I just skimmed How to Choose Summer Reading for Students, an appropriate-for-the-Times call for more elitism in kids' reading. It mentions The Catcher in the Rye, which reminded me that I hated it when I was fourteen. I couldn't relate to Holden Caulfield. He was a rich kid at a boarding school, and I didn't have a clue then that I would be living something like his life within a year. I remember his annoyance with his roomie's clipped nails, and I couldn't relate to his fastidiousness: Dad clipped his nails when they bothered him, and therefore, so did I, and why should I care about some prissy kid? I didn't realize this was a prissy kid with psychological problems; all I knew then was that it was a prissy rich kid who was way too full of himself. I got the book at the wrong age. So, self-proclaimed reading guides of the world, shut up and let kids figure out for themselves what they love to read.
PS. Ms. Hollander, The Hunger Games has allegorical strengths that have eluded you, but not its fans—many of whom will go on to read and love The Catcher in the Rye.