F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby: an analysis

Hey y'all, Pez here. Today, we're diving into Fitzgerald's quintessential modern classic, The Great Gatsby. A cautionary tale, perhaps, of a distorted 'American Dream', the novel follow's Nick Carraway's narration as he navigates the social landscape of America's Roaring Twenties; a place fraught with decadence, deception, and artifice. What also defines this world is the stark divide between the upper class and working class, as there is one between men and women: a society that is hegemonized by wealthy, male bourgeoisie.

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The absolute “must”, a linguistic habit of the upper class, speaks to a society that is easily influenced. Nick’s seemingly incisive judgment is effortlessly swindled by the way Tom and Daisy stand “side by side”, which, to him, indicates a “cheerful” marriage. And although such perception of their marriage is justified externally, the superficiality of the couple “conspiring together” curtails the warmth of their sentiments. Even so, the irresistible charm of the elites still has the power to “surprise” their observers, thus obliquely undermining these blemishes, ultimately manipulating the belief of people in their favour. So, in this way, Fitzgerald demonstrates that truth and reality are not essential in the Jazz age; rather, it is the credulous belief that is so valuable to those who offer it, and to those who abuse it.

Although the “natural intimacy” that surrounds Tom and Daisy is “unmistakable”, the performative social expectations of the 1920s sullies the authenticity of such. The “two or three bright windows” lit enkindles an organic ambience, with its location “downstairs” – away from the secrecy intrinsic to bedrooms upstairs – only augmenting its candour; such unadulterated notions contrast the performativity of the “empty” light that “flows” out of Gatsby’s mansion. Fitzgerald continues this ‘less is more’ motif, in that the “cheerful square of light” has dwindled down to a now “small rectangle” – contextually, there is something pure about this, as it is perhaps a partial relinquishment of the gaudy “pools of light…mansions” that they are often forced to espouse, and an embracement of a more unrefined image of themselves. And yet, even at their crudest of times, Tom and Daisy still sit “opposite each other”, insinuating imagery of business, of transaction, an act that feels incongruous to the candidness inherent to “ale”. Such intimacy is further curtailed by the “cold[ness]” that characterises the homely “fried chicken”, symbolic of the tacit circumvention of family comfort and communion. And just as Tom talking “at” Daisy implies an overt disparity in the degree of agency, so too does his hand that has “fallen upon and cover[s] [Daisy’s]”, with such imagery also exemplifying an oblique act of subjugation. But, such ensnarement is not partial to Daisy. Tom, too, is a victim of a society that so worships a façade predicated on greed and materialism, whereby Daisy precariously serves as a “book” in the metaphorical “bookcase”. So, it appears that both parties are shackled under a state of limbo, dwelling in the insipid grey area between “unhapp[iness]…happ[iness]”, a place deficient of sentimentality that is unmarred by the conformity to social expectations. Such a trapping notion seems to be inescapable too, implied through the cyclical nature of “once in a while”; the way Daisy “nodded” is emblematic of the apathetic compliance that is implicit in “agreement”. Therefore, then, Nick’s editorial em-dash in “ale—and”, signifying subtle confusion, reveals that perhaps such “intimacy” is not truly unadulterated; rather, it may only be “natural” when contextualised in the 1920s, a society that persistently champions the preservation of a façade over the solicitude of “turbulent emotions” which are innate to everyone.

Tom and Daisy’s earnest repetition of “we heard it” typifies the post-truth society that is the Jazz Age. Such a repetitious use of “we” demonstrates a pretentious sense of self-importance; they believe not by virtue of a substantiated inference, but rather through ungrounded hearsay, leaving the veracity of the statement fickle in relation to whoever hears it. The natural causality inherent in “three people…true” is also indicative of a society that is so credulous to entertaining lies, perhaps also speaking to the indolence of those who do not care to seek truths. Such a notion is bolstered by the “gossip” that “published” the “banns”, wherein the formality intrinsic to the verb has a jarring contrast with frivolous gossip – even further, the integrity of something as sacred, as ethereal, as marriage has been diminished down to the vulgarness of “rumour". And so, Daisy’s ability to effortlessly enthral people by “opening up…in a flower-like way”, despite not saying anything of substance, implicitly demonstrates the inadequacy of an honest statement when compared with the degree of conviction, or charm, such is said with. So, then, in such a society, it is not what one says that is most salient: it is how one says it. Even the moral atrocities Tom has committed – infidelity, assault – are able to be partially shrouded with the physically explicit “groping” that characterises his “voice”, exemplifying the way one can force belief without needing integrity. But, although Daisy nevertheless finds Tom “revolting”, the way Tom dexterously mounts the façade of “prig…clergyman” ultimately preserves some of his reliability and maintains a moral high ground, evident through the “intimacy” they somewhat experience in passage 3. Thus, in this degree, a society which does not venerate truth is one where those in power – namely the elites, those who have the ability to convincingly fabricate such lies – imperiously control the societal mores; and with nothing holding them accountable, they apathetically continue to “smash up things”.

As Gatsby “watch[es] over nothing”, Fitzgerald evinces the intoxicating lull that dreams delusively impart. The “green light” that Gatsby so yearns for is emblematic of the ardent desire he has for Daisy, its colour underlining the intrinsic imagery of prosperity, of a fresh beginning; it is this very desire, though, that propels Gatsby to recklessly wedge himself between Tom and Daisy. The unvarnished syntax of “your wife doesn’t love you…loves me” is indicative of an oversimplistic image that’s entrenched in Gatsby’s mind, one that disregards the three years – externally, a well-maintained matrimony – of marriage between the couple. This warped perception is magnified through the way Gatsby “sprang to his feet”, whereby the “excitement” that characterises such, an action with intrinsically naïve connotations, jarringly chafes against the deeply sombre topic of a potential divorce. Such contrasting notions are extended when Tom intimates the impossibility of Gatsby even “[getting] within a mile of her…backdoor”, a piece of grounded evidence that is merely retorted with a unembellished “no”; it seems that Gatsby “shake[s] his head” in a desperate attempt at denial, implying that the entrancing influence of dreams transcends that of reason and rationality. Through this, Fitzgerald symbolises the onset of decay, one which characterises the deterioration of Gatsby’s charade, and perhaps even the concept of the quixotic “month” that he spent with daisy. And yet, even after apparent failure, Gatsby nevertheless stands in “sacred…vigil”. Such an action has connotations of honour, wherein he seems to be duty-bound to this task, to this dream – Gatsby is not vexed, either, as there is an inherent serenity in “put[ting] his hands in his coat pockets”, a notion that hearkens back to the exact same “leisurely” action in passage one. So, then, Fitzgerald tacitly empathises with Gatsby, asking us to see the beauty in “regarding the silver pepper of the stars”, as such astral imagery is reflective of the ethereality of dreams. And, under the gentle veil of “moonlight”, Gatsby discovers solace in his solitude; although a broken, failed man, he still finds meaning in Daisy, a beacon of hope in a vastly bleak world. Perhaps, Gatsby may be “watching over nothing” for Nick: but for Gatsby, in a sense, he is “watching over” everything.