Saturday, 31 August 2013

The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald



Not every book has to be a great sprawling thousand-page lump of printed paper – on the contrary, many of the best works of writing are short things that can easily be read in a couple of days. The Great Gatsby is one of them, and I’m going to have to say that I come out fully in favour of this thin slip of a novel, not least because I could easily send it somewhere in the post. This classic tale of romance, scheming and decadence amongst the 1920s New York aristocracy, contained in something that is only barely long enough to be considered a proper novel. What’s not to love?

The book itself is just under a century old, and from what I understand it’s a compulsory part of most English Literature reading-lists; I on the other hand never did any of that, and so have arrived at the thing relatively fresh. I won’t be doing any literary discussion stuff, as I think reading too much into any piece of art tends to overcomplicate and completely spoil it. No, I’ll just be sticking to the question of whether it’s actually any good to read.
The answer is ‘yes’, by the way, just so you know.

Like I said before, it’s really short – something you can get through in a weekend or less, but certainly feels substantial enough to provoke thought and feeling. The story is told by some narrator whose name I can barely remember, as he tells of his experiences when he moved next door to the mansion of Jay Gatsby, an aloof figure who is legendary for holding grand, drunken parties every week. As the narrator becomes friends with Gatsby, we discover the plot to essentially be a classic love-triangle: Gatsby’s in love with the narrator’s distant cousin Daisy, an old flame of his who has since married a total dick-head called Tom Buchanan. There are a few other plot points at play, and alongside Gatsby’s single-minded obsession with regaining the affections of Daisy are things such as: Tom’s affair with a mistress, the narrator’s half-hearted quest to uncovering the truth about Gatsby’s past, and the narrator’s budding romance with a friend of Daisy’s, called Jordan Baker. 

There’s a fair bit going on, but at no point was I left confused about what was going on. The reason this book is worth reading is because F. Scott Fitzgerald is really a very good writer. There’s no unnecessary frippery to get in the way of the pacing of the story, yet at no point does it feel too short, or underwritten. Each of the characters are complex and well developed, making remembering them and their part in the story no real obstacle. We’re never left in any doubt whether it’s Gatsby talking, or Tom, or Daisy, or even Jordan Baker; each has their own character and role within the story. The narrator himself (whom I cannot call the protagonist, because clearly Gatsby is the protagonist; the other guy just tells the story whilst playing a passive side-role in the narrative) is a good, well fleshed out character with a personality distinct from any of the other people in the book. Even the minor unnamed person referred to as ‘the owl-eyed man’, a drunken patron of Gatsby parties who makes a small appearance towards the end of the book, is also a brilliant and memorable feature of The Great Gatsby, worthy of praise for his contributions to the overall plot, pacing and feel of the story. He's definately one of my absolute favourite characters of all time, is 'the owl-eyed man'.

The locations and situations in the book are equally worthy of praise. Despite the low word-count, this novel never fails to build a picture in the reader’s head of the places we visit or whatever is going on. The parties at Gatsby’s mansion show us the lows to which the disgustingly wealthy end up, enacting one of the most truly deplorable drink-driving incidents ever written about, but nevertheless there does seem to be something appealing about the whole thing. It’s small wonder that so many people turn up at the place; after all, most people love a good, drunken rave. Also, while the hob-nobbing of the interwar New York aristocracy might not seem like the most thrilling setting or subject for a novel, let’s not forget that this was kind of Fitzgerald’s speciality, and his writing makes even this seem alive and interesting to us readers a century later. The characters of Gatsby and ‘the owl-eyed man’ are leagues better than anyone found in a Dan Brown or James Herbert novel, and I was more interested to found out about Gatsby’s past and whether his attempts to reconnect with Daisy worked out than I was to finally find out whatever the hell was going on in any Alistair Maclean action-thriller.

In conclusion The Great Gatsby is perfect, and there’s no excuse for you not to have read it. If you read it at school and hated it (as English Literature classes tended to affect my own feelings towards books, in case I haven’t been clear), then give it another chance and read it afresh, as you might be surprised. And if you haven’t read it yet, then this is an oversight that can easily be corrected.  After all, as I’ve said throughout this little review, it’s short enough and easy enough to read very quickly – for it ain’t no Heart of Darkness, which was about the same length but nowhere near as accessible to the reader. No, this one is actually designed to be read by actual people.

One last point to mention; I have not watched any film adaptation of this book, and certainly not the recent one with Leonardo DiCaprio. The mark of a perfect book is that it is genuinely impossible to make a better film adaptation, and I do not believe that anyone could make a film that better captures the story or the themes than Fitzgerald has done with this own book. It just can’t be done. So what’s the point in wasting money and time on an inferior adaptation, when the book is so good, and so near-effortless to read and appreciate? Go on, read the book. And if you’ve read it, then there’s no actual point in watching any movies about it.

Bibliography – ‘cause, I remembered to do one this time
Fitzgerald, F. Scott. The Great Gatsby. Penguin Group: St. Ives. (1994 this version, though it was first published in 1926, as it happens)

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