Holden alludes to The Return of the Native—a famous bildungsroman by Thomas Hardy—while hyperbolizing about how intensely he feels about Ring Lardner's comic plays. As he lies on his bed reading in his new red hunting hat, he explains:
Then this girl gets killed, because she’s always speeding. That story just about killed me. What I like best is a book that’s at least funny once in a while. I read a lot of classical books, like The Return of the Native and all, and I like them, and I read a lot of war books and mysteries and all, but they don’t knock me out too much.
By invoking The Return of the Native, a novel centered around the personal growth and development of an intelligent young person, Salinger is subtly connecting Holden’s journey to Hardy's story of fatalistic self-discovery in an unfeeling world. Just as Eustacia Vye, Hardy’s protagonist, is torn between good and bad choices, Holden struggles with his morality and identity. The setting of The Return of the Native is also just as important as New York is to The Catcher In The Rye. Both Holden and Eustacia feel a painful and irresistible connection to the extraordinary, storied places where they grew up. Both characters also feel like these settings are stifling them.
Holden also uses hyperbole here when he talks about Ring Lardner’s plays, saying that a story about a girl getting killed because she’s always speeding "just about killed" him. This exaggeration refers to the impact the story had on him, making him laugh uproariously even though a character was literally “killed” in the scene. Similarly, when Holden says books "knock him out," he’s using hyperbole to stress the profound effect the right book can have on him.
As he watches Bernice Krebs dance at the Lavender Room, Holden uses hyperbole to express his fluctuating and intense emotions toward girls:
And when she turned around, her pretty little butt twitched so nice and all. She knocked me out. I mean it. I was about half in love with her by the time we sat down. That’s the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty, even if they’re not much to look at, or even if they’re sort of stupid, you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. Girls. Jesus Christ. They can drive you crazy. They really can.
Holden’s claims that Bernice “knocked him out” by dancing—especially as he’d previously said she wasn’t much to look at—points to his raging hormones and the powerful and immediate effect that even minor gestures can have on his feelings. He feels overwhelmed by romantic thoughts when he sees “her pretty little butt” moving around as she dances. It doesn’t matter how he felt before; he knows that any girl could “drive him crazy” if she did “something pretty” at the right moment. The final exclamation he gives here is almost exasperated, as though Holden is frustrated with the almost magical power his sexuality has over his thoughts and impulses.
In this passage, Holden employs a metaphor to express his frustration with holding hands with most of the girls his age he knows:
Most girls if you hold hands with them, their goddam hand dies on you, or else they think they have to keep moving their hand all the time, as if they were afraid they’d bore you or something.
There are two types of young female hand-holders, according to Holden. The metaphor Holden uses here describes first one and then the other. One sort, he says, has hands that “goddamn die” when held. This expression illustrates how these girls’ hands become limp and unresponsive, signaling disinterest in him. On the other hand, there are girls whose hands are in constant movement, as if they "think they have to keep moving their hand all the time." Although these hands aren’t “dead,” they aren’t much better, and this statement points to his annoyance that they think they need to impress or entertain him.
Overall, this remark emphasizes Holden's irritation and discomfort with the superficiality of these interactions. Most girls, in his opinion, aren’t holding hands with him for the right reasons. He wants more authentic and meaningful connection than the ones he’s used to getting, and he thinks that hand-holding technique is emblematic of this issue.
Holden uses smell imagery and hyperbolic description to invoke the comforting, enveloping auditorium at the Museum of Natural History:
[...] [T]he inside of that auditorium had such a nice smell. It always smelled like it was raining outside, even if it wasn’t, and you were in the only nice, dry, cosy place in the world.
Holden loves the auditorium, and thinking about it spurs some of the most romantic associations for him that the Museum evokes. Holden recalls that the auditorium’s smell was "like it was raining outside, even if it wasn’t.” The imagery of smell in this passage evokes a sense of being deliciously inside when it’s bad outside, sheltered from the weather. Even if it isn’t raining outside, the auditorium feels so safe and inviting that, by comparison, it might as well be.
This passage is also an example of hyperbole, as Holden describes being in the auditorium as feeling like “you were in the only nice, dry, cosy place in the world.” The hyperbole draws the reader’s attention to the sense of refuge Holden feels here. Although, of course, there are safer places “in the world” than public libraries, to Holden it’s the ultimate sanctuary. He often feels anxious and depressed in other settings, but the library makes him feel welcomed and safe.
Left alone in the Egyptian tomb at the Museum of Art, Holden sees the phrase "Fuck You" written on the glass underneath one of the mummy exhibits. Disheartened by this, Holden thinks about how even the most peaceful scenarios in his world can be interrupted by the awfulness of other people:
That’s the whole trouble. You can’t ever find a place that’s nice and peaceful, because there isn’t any. You may think there is, but once you get there, when you’re not looking, somebody’ll sneak up and write “Fuck you” right under your nose. Try it sometime. I think, even, if I ever die, and they stick me in a cemetery, and I have a tombstone and all, it’ll say “Holden Caulfield” on it, and then what year I was born and what year I died, and then right under that it’ll say “Fuck you.” I’m positive, in fact.
In this passage, Holden uses pathos and hyperbole to invoke the reader's sympathy through his gloomy predictions about his tombstone. When an author appeals to a reader’s sense of pathos, they are trying to make the reader feel an emotion in order to support a claim they’re making. Here, Holden states that one "can’t ever find a place that’s nice and peaceful, because there isn’t any." There’s nowhere that he could be buried, Holden claims, that wouldn’t be quickly ruined by someone defacing it. Holden is feeling pretty disillusioned by this point, and this statement reflects his bleak outlook on the future.
What's more, Holden goes on to amplify this through hyperbole, adding that he can’t imagine a place in the world where one could avoid someone carrying out this kind of defacement. He’s gloomily saying that he thinks the negative, “spoiling” aspect of life will always find a way to disrupt any sense of tranquility he can find.
The exaggerated prediction he makes about his tombstone furthers his point. He imagines that even in death, his grave marker would read "Holden Caulfield" along with his birth and death years. This seems normal. However, he goes on to say that he thinks someone would add "Fuck you" right below, preventing him from escaping disrespect and hostility even in death. Holden's insistence that this defacement is inevitable—"I’m positive, in fact"—is funny in this scenario, but the statement itself is painfully bitter. He’s trying to elicit sympathy from his audience for what he sees as his relentless misfortune in an unkind world.