This week, “The Great Gatsby” celebrates its 88th birthday.
In one month, it’ll be on the big screen in all of its Jazz Age splendor, with a fancy soundtrack, new-age graphics and the star power of Leonardo DiCaprio to boot. A whole new generation and audience will be introduced to the opulent life of Jay Gatsby and his desperate quest to win back Daisy Buchanan, and, predictably, an F. Scott Fitzgerald revival will follow close in the wake. As a massive Fitzgerald fan, I should be ecstatic then, right?
Arguably, yes. But no, I am not.
Ambivalent would be the best description of how I feel about the possible Fitzgerald resurgence. I can’t lie and say that I’m not excited for the movie, but something about it makes me apprehensive.
When I think of what made Fitzgerald’s “Gatsby” special to me, I recall sitting in my 11th grade AP English class, absolutely shocked by the fact that I was enamored with an assigned reading.
I couldn’t bring myself to put the thing down. I was captured by the statement made in Gatsby’s pensive stare across the water at the green light of the Buchanans’ dock, oblivious to the wealthy estate behind him. I was taken by the romance, like Gatsby’s descriptive recollection of the kiss when “at his lips’ touch she blossomed into a flower and the incarnation was complete.”
It was written with such masterful detail, such perfect diction and syntax, that I could feel and envision the entire story.
This absolutely got me. I was there at Gatsby’s parties, dancing to the big band. I felt Gatsby’s “heart beat faster and faster as Daisy’s white face came up to his own.” I felt the hopeless longing when he cried, “Can’t repeat the past? Why of course you can!” I understood what was meant as he stared out across those waters.
To get to the point, I look at my own experience and realize that the magic of “The Great Gatsby” is not just in its story of romance, though it is a damn good one, nor is it in its depiction of the American Dream.
“The Great Gatsby” is magical because it is one of the few texts that makes you feel the very words of which it is composed.
Fitzgerald’s story achieved timelessness because it is able to touch you in a way that transmits an intimate, clear understanding of its content personalized to your own reading of the book. It allows — no, encourages — you to use it to experience Gatsby’s life from your own perspective, to form your own idea of the American Dream.
Fitzgerald’s exemplary writing that allows for these features is what made “The Great Gatsby” so, well, great.
I worry that rather than opening up new people to Fitzgerald’s masterpiece, the upcoming movie, though it isn’t the first film adaptation, will sate their desire to hear Gatsby’s tale with a watered-down version that can’t possibly capture the full magic of the classic.
And so, despite my ever-enduring love for the story that made me want to become a writer myself, as well as my desire for everyone to be exposed to “Gatsby,” that is my reason for ambivalence.
At least this once, obey the clichéd proverb: “Read the book before you watch the movie.”
Contact the desk editor at diversions@dailytarheel.com.
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