foolishness, as in

31.     all that David Copperfield kind of crap.

Or it can implicate “a mere messy matter,” as in

32.     I spilled some crap all over my gray flannel.

Or it can even implicate “a merely miscellaneous matter,” as in:

33.     I was putting on my galoshes and crap.

“Crap” can curiously also carry its basic literal meaning, as per explicature, to wit: animal excreta, as in

34.     There did not look like there was anything in Central Park except dog crap.

But “crap” can be used as an adjective meaning anything generally UNfavorable, as in:

35.     The show was on the crappy side. (+> if you want to KNOW the truth).

Caulfield also uses “crap” in idiomatic phrases, such as:

36.     to be a lot of crap.

37.     to shoot the crap.

and

38.     to chuck the crap.

all to mean 'to be untrue, or phony’. But Caulfield can also use “to shoot the crap” to mean simply 'to chat,' with no connotation of untruth, as in

39.     I certainly wouldn't have minded shooting the crap with old Phoebe for a while.

Holden's slang use of "crazy" is somewhat imprecise in its explicature – if its implicature is rich.

40.     That drives me crazy.

implicates that Caulfield violently DISlikes something. Yet:

41.     to be crazy about

something implicates just the opposite. In the same way, to be “killed” by something can mean that he was emotionally affected either favourably:

42.     That story just about killed me.

or unfavorably, as in:

43.     Then she turned her back on me again. It nearly killed me.

This use of “kill” is yet another of Caulfield’s favourite slang expressions. Caulfield often uses in the stock phrase:

44.     “It killed me.

with no connection to the necessarily absurd, as has been claimed by non-Griceians. Caulfield may use ‘kill’ with reference to his beloved Phoebe. The expression simply indicates a high degree of emotion-any kind. It is hazardous to conclude that any of Caulfield's slang has a precise and consistent meaning or function. It is all left to the implicature of the moment. Caulfield, for instance, appends the adjective “old” to almost every character, real or fictional, mentioned in “The Catcher in the Rye”, from the hated

45.     old Maurice

to

46.     old Peter Lorre

or

47.     old Phoebe.

and even

48.     old Jesus.

The only Griceian (i.e. rational) pattern that can be discovered in Caulfield’s implicature of the adjective “old” is that Caulfield usually uses it only after he has previously mentioned the character. Only then does Caulfield feel free to append “old.” All we can conclude from Caulfield’s slang is that it is typical slang: versatile, expressive and imprecise (as Timothy Williamson has it in  his “Vagueness”), and often crude.  Holden has many favourite slang expressions which he overuses. In one interesting passage, Caulfield admits to his abuse:

49.     ‘Boy!’ I said. I also say ‘Boy!’ quite a lot. Partly because I have a lousy vocabulary, and partly because I act quite young for my age sometimes.

But if Caulfield’s slang shows the typically vocabulary of an educated person, this becomes more obvious when we focus on Caulfield’s choice of adjectives and adverbs. Caulfield’s choice of adjectives and adverbs is indeed narrow, with a constant repetition of a few favourite words -- “lousy,” “pretty,” “crumby,” “terrific, “quite,” “old,” and “stupid” -- all used, as is the habit of the vernacular, with little regard to any specific meaning or implicature. Most of the nouns which are qualified with “stupid,” for example, can hardly in a logical framework be called ‘ignorant,’ as, as we have seen, “old,” before a proper noun, has little to do with age. Another respect in which Caulfield is correct in accusing himself of having a 'lousy vocabulary' (as per the quotation above) is evidenced in the ease with which he falls into what Grice would have as a figure of speech. We have already seen that Caulfield’s most used simile is the worn and meaningless “as hell” (as in “cold as hell”). But Caulfield’s often-repeated

50.     like a madman.

and

51.     like a bastard.

are also unrelated to their literal meaning or explicature. Even Caulfield’s non-habitual figures of speech are obvious at the explicatural, if not at the implicature level. Consider a few examples:

52.     sharp as a tack.

53.     hot as a firecracker.

54.     laughed like a hyena.

55.     I know old Jane like a book.

56.     drove off like a bat out of hell.

57.     I began to feel like a horse's ass.

58.     blind as a bat.

59.     I know Central Park like the back of my hand.

For Grice, conversation must be efficient – at the explicatural level. So, as repetitious as Caulfield's vocabulary may be, it is nevertheless, highly effective in terms of Grice’s account (“the purpose of conversation is to influence others.”). For example, when Caulfield piles one adjective upon another, a strong power of invective is often the result. Some clear illustrations:

60.     He was a goddam^stupid^moron.

61.     Get your dirty^stinking^moron knees off my chest.

62.     You are a dirty^stupid^sonuvab*tch^of^a^moron.

And his limited vocabulary can also be used for good comic effect via implicature. Caulfield’s constant repetition of identical expressions in countless widely different situations is often hilariously funny. But all of the Griceian humour in Caulfield’s procedures does not come from its alleged un-imaginative quality. Quite the contrary, some of his figures of speech and implicatures are entirely original. And these are inspired, dramatically effective, and terribly funny. As always, Salinger's Caulfield is basically typical, with a strong overlay of the individual. Some examples:

63.     He started handling my exam paper LIKE it was a turd or something.

64.     He put my goddam paper down then and looked at me LIKE he'd just beaten the hell out of me in ping-pong or something.

65.     That guy Morrow was about as sensitive AS a goddam toilet seat.

66.     Old Marty was LIKE dragging the Statue of Liberty around the floor.

Another aspect in which Holden's language is typical is that it shows the general characteristic of adaptability, apparently strengthened by his teen-age lack of restraint. It is very easy for Caulfield to turn a noun into an adjective, with the simple addition of a “-y”: 

67.     pervert-y

68.     Christmass-y

69.     vomit-y-looking

70.     whor-y-looking

71.     hoodlum-y-looking

72.     show-off-y

73.     flit-y-looking

74.     dump-y-looking.

75.     pimp-y

76.     snobb-y

and

77.     fist-y

Caulfield’s language shows a versatile combining ability. Some examples:

78.     They gave Sally this little blue butt-twitcher of a dress to wear.

79.     That magazine was some little cheerer upper.

Perhaps the most interesting aspect of the adaptability of Caulfield's idiosyncratic procedures is his ability to use a noun as an adverb, as in:

80.     She sings it very Dixieland and whorehouse, and it doesn't sound at all mushy.

Caulfield shares, in general, the repetitive vocabulary which is typical. But as there are exceptions in his figures of speech. So are there exceptions in his vocabulary itself, in his stock of expressions (Cfr. Searle, “Meaning and expression”). An intelligent, well-read – as he says

81.     I am quite illiterate. But I read a lot.

and educated person, Caulfield possesses, and can use when he wants to, many words which are many a cut above basic English, including:

82.     ostracized

83.     exhibitionist

84.     unscrupulous

85.     conversationalist

86.     psychic

and

87.     bourgeois

Often Caulfield seems to choose his words consciously, in an effort to communicate to his addressee clearly and properly, as in such phrases as:

88.     lose my virginity

89.     relieve myself

90.     an alcoholic.

Upon occasion, he also uses the more vulgar terms:

91.     to give someone the time

92.     to take a leak

or

93.     booze hound.

Much of Caulfield’s humour arises, in fact, from his habit of expressing himself on more than one level at the same time.  Thus, we have such phrases as:

94.     They give guys the ax quite frequently at Pency.

95.     It has a very good academic rating, Pency.

Both utterances show a colloquial idiom, but with an overlay of consciously selected words. Such a conscious choice of expression seems to indicate that Salinger, in his attempt to create a realistic character in Caulfield, wants to make Caulfield aware of his idiosyncratic utterances. Another piece of evidence that Holden is conscious of his idiosyncratic procedures and, more, realizes a difficulty in communication, is found in his habit of direct repetition – an apparent flout to Grice’s “Do not be more informative than required”. Consider:

96.     She likes me a lot. I mean, she’s quite fond of me.

97.     She can be very snotty sometimes. She can be *quite* snotty.

Sometimes the repetition is exact: 

98.     He was a very nervous guy. I MEAN: he *was* a very nervous guy.

99.     I sort of missed them. I MEAN: I sort of missed them.

Sometimes, Caulfield stops specifically to interpret slang terms, as when he wants to communicate the fact that Allie liked Phoebe: 

100.  She killed Allie, too. I MEAN: he liked her, too.

There is still more direct evidence that Holden is conscious of his idiosyncratic procedures. Many of his comments to his addressee are concerned with what Grice would have as “manner of expression.”  Caulfield is aware, for example, of the 'phony' quality of many expressions, such as:

101.  grand

102.  prince

103.  traveling incognito

104.  little girls' room

105.  licorice stick

or

106.  angels.

Holden is also conscious, of course, of the existence of 'taboo words.' Caulfield makes a point of mentioning that the girl from Seattle repeatedly asked him to

107.  Watch your language, if you do not mind.

and that his mother told Phoebe not to say 'lousy'. When the prostitute says

108.  Like fun you are.

Caulfield comments:

109.  It was a funny thing to say. It sounded like a real kid. You would think a prostitute AND ALL would say ‘Like HELL you are’ or ‘Cut the crap’ instead of 'LIKE FUN YOU ARE.’

In what Grice calls “grammar,” or syntax (in “Vacuous Names”) too, as in vocabulary – or ‘expression repertoire’, as Grice would have it, Caulfield possesses certain self-consciousness. Caulfield is, in fact, not only aware of the existence of 'grammatical errors,' but knows the social taboos that accompany them. For example, Caulfield is disturbed by a friend who is ashamed of his parents' grammar, and he reports that his teacher, Antolini, warned him about picking up

110.  just enough education to hate people who say ‘It's a secret between he and I’.

Caulfield is typical enough to violate (or as Grice would prefer, flout) the grammar rules, even though he knows of their social importance.  Caulfield’s most common rule violation is the misuse of

111.  lie

and

112.  lay.

But Caulfield is also somewhat careless about relative pronouns:

113.  about a traffic cop that falls in love

the double negative:

114.  I hardly did not even know I was doing it.

the perfect tenses, as in:

115.  I would woke him up.

extra, otiose, in Griceian parlance, words, as in:

116.  like as if all you ever did at Pency was play polo all the time.

Or pronoun number, as in:

117.  It is pretty disgusting to watch somebody picking their nose.

Or pronoun position, as in:

118.  I and this friend of mine, Mal Brossard.

More remarkable, however, than the instances of grammar rule violations is Caulfield's relative 'correctness.'  Caulfield is always, as Grice would say, “intelligible,” and is even 'correct' in many usually difficult utterances. Grammatically speaking, Caulfield’s language seems to point up the fact that language is the only subject in which he was not failing. It is interesting to note how much more 'correct' Holden's speech is than that of Huck Finn. But then Holden is educated, and since the time of Huck there had been sixty-seven years of authoritarian schoolmarms working on the likes of Caulfield. Caulfield has, in fact, been over-taught, so that he uses many 'hyper-correct' forms. Some examples:

119.  I used to play tennis with he and Mrs. Antolini quite frequently.

120.  She would give Allie or I a punch.

121.  I and Allie used to take her to the park with us.

122.  I think I probably woke he and his wife up.

Now that we have examined several aspects of Holden's expression-repertoire and syntax, it would be well to look at a few examples of how he puts these elements together into fuller utterances, with an effect for implicature. The _structure_ of Caulfield’s sentences indicates that Salinger thinks of “The Catcher in the Rye” in terms of spoken speech. Holden's faulty structure is quite common and typical in vocal expression. E.g.: the afterthought in:

123.  It has a very good academic rating, Pency does.

Or the repetition in:

124.  Where I lived at Pency, I lived in the Ossenburger Memorial Wing of the new dorms.

There are other indications that Caulfield’s speech is vocal. In many places, Salinger mildly imitates spoken speech. Sentences such as:

125.  You could tell old Spencer’d got a big bang out of buying it.

Or

126.  I’d’ve killed him.

are repeated throughout “The Catcher in the Rye.” Sometimes, too, emphasized expressions, or even parts of expressions, are italicised, as in:

127.  Now shut up, Holden. God damn it -- I'm *warning* ya.

This is often done with good effect, imitating quite perfectly the rhythms of speech, as in the typical:

128.  I practically sat down on her lap, as a matter of fact.

129.  Then she really started to cry, and the next thing I knew, I was kissing her all over-anywhere-her eyes, her nose, her forehead, her eyebrows and all, her ears-her whole face except her mouth AND ALL.

The range of implicatures in “The Catcher in the Rye” is, as we have seen, an authentic artistic rendering of a type of informal, colloquial, register. It is strongly typical, yet often somewhat individual; it is crude and slangy and imprecise, imitative yet imaginative, and affected toward standardization. Authentic and interesting as this language may be, it must be remembered that it exists, in The Catcher in the Rye, as only one part of an artistic achievement.  The language was not written for itself, but as a part of a greater whole – or Grice’s “meaning.” Like the great Twain work with which it is often compared, a Griceian study of the implicatures in “The Catcher min the Rye” repays. In both “Finn” and “Catcher”, 1884 and 1951 speak to us in the idiom and accent of two travelers who have earned their passports to immortality – or something!

REFERENCES

Austin, J. L. Biscuit conditionals.

Grice, H. P. (1938) Negation. In The Grice Collection, BANC MSS 90/135c

n  Studies in the way of words. Harvard University Press.

Nowell-Smith, P. H. Contextual implication.

Salinger, J. D. The Catcher in the Rye.

Speranza, Join the Grice Club!

Strawson, P. F. Truth-value gaps.

Urmson, J. O. Parentheticals.