On Raise High the Roofbeam, Carpenters:

Why is it whenever I read Salinger lately, I have such difficulty putting it down. It's not exactly gripping, page-turning in the ordinary sense. But I often find myself rather lost in it, reading after lunch, and unable to find the right spot to stop. There's a certain relentlessness to its rhythm, and whenever I stop, I find it's often in the middle of movement. Just an ongoing series of feelings and laughs, and curiosity about people, without end until the piece ends completely. So it's a joy to read whilst you are in fact reading it, but the inevitable breaks I take to say, go to work, or, eat or whatever are decidedly unrestive, and I feel somewhat consumed by the experience, which makes me feel a bit out of control for the week or so it takes to read him.