The Great Gatsby: The Authorized Text (original 1925; edition 1925)

Excellent read, well written and put together. Characters well drawn and marvellous and interesting. A story about life in New York, the attitudes of the rich and sadness of a young man with a goal he didn't quite get to. Themes of friendship too, positive friendships and superficial friendships. ( )

“There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams -- not through her own fault, but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart.”

Nick Caraway is living on his own, trying to make his way in the world when he meets his next door neighbor, the mysterious Jay Gatsby, a millionaire with a secret. Gatsby invites Caraway into his world, filled with the rich and careless, consisting of colossal parties and endless lounging. Within this world Nick finds his cousin, Daisy Buchanan and her poor excuse of a husband, Tom. Daisy and Jay seem to share some unspoken connection that interferes with her marriage and put the group dynamic in jeopardy.

I was disappointed with this book. I had built it up in my mind as a literary masterpiece and had high expectations. Prior to this I had never read Fitzgerald but he was often spoken of alongside Hemingway and appeared to highly regarded. Previous to this I had only read one other book written in the 1920s, P.G. Wodehouse’s ”The Inimitable Jeeves” and loved it! It was light, witty, humourous and most of all, felt modern. In contrast,”The Great Gatsby” was plodding and bland and boring. It defied expectations by completely letting me down, despite some great character description.

None of these characters were likeable and perhaps Fitzgerald did this on purpose but it didn’t endear me to the book.

My main problem with the book was that none of the characters were likeable, leading to my disinterest in their welfare. I wasn’t concerned about their survival or development and I’m not sure if that wasn’t the point. Gatsby is mysterious for the majority of the story, leaving us with Nick, an ethereal narrator; Daisy, a ditzy flake; Tom, a cheating moron; and Jordan, a navel-gazing maniac. Also problematically, I didn’t see what was so special about Daisy in the present. She seemed shallow, self-absorbed and completely clueless. This made it hard to believe that Gatsby was blind to this and only saw the version of Daisy that he wanted to but I suppose love blinds people to others’ faults. Personally I would have preferred a character to latch onto and root for but even the narrator, Nick Carraway was rather a wet rag and boring when compared to Gatsby. This left no one for myself, the reader, to identify with, making the book feel cold and distant. I understand the motif of the book well enough but I didn’t enjoy how I got there. The story may be full of symbolism but it’s an unhappy journey to the end, leaving the reader with nothing but a depressing message.

After this I’m not sure I would read another Fitzgerald book. At the least, if I had to choose between him and Wodehouse, I would choose Wodehouse every time. I don’t mind if there’s a message in a story but it should at least be enjoyable to get there. And I don’t mean that every story should end happily. I’m perfectly fine with tragedy but I want a meaty read with a variety of interesting characters and a good plot. Gatsby never held my attention for very long and didn’t once take hold of my imagination, making it more a chore than a joy to read. If anything I would steer people towards Wodehouse if they’re looking for a read from this time period and probably wouldn’t recommend this book to anyone. ( )

Finally reading The Great Gatsby in my mid-thirties reminded me a bit of the few times I've met famous movie-stars or celebrities. ‘No no, she was great,’ you assure people afterwards. And then, in a vague tone: ‘I don’t know…she was a lot…shorter than I’d imagined….’

Don't get me wrong, I liked it – I just can't quite work out why so many people consider it (in John Carey's words) ‘the supreme American novel’. I suppose part of the problem is that I have become a little blasé about authors pointing out the obvious limitations and drawbacks of the American Dream, even though most of the examples I can think of were probably copying Fitzgerald when they did it.

What does lift it, though, and what makes it such a pleasure to read, is Fitzgerald's prose style, which allows for some very sensitive characterisation, and which also has a tendency to break out into beautifully-crafted flashes of melancholy. Stuff like this, when Nick's gazing out of the window during a party:

Yet high over the city our line of yellow windows must have contributed their share of human secrecy to the casual watcher in the darkening streets….

You get a sense of this from the first page, when Nick tells you he's been ‘privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men’ – the kind of phrase that makes me rub my hands with the knowledge that I'm going to enjoy what's coming up. This atmosphere of brooding, half-drunken melancholy – a sense of the ‘enchanted metropolitan twilight’ – is everywhere in the novel, and indeed as I write this paragraph out I have an increasing feeling of just how American this atmosphere is, intimately tied to the jazz music which is such an essential background detail here. (In all of this lost moody Americanness, it reminds me very much of On The Road; and isn't Nick Carraway just exactly who Sal Paradise would be, ten years older? With all due recognition of the different time periods involved.)

Despite this bluesy melancholy, the writing is never loose, and sometimes Fitzgerald surprises you with phrases of controlled efficiency:

Every Friday five crates of oranges and lemons arrived from a fruiterer in New York – every Monday these same oranges and lemons left his back door in a pyramid of pulpless halves.

This is almost Chandleresque. All these neat, moody descriptions become a way to build up the characterisation – Gatsby himself, for instance, is wonderfully described as someone who ‘dispensed starlight to casual moths’ – and the result is that everyone in the book seems layered and believable. Daisy in particular I found realistically baffling – she reminds me of so many girls I chased at so many parties, you feel like you don't really know them, they are sort of sexy and irritating all at once – FitzG captures it brilliantly.

‘These things excite me so,’ she whispered. ‘If you want to kiss me any time during the evening, Nick, just let me know and I'll be glad to arrange it for you. Just mention my name. Or present a green card.’

Funnily enough poor old Jimmy Gatz ended up being the person I was least interested in – I was too busy staring with appalled fascination at the rest of the cast. Especially the narrator, Nick, who tells us more than once, perhaps rather too eagerly, what an honest person he is. Just before the very beautiful closing paragraphs, he has his little showdown with Jordan:

‘I'm thirty,’ I said. ‘I'm five years too old to lie to myself and call it honour.’

But that is itself another lie – the sort you tell yourself when you're thirty. ( )

The prose, the prose!!! ( )

Plot:
Nick Carraway decided to get into the bond business. He moves into a little house just outside of New York and reconnects with his cousin Daisy who lives nearby after getting married to Tom who comes from a whole lot of old money. Nick’s next door neighbor is a man called Gatsby, who is filthy rich as well, but from new money. Gatsby celebrates grand parties every weekend. When Nick is invited to one, he finds out that Gatsby and Daisy are somehow connected.

I pretty much loved Gatsby. It’s beautifully written and tells an interesting, many-layered story. And you can read it pretty quickly.

Read more on my blog: http://kalafudra.wordpress.com/2013/05/22/the-great-gatsby-f-scott-fitzgerald/ ( )