WestEggontheSouthOval

On my last day of junior year, the year I had been introduced to The Great Gatsby, my AP Lang teacher, a lover of all things Gatsby, had us read two pieces of work by T.S. Eliot. The boy beside me rolled his eyes, wondering why we were still learning when the AP test had come and gone. I, instead, sat up in my seat, knowing my teacher and literary criticism coach well enough to know this would be a lesson of a different kind.

Of course, we read “The Waste Land,” a poem we had discussed while studying the book and its depiction of the Valley of Ashes. It is a beautiful poem and holds the type of weight that only Eliot’s work can, but we moved passed it swiftly for it acted as merely an introduction to what we read next.

“The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.”

A girl in the back lifted her head and asked, “Who is he?” as my teacher introduced our next poem, a so-called love song to a man we didn’t know, and, in retrospect, I am surprised she didn’t answer her with a simple, “He is you.” Leaving class for the final time, that is the conclusion we would all be left with, but she didn’t. She only responded with a smile and urged us to read.

We did and lifted our heads up with with confused looks on our faces. Eliot was quite a lot for us to take in, especially with summer and the impending senior year looming in front of us. Our teacher let out a chuckle and assured us that it was alright we didn’t understand. She said it was her job to help us do that and started off with asking us about our first impressions of the poem. How would we describe it?

“Long,” one person said and we all nodded our heads. We had yet to take AP Lit, were not conditioned to reading poems, and that was the first thing that came to mind for most of us. “Weird,” another said and we again nodded in agreement. Heavy with allusions and symbols we could barely wrap our heads around, weird was another thing we attributed to the poem. “Sad,” a last person said and, by the nod of our teacher’s head, it seemed that was the word she was looking for. Sad– simple but a gateway to much more.

Our teacher narrowed her eyes at us in a challenge to go on. “Why is that?” She asked. A thoughtful silence ensued.

“Well,” A girl said after a long moment, hesitant to break the silence, “He wastes time thinking there will always be time.”

And indeed there will be time…

Things started to connect in my brain and I bet it did in others. I raised my hand and tried to put it all into words.

“He gets caught up in his thoughts, his worries. He tells himself there will be time as an excuse to hesitate, to let his thoughts win.”

“And by the end?” My teacher asked, and this time a girl to my right answered.

“He is wrong.”

Again our teacher nodded her head, a slight smile on her face. It seemed we had understood more than we initially thought.

“How so?” She asked us all.

“In the end there is not time. All is lost and we are left to drown.”

Though it was a simple interpretation, constrained to what we could, at the time, reasonably understand, it was one that fell heavy upon us. It displayed to us the fruitless end fear of the future and the neglect of reality could bring us to. In a moment so burdened by thoughts of the future, we saw ourselves in J. Alfred Prufrock. In the silent introspection that followed the answer to our teachers question, we came to realize that he was us.

Right then, time was slipping away from us (in more ways than one) and the bell was about to ring, to threaten our silence and signal our transition from juniors to seniors.

With he urgency of a person who had just noticed the time, our teacher went on with a start.

“All I ask as you go into the next year is that you remember Prufrock and keep the lesson of his love song in mind. Don’t allow your thoughts and emotion impede action, instead take it.”

As this blog nears a close, I find this an important reminder. For Gatsby and for us all.

Amar, Tarik Cyril. “Between  James Bond and Iosif Stalin: Seventeen Moments of Spring, a Soviet Cultural Event of the Cold War and the Post-Thaw.” Kritika: Explorations in Russian and Eurasian History 21, no. 3 (2020): 627-658. https://doi.org/10.1353/kri.2020.0030. 

Amar’s historical article explores Seventeen Moments of Spring and how its narrative and effect reflect the Cold War tensions and thaw that were happening at the time. Amar claims that Seventeen Moments was a highly political phenomenon that showcased Soviet values and victories and acted as a reaction to the Bond franchise during a time of conflict between east and west. He additionally claims that Seventeen Moments was highly ideological and functioned as propaganda for Soviet intelligence services, the triumph of east over west, the ideal Soviet citizen, and Stalinism. I plan to use this article to add context to the political and ideological nature of Seventeen Moments of Spring, the main contributor to why the novel might fall short of being a modern tragedy as its main character fights for a noble ideal, supports the establishment he works for, and offers an optimistic view (despite the tragic end he faces). 

• “ it was an important contribution to a transformation of Stalin’s memory, the effects of which we are still, or again, witnessing today: from a virtual god with a cult—a “kumir-idol,” in the terms of the de-Stalinizers—to a superior and, most important, indispensable statesman, a kind of uberrealist-in-chief, transcending the ordinary standards of morality so much that they cease to apply.” (Amar).
• “Shtirlits was the story’s knight in shining (if obscurely) armor, a champion not simply of Soviet intelligence but humanism and, indeed, grace. But Stalin was its indispensable leader, a statesman without whose superior insight Shtirlits would, literally, not have known what to do in the first place.” (Amar).

Block, Haskell M. “Some Notes on the Problem of Modern Tragedy.” Comparative Literature Studies 9, no. 1 (March 1972): 80-84. Accessed November 7, 2023. https://www.jstor.org/stable/40245960. 

In his short article of dramatic and literary criticism, Block argues that modern tragedies are just poor versions of classical tragedies that attempt to be something new. He refutes the claim that the hero in modern tragedies is not a nobleman and therefore does not fit the rules of classical tragedy by claiming that in modern tragedy, the tragic hero has a natural greatness to him, something that makes him equal to the high born hero of the classic age. Additionally, Block claims that both modern and classic tragedies deal with similar themes of suffering and self knowledge. I do not think this source offers much to my argument, but it might help as an example of those who believe there is no such thing as “modern tragedy.” I could use it as somewhat of a counterargument to introduce a discussion on modern tragedy. Important keyterms: tragic heroes, classical tragedy, rules, suffering, self knowledge.

Useful quotations:

• On tragic heroes: “It is derived from the depth, intensity, and complexity of his suffering, a suffering through which the tragic hero acquires a knowledge of himself of the human condition that he and we could not have gained any other way. It is not enough to see the classical tragic hero as a victim, irremediably doomed to defeat and death. We should see him as affirming human dignity as well as his own nobility even in the moment of catastrophe.”

Gassner, John. “The Possibilities and Perils of Modern Tragedy.” The Tulane Drama Review 1, no. 3 (June 1957): 3-14. Accessed November 1, 2023. https://www.jstor.org/stable/1124983. 

In his article of dramatic criticism, John Gassner discusses the arguments of both the pro-modernists and ant-modernists when it comes to tragedy. He explains the difference between modern tragedy and classical tragedy, stating that modern tragedy shows realism while classical shows idealism. He first describes the anti-modernist view, describing that many think modern tragedy fails in contrast to the classical. This is due to its lack of traditional tragic elements and overzealous attempts at intellectualism and doing something “new.” He then describes the pro-modernist view, stating that they largely deal with the relationship between character and environment and are therefore open to more than characters of the higher class. These characters are able to convey many facets of humanity, and their distinction as anti-heroes is not completely new, as it could also be attributed to some characters in classical tragedies like Richard III. I would use this source to form the criteria for what makes modern tragedies. I could also synthesize its discussion about the relationship of character and environment to Moses who discusses it and its effects in a similar manner, just focusing more on The Great Gatsby. Important keyterms are: Modern tragedy, classical tragedy, intellectualism, character, environment, social class, privilege, anti-heroes, morality. 

Useful Quotations:

• “A commonplace realism, then, takes the place of the ideality to which the art of tragedy aspires by historical example since the time of Aeschylus and by critical prescript since the time of Aristotle.”
• “Modern dramatists could reveal more, rather than fewer, facets of humanity.”
• “The modern view started, sensibly enough, with considerations of character and environment.”

Kimmelman, George. “The Concept of Tragedy in Modern Criticism.” The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 4, no. 3 (March 1946): 141-160. Accessed November 1, 2023. https://www.jstor.org/stable/427000. 

Kimmelman’s article discusses tragedy’s handling within modern criticism. Though not specifically describing modern tragedy, his article does outline some of the basic elements that are considered to make dramas “tragedies” such as struggle, exaltation, and catharsis. Additionally, he describes in very clear terms what he believes makes a tragic figure or hero. I plan to use these descriptions to form the audience’s basic understanding of what tragedies are and entail. I will then build upon this understanding to then discuss modern tragedies and their connections to spy stories. Important Keyterms are: struggle, catharsis, destruction, tragedy, power, egotism.

• These include (a) the “struggling” protagonist who pits his “will” against his fateful antagonists, the Gods, Nature, Society, or his own destructive impulses; (b) the mood of “exaltation” associated not only with his “heroic” deeds but also with the ends for which he is destroyed; and (c) the power to achieve a “catharsis” by means of “pity” and “terror” (Kimmelman, 141).
• Describes tragic heroes as “people who are destroyed by the overwhelming vices of perfidy, lust for power, jealousy, egotism, cynicism, etc., let alone the complicating afflictions of mental pathology” (Kimmelman, 142).

Lovell, Stephen. “In Search of an Ending: Seventeen Moments and the Seventies.” In The Socialist Sixties: Crossing Borders in the Second World, edited by Anne E. Gorsuch and Diane P. Koenker, 303–22. Indiana University Press, 2013. http://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt16gz7q4.17.

  Lovell’s historical book chapter describes the origins and making of the Seventeen Moments of Spring TV series. He focuses largely on the cultural impact of the series, sharing the extent of the public’s reaction to it and describing its appeal. He additionally describes its ideological purpose as pro-Soviet and anti-American propaganda. Heultimately  concludes that its cult-classic status came from its expansion into a 12 part miniseries that expanded the plot, its inner monologues, and made it a collective experience. I plan to use this source to contextualize  Seventeen Moments in my paper and support the claims Amar makes about its ideological and political functions. 

•  “The director of the Gor’kii Studio recalled that there had been some debate on whether to make the film for TV or for the big screen. While it was a shame to take viewers away from the cinema, he concluded that Seventeen Moments would have greater “ideological” value on TV.”
• “The series quickly generated its own folklore: Ekaterina Gradova, who took the lead female role, was mobbed in a grocery store near her home and took two hours to return to her worried husband; the divorce rate spiked after the first showing of the series as women understood the full extent of their husbands’ inadequacy; there was a fashion for naming sons Iulian.”
•  “The series was a politically orthodox enterprise, neatly fitting both the Cold War context and the flourishing genre of the anticapitalist spy story”

Moses, Edwin. “TRAGIC INEVITABILITY IN THE GREAT GATSBY.” CLA Journal 12, no. 1 (September 1977): 51-57. Accessed November 6, 2023. https://www.jstor.org/stable/44329324. 

In his literary article, Edwin Moses claims that the tragedy that is seen in The Great Gatsby derives from the disruption of social order, similar to nemesis in tragedy. He believes strongly that the tragic inevitability that is displayed in The Great Gatsby, is based on environment and can be seen explicitly throughout the first chapter. He bases this disruption on the relationship between self and environment, stating that Gatsby taking Daisy away from East Egg to his house on West Egg, and Tom leaving East Egg to be with Myrtle showcase the disruption that leads to a tragic lack of balance. He claims that these changes in settings showcase and symbolize the disruption of social class that this novel is all about. Gatsby’s tragic end, he states, is inevitable because of the expansive and symbolic divide the bay forms between East and West Egg, separating him from what he wishes to achieve. I would use this source to support the claim that Gatsby is similar to a double agent, attempting to disrupt a system (that being the social system). Important keyterms are: social order, self, environment, social class, balance, tragedy.

Useful Quotations:

• “The fundamental natural law in the world of The Great Gatsby is that the relationship between self and environment physical setting as symbol and embodiment of social milieu is integral.”

Snyder, John R. “The Spy Story as Modern Tragedy.” Literature/Film Quarterly 5, no. 3 (Summer 1977): 216-234. Accessed November 1, 2023. https://www.jstor.org/stable/43795562. 

Snyder’s literary/film criticism article discusses how spy stories, with their depiction of the relationship between man and state, are examples of modern tragedy, a belief he feels strongly about and claims is indicative of the public’s fixation on spy stories. Throughout his article, he explains that the spy heroes are passive agents of both history and their institutions who lose their own self identity and morality due to their dedication to the establishment. On the search for “truth” the spy hero meets his doom, being sacrificed for the integrity of the system in which he works. In such spy stories, Snyder claims that totalitarian evil wins no matter what due to the tragic nature of the spy story and that the stories themselves are inherently anti-establishment narratives. He uses a comparison to detective stories and examples from popular spy movies and books to build these arguments.  This article forms the basis of my understanding of spy stories as modern tragedy and is the foundation and starting point of my own argument. Important keyterms are: tragedy, spy stories, establishment, passivity, dedication, institution, politics, morality, identity.

Useful Quotations:

• “With the spy story, however, we encounter a hero who is really passive”
• “. As he detects the truth of identity or situation, the modern spy meets his doom: either he himself or his mission is sacrificed to maintain the perverse integrity of the system. And along with the agent fall those personally involved with him, typically the apolitical women who are destroyed, or abandoned, or saved by paying the price of collaboration. Totalitarian evil always wins out, one way or another, in the spy story”
• “But discovery of the truth in the spy story is tragic, an ironic process in which the agent is trapped by means of his own reason.”
• “. This makes him, objectively, an anti-hero- not just an existentialist “dangling man,” but a professionally anonymous servitor carrying out a complicated sequence of institutional directives.”
• “In portraying the sordid Establishment ethic of “passing the buck” and dissipating moral responsibility for expedient state purposes, Conrad lays the groundwork for the typical structure of the spy story.”
• “This hideously ironic recognition of the tragic sense’s capacity to lend itself to the destruction of the basis of social good is one of the spy genre’s special contributions to modern literature and sensibility. According to the ancients, tragic vision was supposed to restore the values of civilization for the citizens attending the popular spectacles of Aeschylus and Sophocles. But the The Third Man and The Salzburg Connection are logical products of a century which claims total war, hot or cold, aimed by imperialist systems at the very lives of the apolitical innocents, to be justified as the only way of forging “permanent” peace.”
• “The spy story is biassed. One can go so far as to lay down a principle: spy stories are anti-Establishment.”
• He kills civilization within himself, first by eliminating the self through submission to the official will (the psychology of fascism, as portrayed, for instance, by Moravia in The Conformist,) then by assuming a thrilling new identity which legitimizes sadistic and masochistic impulses, and finally by apologizing to the hated civilization through emulating its style and code. The hero of the spy story is an institutionalized criminal who derives perverted  fulfillment from the process of getting even with civilization at the same time that he seeks its approval.”
• “to shock ourselves with our ignorance and futility so badly that we grow inured to further shock- much as a trauma victim might deal with his shock by experiencing dreams recapitulating the original accident time and again.”

Von Szeliski, John. “Pessimism and Modern Tragedy.” Educational Theater Journal 16, no. 1 (March 1964): 40-46. Accessed November 1, 2023. https://www.jstor.org/stable/3204376. 

In his article of theatrical criticism, John Von Szeliski claims that almost all works of modern American tragedies adopt an only pessimistic view of life and that this pessimism leads them to lack dramatic struggle and moral focus. He states that most characters in modern tragedies have somewhat of a death wish, being more willing to die than take part in a grand struggle. If they do not possess this death wish, then they are victims of a tragic ideal. These characteristics lead the work of tragedy to lack dramatic struggle as their characters see the act of struggle as pointless. Because of this, the work itself often expects and welcomes the tragic end. Additionally, the pessimism of modern tragedy negates a moral vision. In modern tragedies, evil always wins and so in the fight of good vs evil, one is always doomed.  This source will help me form the criteria for what makes works modern tragedies. Additionally, it could be synthesized with Snyder’s belief that in spy stories evil or the totalitarian state always win in some form. Important keyterms are: tragedy, modern tragedy, dramatic struggle, morality, death wish, tragic ideal, good vs evil.

Useful Quotations: 

• “The truly significant difference between modern and classical tragedians is in philosophical vision- the former’s pessimism being no match for the latter’s ultimate optimism” (Von Szeliski 40).
• “Pessimism in tragedy self-destructively states that evil is the ultimate power in the universe, and man, however mighty his struggle, is doomed to defeat from which no good can result” (Von Szeliski 41).

One of the main reasons I applied for the honors college here at OU was the reading groups. Every semester, the honors college comes out with reading groups on a myriad of books, all free to those who sign up. The words “free books” were enough to push me through the application process, and I am glad that I did.

When the fall arrived and it came time to choose which group I was to be a part of, I chose to read Nick by Michael Farris Smith, thinking it might be an interesting adventure to have alongside an EXPO class on The Great Gatsby. Released just after The Great Gatsby entered into the public domain, Nick functions as a prequel to the events of the famed novel, following Nick Carraway as he fights in the war and returns state side. It was an exciting premise yet one I decided to dutifully keep my distance from. I felt I could never be satisfied with an encore to The Great Gatsby not written by Fitzgerald. I managed to avoid the book until this fall when it fell into my hands under the guise that it would be fun and that it was free.

It was neither.

I hated it. Of course, I appreciate it for it is, as I do all novels. A great amount of struggle and thought is put into writing a book, and I can tell that is especially true for this one. Nevertheless, it was not a fun read for me and neither was it entirely free.

First of all, upon finishing the book, I felt as if I myself had fought a war and had come out with no particular victory. It was a painstaking read, burdened by scenes and characters of no particular importance. As I read the last line, I found myself thinking back on what I had read and what it all meant. I couldn’t put to words what the book was really about, and though that might, to some, make it masterful, I did not think so. I felt as if by the end I should be left with something, something other than disgust and the feeling that I had wasted my time.

Though this may seem to be a harsh account of the book, I think that it comes as no surprise. Any writer that seeks to follow a giant like Fitzgerald is burdened by the obligation to be them. Earlier, I had written about why Gatsby had to die, saying that he is character so unique that he can not be released to the reader’s imagination. I now realize that I feel similarly when it comes to the story and characters of The Great Gatsby. To me, they have to die and rest with Fitzgerald as the work of any other author will likely fall short.

For this, it is not Smith’s fault. The book was not unenjoyable because he was a bad writer, he is quite good at what he does. The problem lies in that he does not stick to what he does. Instead, he attempts to do what Fitzgerald did and, like I said, ultimately falls short. In writing Nick Carraway, Smith is bound by the constraints of those who came before him, making his prose seem more like that of Hemmingway, though stuck in a painful attempt to mimic Fitzgerald.

A work that follows The Great Gatsby is not judged by its own standards. Whether it is fair or not, it will never escape the famed novel, its writer, and the lasting effect that they, together, have left. Though one might say that Nick transgress past The Great Gatsby, I argue that any work that uses its characters can’t and never will. It isn’t a matter of how good its author is, rather that they are not Fitzgerald and therefore the characters are simply lost to yet another reader’s imagination.

Arthur Miller’s “Tragedy and the Common Man”

Ty Hawkins’s “‘A smile and a shoeshine’ From F. Scott Fitzgerald To Jonathan Franzen, By Way of Arthur Miller: The American Dream in ‘The Great Gatsby, Death of a Salesman, and The Corrections’”

I just recently finished reading Catch Me If You Can, the indulgent memoir of ex-con Frank Abagnale Jr. and I admit I could not keep myself from thinking of The Great Gatsby while doing so. I set about this journey after watching the movie with the same name. It stars Leonardo DiCaprio as the young con artist, and, in my opinion, it is one of the best films I have ever seen.

As I watched, I could not help but see Jay Gatsby reflected in the eyes of DiCaprio’s the “Skywayman.” The two characters are extremally similar, I had come to find. Both are ultimately in pursuit of the American Dream, they want wealth, prestige, and recognition more than anything. Both, additionally, strive to achieve the American Dream though illegal means. Both James Gatz and Frank Abagnale meticulously craft new shinny identities for themselves and come to, though illegally, amass an unthinkable amount of money.

These are just a few similarities I found between the two characters, one a bootlegger and the other a con artist, but they nevertheless showed me that the tale of the American Dream that Fitzgerald crafts isn’t confined to only his novel. Instead it is one that we have seen before and one that a man like Frank Abagnale actually lived. It isn’t a far off story, but one that is all too real, and I can’t help but wonder what these similarities say about the nature of the American Dream…

It seems in my exploration of the two books (and their film adaptations) that the characters of Leonard DiCaprio share a yearning for the American Dream, a dream they can only get by breaking the American laws. Perhaps it is this not so pretty truth that underscores DiCaprio’s performances and allows them to transcend the screen.

On the eve of the Mega Millions drawing, an event I don’t actually care for but came up in a late night conversation, I can not help but wonder what it means about America.

A gamble, a game of chance, a waste of money. Whatever you’d like to call it, the Mega Millions is a tradition that has gone on far longer than I would have ever guessed. In my mind, it’s a useless game played by people who are bound to walk away upset yet always come back for more, and it is this dedication that baffles me. With such a small chance of winning, why waste money on a ticket? Why, even, waste your breath?

While pondering this I came to the conclusion that it must mean something more than a slight chance of winning it big, and, incidentally, my mind slipped to The Great Gatsby and the American Dream.

My father is one of the people who always buys a ticket. Like Gatsby, there has always been a distinct optimism to him and every time he walks out of the convenient store, he is sure he will wake up a millionaire. He never has, yet still he continues to play and each time he reminisces about what he would do if he did. Would he quit his job? Travel the world? Would he invest? He always gives the same answers, giving voice to dreams he has held tight to for years.

I think it is this period of reminiscing about what could be, the promise, however small, of such hope that is what keeps people like my father from giving up on the lottery. In a way, it is their own version of the American Dream (lottery tickets are a quite American tradition, anyway). Like the American Dream, the lottery offers hope that someday it can all be better, that you too can stumble into wealth and the money spent on tickets will one day be worth it.

Coming to this conclusion, I imagine a young Gatsby, uniformed and with his soldiers pension in hand, waiting at a convenient store counter for his pick of a lottery ticket. When he gets it, he secures it carefully in his pocket, convinced he will win this time and reminiscing about what he would do if he did.

I have always had this theory that certain book characters have to die– that the narrative relies so heavily upon them and they are so integral to the story that an author can not release them to the reader’s imagination.

To me, Gatsby fits this category, if not forms it entirely. The namesake of the novel, Gatsby is what guides the plot forward, first with the suspense of the mysterious man next door and then with his pursuit for love. He draws us in with his grand displays of wealth, blind idealism, and cinematic backstory. As readers, we can not help but want more and find ourselves disappointed when we are denied it.

By the novel’s end, Gatsby is dead and, though I might feel a certain sadness at his death, there is no other end that I can conceptualize. Jay Gatsby is a man of mystery, but of mystery that is held tightly in check by Fitzgerald. As a reader it is hard to imagine Gatsby beyond the confines of the book. Gatsby isn’t the type of character you can see going on with his life, settling down, and growing old. He has no purpose other than being exactly what he is and where he is. He has done what he was made to do, and he can do nothing more. And so he has to die.

I do not believe that this is what compelled Fitzgerald to give Gatsby the end that he did. I can not pretend to know what was going on in his writer’s brain– perhaps he was at a loss and chose the easy way out or perhaps he wanted to emulate Wharton’s The House of Mirth with its tragic ending. We will never know exactly why Fitzgerald killed Gatsby, but I will say that to me, both a reader and a writer, it seems the only ending that makes sense because without Fitzgerald, Gatsby can not go on.

When I think of great American novelists, Fitzgerald and Wharton are who come to mind.

I love Edith Wharton. It is a fact of my life. When asked who my favorite writer is, I answer undoubtably with her name. To me, her writing is simply unsimple, breathtaking, and unlike anything I have ever read before. I love Edith Wharton so much that I can barely put it into words.

I love Fitzgerald too. His stories bounce off the page and rattle in my mind, and his control of the written word is one that is unparalleled. Distinctly American in nature, his prose feels like home.

I never thought there was any connection between these two writers apart from their nationality and skill. Of course, I knew there were similarities between Wharton’s The Age of Innocence and Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby. Written five years apart and both dealing with class, I thought that was inevitable. I didn’t know, however, that Wharton herself had read The Great Gatsby and held it in high acclaim.

Somehow knowing that made everything make sense, as if order had been restored to the world of great American novels. For the first time, I seemed to understand.

I have a friend who loves everything Fitzgerald. I met her my junior year of high school when I first read The Great Gatsby, and we read it together. We were in the same English class, both on the literary criticism team, and as a friendship budded between us, a love for Fitzgerald did as well. This summer when we parted (not only were we both about to go to college, but my family was also moving hours away) the two of us seemed to share a similar thought regarding our parting gifts. It wasn’t that either of us expected one, but that we were both equally compelled to mark our friendship in a distinct way, and the only way we thought to do this was with the help of F. Scott Fitzgerald.

My gift to her was a most magnificent copy of The Beautiful and Damned, one of the only works of Fitzgerald I knew she hadn’t read. I thought nothing could beat it: a masterful story with a glamorous cover and a witty inscription written on its inside. I, however, was wrong. My friend showed up to our parting lunch with small box in hand. It was a trinket box with a necklace in it and she had painted it herself. On the inside of the box she wrote in her sprawling script a single quote:

“Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald

To be honest, I didn’t recognize the quote at first. I had poured myself all over the The Great Gatsby, memorizing every detail I could for the Lit Crit test, yet couldn’t say where this quote was from and it was only after looking it up that I was enlightened. Nevertheless, I thought the quote to be about the most fitting thing she could have given me. The both of us were about to embark on a great adventure in the upcoming fall. It was exciting and terrifying all at the same time, and all we could really hope was that life would start all over again.

It was a hopeful quote, if nothing else, and one that guaranteed, in my interpretation at least, that the best was yet to come.

As fall approaches, now just around five days away, I find myself thinking of this quote that my friend has gifted me. As the temperature drops and the air starts to get crisp, I am reminded that life just might be starting all over again.

When I first read The Great Gatsby, I read it alongside Shakespeare’s Macbeth for my Literary Criticism team. In retrospect, I wouldn’t necessarily recommend this. At least not for someone’s first read. With every turn of the page, tragedy seemed to follow me as the ghost of Banquo did to Macbeth himself, and increasingly I felt just as haunted as he. To a sixteen-year-old mind, it was certainly a lot to take in.

I can’t exactly tell you when the two works started to look the same, but by finishing them they were practically indistinguishable. Both were similarly tragic, equally cautionary, and written with the same amount of gravitas. To us, they were tragically identical, so much that my Lit Crit team brought it up one meeting.

“Is The Great Gatsby a tragedy as well?” One of the girls asked and our teacher, in the middle of a lesson on Shakespeare’s tragedies, humored us with a smile.

“What do you think?” She asked in return, her question directed at the whole team. After exchanging a few glances between ourselves, we did what we had just recently been trained to do: we analyzed the novel for the elements of a tragedy. We found many things that supported the claim that The Great Gatsby was one- Gatsby’s idealism certainly made a tragic flaw and his end, a tragic ending- but there was one thing that stood in the way.

“Gatsby was not a man of high birth.” One of us concluded aloud, and our teacher smiled, moving to question us again.

“Therefore he is not a tragic hero and so it can not be considered a tragedy?”

We nodded our heads in agreement. “Not in the classical sense.”

“Can there be such thing as a modern tragedy?” She let the question sit in the air and at our hesitant silence, went on. “What about Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman?” None of us had read the play and she went on to explain it and its story of a mere salesman whose tragic fate derived from a belief in the American Dream.

By now, our heads were spinning. We had transgressed from the realm of Shakespeare and Macbeth and found ourselves in a different one entirely, one that felt a bit closer to home.

After a long moment of thought, one of us spoke up. “A modern, American tragedy then?” She said and our teacher nodded her head. It seemed we had finally understood.

“That’s what Miller claimed in his article “Tragedy and the Common Man.” And such a claim opened The Great Gatsby to interpretations such as this.”

Though our own interpretation derived from young brains crowded with the words of Shakespeare and Fitzgerald, we found that we weren’t the only ones who had made the connection between the two novels. That, for many years, others had also concluded that The Great Gatsby was a tragedy in modern form, written in the way Miller would soon champion.

There is no “high birth” in America, a country formed without a noble class, and so if one is going to write an American tragic hero, he can be no more than a mere salesman or a mere bootlegger. A modern tragedy, an American tragedy, is more complex than those of the past because, as Arthur Miller claims, in a land without kings, we must turn to the common man and break one of tragedy’s sacred rules.

And so, by the end of our lesson, our Lit Crit team had concluded that The Great Gatsby was a tragedy like Macbeth, but different in that it’s hero was no king, merely a man named Gatsby.