2 kinds

All right. I’m very serious, now. If you -  Listen to me, now. If you can’t, or won’t, think of Seymour, then you go right ahead and call in some ignorant psychoanalyst. You just do that. You call in some analyst who’s experienced in adjusting people to the joys of television, and Life magazine every Wednesday, and European travel, and the H-Bomb, and Presidental elections, and the front page of the Times, and the responsibilities of the Westport and Oyster Bay Parent-Teacher Association, and God knows what else that’s gloriously normal – you just do that, and I swear to you, in not more than a year Franny’ll either be in a nut ward or she’ll be wandering off into some goddam desert with a burning cross in her hands.

(…)

‘It seems to me there must be a psychoanalyst holed up somewhere in town who’d be good for Franny – I thought about that last night.’ He grimaced slightly. ‘But I don’t happen to to know of any. For a psychoanalyst to be any good with Franny at all, he’d have to be a pretty peculiar type. I don’t know. He’d have to believe that it was through the grace of God that he’d been inspired to study psychoanalysis in the first place. He’d have to believe that it was through the grace of God that he wasn’t run over by by a goddam truck before he ever even got his license to practice. He’d have to believe that it’s through the grace of God that he has the native intelligence to be able to help his goddam patients at all. I don’t know any good analysts who think along those lines. But that’s the only kind of psychoanalyst who might be able to do Franny any good at all.

 

J.D.Salinger. Franny and Zooey.1955