I love to read and can get very attached to my opinions, but recently I've been learning not to completely lose my head when people disagree with me, so feel safe to argue with me whenever you wish ;)
Well, this counts as my fourth "Great American Novel" after Catcher in the Rye, Huck Finn and Moby-Dick. (Wow, all male-centered...hmm...) Surprisingly, it was also the most emotionally resonant. I *think* I got the subtext, and I did love--occasionally--how much it felt like a relic of a lost period in time. The prosperity of the Roaring Twenties, the Jazz Age, the elusiveness of the American dream. Much of it revolves around Gatsby's emotional bankruptcy, which makes me think this would be an awesome book to read during a crisis.
I just...I dunno. Maybe it's the book's iconic popularity that annoys me to some petty degree. I wish I didn't have to have read it for school. Then again, I'm not sure I would have picked it up of my own accord. I wish I could say it's irrelevant to my life, but the way Americans constantly hoot about pulling yourself up by your bootstraps would say otherwise. I admire the way Fitzgerald proves this wrong in every respect, not only financially but also in terms of a completeness of self-esteem that Gatsby will never able to gain for himself. It's the ultimate tragedy that resonates, but still leaves me unsatisfied. It feels like we're expected to accept everything, class shittiness and all, with nothing else than an exhausted shrug. I'm not that pessimistic yet.