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.