Question: Why should I never be too hasty to judge a book (by its cover or by anything else)? Two reasons: 1) The Great Gatsby, and 2) that other novel that I will be discussing in part 2 of this post. So contrary to my expectations were these two books as to prompt me to question not only my tastes in literature, but also my estimation of one of my favorite writers. When will I ever learn not to decide if I like a book before I even open it? Probably never. Darn.
Anyways, I’ll talk about The Great Gatsby first, and then about that other novel later. I ended up reading The Great Gatsby sort of by accident; I actually went to the library that day on the hunt for a completely different book. As fate would have it, the book I sought proved to be among the missing at my library, and I had to order it from another town. Unwilling to return home empty-handed, I began to wander aimlessly throughout the shelves in search of some little something to tide me over in the meantime. And that’s how I found myself in the “F” section, staring at a copy of The Great Gatsby. Now I’m a little ashamed to confess that what primarily drew me to the novel was its apparent brevity. I didn’t actually expect to like it or anything (I imagined it would be bland and unengaging), I just thought I’d be able to get through it quickly. I guess the idea was to breeze through it and then feel good about myself for having read a classic. Not very admirable, I’ll admit.
The Great Gatsby recounts the summer of 1922 as told by Nick Carraway, a young man who settles on the North Shore of Long Island and gets caught up in the lives of the wealthy, if somewhat shiftless, society that characterized the time and place. I did struggle, in the beginning, to really get into the novel. Maybe it just went right over my head at first, but it seemed to me to be a lot of random details with very little emotional content or plot. I didn’t especially want to read a book that was all atmosphere, no matter how deftly or brilliantly that atmosphere was captured. It was brilliantly crafted, though. The genius and great discipline of Fitzgerald’s prose shines through practically every sentence, such as this little gem:
Anyways, getting back to the setting and atmosphere of the novel for just a moment… I’ve never been to the Hamptons (and I certainly wasn’t there in the ‘20s), but I did, just prior to reading the book, tour the Newport mansion where the 1974 film version was shot. So I already had a full, sensory conception of the backdrop of the novel, which made it that much more of a treat to read. In reading I was drawn in spite of myself into the luxurious-but-not-altogether-savory world of parties, excess, human folly, and human frailty that Fitzgerald captures so well. And while I didn’t necessarily care about the characters ad much as I might do with a more sensationalized novel, I did nevertheless empathize very strongly with them, so real were even their ugliest and most foolish emotions. I suppose I’m still grateful it was a short book, as I don’t think Fitzgerald’s style would sustain a longer novel. Overall, I thoroughly and quite unexpectedly enjoyed The Great Gatsby, a book that turned out to be not at all boring. In part 2, I’ll elaborate on a book that by all rights should have been awesome, but instead turned out to be a total drag.
Anyways, I’ll talk about The Great Gatsby first, and then about that other novel later. I ended up reading The Great Gatsby sort of by accident; I actually went to the library that day on the hunt for a completely different book. As fate would have it, the book I sought proved to be among the missing at my library, and I had to order it from another town. Unwilling to return home empty-handed, I began to wander aimlessly throughout the shelves in search of some little something to tide me over in the meantime. And that’s how I found myself in the “F” section, staring at a copy of The Great Gatsby. Now I’m a little ashamed to confess that what primarily drew me to the novel was its apparent brevity. I didn’t actually expect to like it or anything (I imagined it would be bland and unengaging), I just thought I’d be able to get through it quickly. I guess the idea was to breeze through it and then feel good about myself for having read a classic. Not very admirable, I’ll admit.
The Great Gatsby recounts the summer of 1922 as told by Nick Carraway, a young man who settles on the North Shore of Long Island and gets caught up in the lives of the wealthy, if somewhat shiftless, society that characterized the time and place. I did struggle, in the beginning, to really get into the novel. Maybe it just went right over my head at first, but it seemed to me to be a lot of random details with very little emotional content or plot. I didn’t especially want to read a book that was all atmosphere, no matter how deftly or brilliantly that atmosphere was captured. It was brilliantly crafted, though. The genius and great discipline of Fitzgerald’s prose shines through practically every sentence, such as this little gem:
Her eyebrows had been plucked and then drawn on again at a more rakish angle, but the efforts of nature toward the restoration of the old alignment gave a blurred air to her face.As it turns out, I only found the narrative flow to be bland and disjointed in the very beginning, before the “full picture” of the novel began to emerge and all the seemingly random details began to build upon one another to create a frenzied, tragic, and somewhat pathetic climax. I'm having difficulty articulating exactly what I mean, but I guess you could say that it started out slow but ended up being a pretty intense ride.
Anyways, getting back to the setting and atmosphere of the novel for just a moment… I’ve never been to the Hamptons (and I certainly wasn’t there in the ‘20s), but I did, just prior to reading the book, tour the Newport mansion where the 1974 film version was shot. So I already had a full, sensory conception of the backdrop of the novel, which made it that much more of a treat to read. In reading I was drawn in spite of myself into the luxurious-but-not-altogether-savory world of parties, excess, human folly, and human frailty that Fitzgerald captures so well. And while I didn’t necessarily care about the characters ad much as I might do with a more sensationalized novel, I did nevertheless empathize very strongly with them, so real were even their ugliest and most foolish emotions. I suppose I’m still grateful it was a short book, as I don’t think Fitzgerald’s style would sustain a longer novel. Overall, I thoroughly and quite unexpectedly enjoyed The Great Gatsby, a book that turned out to be not at all boring. In part 2, I’ll elaborate on a book that by all rights should have been awesome, but instead turned out to be a total drag.
No comments:
Post a Comment