This 16-years-old jerk really hates phonies on 1950's New York. Boy, does he hate them. He's really bitter and all, about flunking out of school, for one. Sad too. He pent up all this frustration and anger and all. So he spends a whole book complaining about phonies and himself and everything. He really does, no kidding. It's not even very coherent most of the time. Anyway, the thing is, this book really kills me, it really does. It's grand. But he'd hate it if I said that, he really would. And if you read this book, you'll also hate it too. But you'll kind of love it as well. You really would.