Sparkle. Gin. Dazzle. Adultery. Decadence. Mystery. Grandeur.
Tragedy.
The Great Gatsby.
This month's book club pick has left me shell shocked.
At once, I was captivated with Fitzgerald's beautifully detailed
descriptions and the masterful way he painted the setting and tone. Sure, the
story was meant to be a commentary on the moral decay of American society in
the face of unexpected and unprecedented affluence, but ultimately, it is an incredible
tale of thwarted love.
Reading about Gatsby's parties gave me a thrill; I could
totally envision the glitz and glamour, the ridiculous behavior, and the
celebrity guests. I could empathize with the busyness, the relentless pursuit
of fun and happiness, only to find that the greatly anticipated dream fell
apart in face of reality and unworthiness.
In so many ways, I found myself drawn in and relating to
principle characters and circumstances in this book. No, I may never have had
my nose broken in a drunken rage by my lover at a clandestine love shack
meeting unbeknownst to my husband, but I HAVE been so disillusioned and
discontent with the truth around me that I have desperately clung to what I
know was wrong and unhealthy, just to make the real world stop, even for a
little while. Gatsby's ambition, his relentless pursuit to fulfill his
impossible dreams; Daisy's shallowness and deep need to be loved; Tom's hypocrisy;
Jordan's cynicism and self absorption…
Sometimes it seemed like these characters were reflecting little pieces of me
back from the pages.
Maybe that's why all of the build up and anticipation
shattering around me like a champagne flute from one of Gatsby's parties has
left me feeling so hollow.