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A review by audreyry
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
4.0
Considering that this is a book I was forced to read in school— twice—, I liked it a lot.
Honestly, in short, this is a story about bad people doing bad things, and rich people getting away with it.
To quote a classmate, “Gatsby’s crazy, Tom’s a racist, and Nick is annoying.” As a reader we’re bound to dislike each of the characters, whether it’s their cruelty, carelessness, hypocrisy, or dishonesty that eventually strikes a nerve.
But I think what makes this book so good is the fact that this was done on purpose. It wastes no time creating excuses for its characters, rather, it serves to demonstrate the moral corruption that exists underneath the glitter and riches in all of the people that we read about.
Myrtle’s death, Wilson’s bereavement, and Gatsby’s murder all demonstrate the futility of seeking an American Dream.
Daisy and Tom’s unscathed disappearance back into their wealth— and presumably still very imperfect marriage—, by contrast, exemplifies that wealth (and justice) are distributed unevenly, but happiness eludes even those who have money.
I might be seen as a downer for this, but I think that’s the point of the story. People have flaws, and they get caught up in them, and the more they obsess over what they want and what they don’t have, the less happy they’ll be.
The last line of The Great Gatsby is famous, but I think that the line before it gets overlooked:
“Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And one fine morning——“
Gatsby died. Gatsby spent his life chasing an ever-receding conception of the future, never really achieving the happiness— the end goal— that he wanted. We can stretch our arms out further and run faster and try harder each tomorrow, but it gets further away each time.
We can waste our lives away chasing something impossible, perhaps something that we think will finally grant us happiness, but one day, we die. And The Great Gatsby dares us to question— quite fatalistically— what the point of it all is.
Honestly, in short, this is a story about bad people doing bad things, and rich people getting away with it.
To quote a classmate, “Gatsby’s crazy, Tom’s a racist, and Nick is annoying.” As a reader we’re bound to dislike each of the characters, whether it’s their cruelty, carelessness, hypocrisy, or dishonesty that eventually strikes a nerve.
But I think what makes this book so good is the fact that this was done on purpose. It wastes no time creating excuses for its characters, rather, it serves to demonstrate the moral corruption that exists underneath the glitter and riches in all of the people that we read about.
Myrtle’s death, Wilson’s bereavement, and Gatsby’s murder all demonstrate the futility of seeking an American Dream.
Daisy and Tom’s unscathed disappearance back into their wealth— and presumably still very imperfect marriage—, by contrast, exemplifies that wealth (and justice) are distributed unevenly, but happiness eludes even those who have money.
I might be seen as a downer for this, but I think that’s the point of the story. People have flaws, and they get caught up in them, and the more they obsess over what they want and what they don’t have, the less happy they’ll be.
The last line of The Great Gatsby is famous, but I think that the line before it gets overlooked:
“Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And one fine morning——“
Gatsby died. Gatsby spent his life chasing an ever-receding conception of the future, never really achieving the happiness— the end goal— that he wanted. We can stretch our arms out further and run faster and try harder each tomorrow, but it gets further away each time.
We can waste our lives away chasing something impossible, perhaps something that we think will finally grant us happiness, but one day, we die. And The Great Gatsby dares us to question— quite fatalistically— what the point of it all is.