The Great Gatsby

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald (1925) It had been some time since I’d first read this book—so long ago that I didn’t remember much about it. I did remember that I didn’t care for it much, so I thought it might be fun to read now, again, as a person who has gone through a few of the things the characters in the story are going through. One might say that personal experience is integral to at least a partial understanding. What I like best about this book is how there are five main characters—not all equal, but in their portraits painted, pretty close—and the way they interact with each other. It creates a kind of diabolical puzzle, their interrelations. The most pleasurable thing is the way each is affected upon gaining knowledge of each other and their ongoing relations with each other—the subtle changes in the way they act, and how they’re each propelled into the next action. It’s both typical and surprising—sometimes over the top, yet very believable. It’s hard to translate some of the particulars in this story, now nearly 100 years later, though I suppose more of it is universal than should be. New York is to some degree a small, provincial town now, so it likely was back then. Same goes for the grotesque nature of Long Island, and the infinite space/lack of space between the two. Wealth is entirely corrupting, and the automobile is a death wish—no change their, either. Fortunately, by now, however, society has gotten alcohol abuse under control. That’s a bad joke. So, yeah, I guess, same world. What I asked myself is, why is Gatsby so hung up on Daisy, as she’s so obviously an idiot. Is he an idiot, too? That’s one of the things we’re trying to figure out about his mystery. My favorite part of all, surprisingly, is Gatsby’s funeral, in which pretty much no one shows up besides Carraway and one of the drunk guys he remembers from a party—it’s pretty much how I imagine my funeral—because if I’m remembered at all, I’ll be remembered as Mr. No-Friend-to-Anybody—but at least I won’t have suffered the indignity of having had a huge entourage based on my money or perceived wealth.