The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


Just re-read this book.
It's funny sometimes how timing dictates everything.
When I first read this book at 15, it's story of the decadent, corrupt yet stoic Jay Gatsby irreconcilably holding on to an incorruptible dream meant very little. I don't believe I understood this book or the discussions in class about it. Despite that, it made an impression. Through the years, as life took me through experiences I never expected, I remembered Jay Gatsby and his vision of Daisy.
The image of Daisy in flowing white on a sofa in West Egg on a hot summer's day never really left my mind.
7 years later, today, as I re-read the book, there wasn't a line in that novel that I couldn't relate to.
It was as if the experiences of the last 7 years brought me to the point of understanding the greatness of Jay Gatsby.
Whether in his triumph or tragedy, Jay Gatsby became an every-man of sorts.
The dark side of those things that are considered to be good. Too much of a good thing. The nightmare that lurks within every dream.
I don't really know what I'm writing.
All I can say is that F. Scott Fitzgerald, though he does not inspire joy or beauty, sees events for what they are and shows that to the world on the canvas of a novel with absolute mastery.
A true artist.
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