The Cynicism of Nick Carraway

During my conference with Dr. Mintler over the draft of my second paper, there was one thing she said that has really stuck with me: “Nick Carraway can’t belong anywhere”. To be completely transparent, I bristled at the notion in the beginning. “Can’t or won’t,” I asked myself. Nick Carraway is a white veteran who had moderate success as a bond salesman in the 1920s. America drools at the thought. Compared to Anna-Marie McLemore’s version of the character in Self-Made Boys, surely Nick has ample opportunity to connect with people…right?

In McLemore’s remixed version, it’s clear from the way Nicolas writes about himself that sees his trans and gay identities as a burden. Cultural knowledge of the 1920s, along with choice remarks from Tom, show that these insecurities are due to both internalized negative perceptions and fear of harm from the world around him. His cynical nature has formed as a protective response to past experiences, which closes him off to future connection. Except that all changes when Gatsby reveals himself as a trans man, same as Nicolas. It isn’t until someone trusts him enough to show him that he is not alone in his struggle that he opens up.

One of my favorite aspects of this book is Nick’s journey to self-acceptance. He doesn’t just meet one other trans person and immediately become open to exploring his identity. Even as he slowly begins to accept his feelings for Gatsby–even as Gatsby is dropping massive hints that the feeling is mutual–Nicolas still refuses to let himself believe in a world where those feelings could be reciprocated. It’s much easier to disregard the possibility that his identity could be rewarded than accept the tragic implications of why it often isn’t.

In comparison to Nicolas’ cynicism forming from a necessity for safety, The Great Gatsby’s Nick Carraway is a white, cisgender, seemingly heterosexual man who comes from a privileged background that allows him an emotional detachment from the world around him. His apathy is not created from fear, but from boredom. Nick’s lack of any marginalized identity allows him to critique without consequence, but it also bars him from any sense of community. Bonding over common experiences is a futile endeavor when they are common to everyone.

The reason Nick attached himself so thoroughly to Gatsby is not lost on me. Everyone I interact with speaks the same, dresses the same, worries about the same things, has the same career plans, has the same relationship struggles? Hell on earth. Here comes this mysterious man who spends his money on extravagant parties for seemingly no other reason than for others enjoyment. That same man personally invites me to his next party, then I find out that we both went through the same harrowing experience that I can’t talk to anybody else about? He takes me out on lively outings and pays for everything? He asks me to scheme with him to get my cousin away from that guy I hate? If he and my cousin got together we’d technically be family? Are you kidding me? Then he gets shot and dies, and no one comes to his funeral except that one guy who called him a fraud while blackout drunk at said “fraud’s” party? 

Yeah, I think I’d lose faith in humanity too.