The Great Gatsby; a re-reading & an (unoriginal, I am sure) opinion...

I re-read this book recently and I found it interesting how the experience as an adult was completely different from the experience as a teenager. I read The Great Gatsby in high school. I had an excellent teacher who taught us all about the imagery and the darkness behind the text, but reading it now – in my late 20s – I was shocked to realize how much I didn’t remember of the actual text. Sure, I remembered the eyes of T. J. Eckleburg and how they might represent God’s ever watchful gaze. I remembered the distant green light being Gatsby’s desire and unreachable dreams. But what I didn’t remember were more obvious statements…like the misogyny. The abuse. The manipulation. The role that women play as a whole. And the fact that I did not like Nick at all.

The Great Gatsby is one of the great American novels, right? Rightly so, considering it’s lived and thrived across the years and continues to be taught in today’s classrooms. But man…Fitzgerald sure knew how to write a conflicted character. Let’s just break it down for a minute…

Nick: a lost boy who is searching for some kind of meaning and profession away from his hometown and everyone he knows, falls into a strange and hazy friendship with Jay Gatsby, who shows him that the world is not all black and white. Nick’s perception is thrown into question any time Gatsby is present.

Gatbsy: for all intents and purposes Gatsby is a fake man, conjured from what he believes Daisy wants and is accustomed to, living a lie and hiding his past, trying desperately to form his future with a woman who he loves (holy run-on sentence). Ultimately, the discretions of her own husbands causes Gatsby’s death. How twisted is that?

Daisy: oh, to get me started on Daisy. We’ve all loved and lost, right? Daisy has always loved Gatsby, surely thought him dead when courting with Tom. But her wishy-washy sense of self drove me bananas. Thinking she knows what she wants is only part of the façade, because her will is the malleable clay between Gatsby and Tom’s fingers. She knows nothing of what she wants, and is only a pawn in the greater scheme of things. I felt really bad for her daughter, but we won’t go there.

Tom: an actual jerk who can’t stand to see his wife commit the same adultery he so frequently incites.

Honestly, I think I have to say that my favorite character in the novel is actually Jordan, who alone is the only steady constant in the pages. Though she and Nick fall apart, she’s always been firm in her own life, in the life of the others, and is a calming presence to a somewhat chaotic summer.

I don’t think that I can go into the immense imagery and darkness I before referenced, because I don’t really remember so much. So this will more than likely be a superficial post, for what it’s worth. I mainly just needed to get down in words what I was feeling, which was conflicted. I very much enjoyed re-reading The Great Gatsby. Not because it was assigned to me, and not because it’s a classic that many people adore. I enjoyed not stripping it down. I enjoyed actually getting into the story. As a kid (young adult), I always wondered – were the great novelists of the past actually trying to weave symbolism and metaphor into their writing, or is that all an interpretation of later generations? Are the blue curtains a representation of depression, oppression, etc…or are they just some damn blue curtains? Is the green light supposed to represent Gatsby’s desire, or is it just the light at the end of a dock? Without being able to ask Fitzgerald himself, I don’t think I’ll ever know. Maybe it’s written out there somewhere. “I, F. Scott Fitzgerald, hereby state that this story is steeped in symbolism. Have at it, folks.” That would be nice, wouldn’t it?

Surely, if I had any readers here, I would be corrected on some of this. And I would be welcome to that. I’ve never stated that I am a professional at this. This post is simply a matter of opinion. But I do wish that I could remember more of what I had learned…what, like a decade ago? Man, that’s freaky. A decade…

Maybe one day I’ll be able to write great literary analysis pieces of the books I read, but for now this is just for fun. Maybe there’s someone out there who needs their opinion validated and reads this and thinks, “ah. Thank you. I’m not alone.” Maybe that’s all I’m asking for. Maybe I just read a book, felt feelings about it, and wrote them down. Whatever it is, there you have it. I’m done rambling, and am already started on the next classic in the list: Anna Karenina. I’m loving it (but it’ll probably take me all year to read it, like IT.)

xoxo