A quarter of the book is taken up by an academic-written introduction,
which sets it up as the best American book ever. This rather puts
expectations on a high level, and initial reading feels kind of
disappointing: simple story, slightly daft.
The book itself is short.
An extremely rich man--Gatsby--besotted by a woman moves into the
neighbourhood (actually the next one along; actually the next peninsula
along a river) so that he can overlook her abode, and he throws grand
parties to make himself famous in the neighbourhood and hopefully,
ultimately, to attract the lady along. The story is told from the
viewpoint of the actual next-door neighbour, who is initially just a
by-stander but eventually becomes a good friend of Gatsby.
Things turn when a motor accident kills an innocent pedestrian, and it is
Gatsby’s car driven by the man of the lady of his dreams.
[I need to read this book again. The gist of the story is subtly hidden beneath layers of interactions.] |
