Welcome to the The Great Gatsby page.
"Conduct my be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes, but after a certain point I don't care what it's founded on."
-- F. Scott Fitzgerald
His life was gentle; and the elements
So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up,
And say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN!
--William Shakespeare
Please check this page daily during our reading of F. Scott Fitzgerald's classic work The Great Gatsby.
Reading Calendar
"Conduct my be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes, but after a certain point I don't care what it's founded on."
-- F. Scott Fitzgerald
His life was gentle; and the elements
So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up,
And say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN!
--William Shakespeare
Please check this page daily during our reading of F. Scott Fitzgerald's classic work The Great Gatsby.
Reading Calendar
- Chapter 1: 2/6
- Chapter 2: 2/7
- Chapters 3-4: 2/10
- Chapters 5-6: 2/13
- Chapters 7-8: 2/17
- Chapter 9: 2/19
2/3/14
The Best Gatsby
By BUDD SCHULBERG
May 18, 1975
If you seek an antidote to the image of F. Scott Fitzgerald the
playboy, Fitzgerald the spoiled brat of American letters, or Fitzgerald the
careless genius, you may now go to the source, the facsimile of the
hand-written manuscript of "The Great Gatsby," recently published by Matthew
Bruccoli, editor of the Fitzgerald/Hemingway Annual.
Throughout the manuscript (and on through the galley revisions) one follows
through the galley revisions) one follows Fitzgerald's tireless quest for the
mot juste as he changes shadow to silhouette, quickly to vigorously, he
interrupted to he suggested, a sort of joy to a joyous exaltation, looked to
glance, My house was on the tip of West Egg to the more direct I lived at West
Egg. We could fill this column with such examples. But still more provocative
are the block cuts, long passages of lovely writing surgically removed because
they interfere with the narrative flow or because they tell too much too soon
about the Buchanans instead of allowing them to define themselves in dialogue
and action.
In telling us of the Buchanans' symbolic move from the Middle West to the
East, for instance, Fitzgerald first had Nick saying: "Why they came East I
don't know - perhaps for the same reason I did, searching among unfamiliar
surroundings for that vague lost stimulus of the war. Everybody knew Tom
Buchanan, of course, east and west, and they had lived almost everywhere for a
while, at least everywhere horses are ridden and polo is played in a
fashionable sense. And for a little while for no particular reason, except
perhaps the recurrent fascination of the war, they [Line drawn through
italicized words in original]."
There Fitzgerald stopped, crossed out all of the above and started again:
"Why they came east I don't know - perhaps they too were searching among
unfamiliar surroundings for that vague lost stimulus of war. They had spent a
year in France, for no particular reason and they drifted here and there
unrestfully wherever horses were ridden in the fashionable sense and polo was
played and people were rich together. [Line drawn through italicized words in
original]." Finally, in print, it boils down to: "Why they came East I don't
know. They had spent a year in France for no particular reason, and then
drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich
together."
The next, 16-line paragraph - gracefully describing Nick's eccentricity in
driving with the top down, how people in passing cars stare at him, how he
smiles encouragingly back, how they look alarmed and turn away - is omitted.
Able to scrap a passage most novelists would indulge, Fitzgerald recaptures the
tone and economy of the Why they came east paragraph and simply opens the one
to follow with: "And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over
to East Egg to see two old friends whom I scarcely knew at all."
The cut is a nice example of the philosophy of editing appalled throughout
the manuscript to maintain a delicate balance between Nick's and Fitzgerald's
material. The telling of this short, intensive novel through the eyes of Nick
Carraway is flawless because Fitzgerald is always on guard against the
self-indulgence of first-person narration.
We find an intriguing example at the end of the first chapter of the
manuscript. Nick, just returned from dinner with the Buchanans, looks out from
"my wretched lovely house at West Egg" (changed to "my estate at West Egg" in
the published novel) and sees his mysterious neighbor (Gatsby) "stretch out
both his arms hands toward the sky and in a curious way - far as I was from him
I could have sworn they were he was trembling. Involuntarily I looked up. When
I lowered my eyes looked down again he was gone, and I was left to wonder
whether it was really the sky he had come out to measure with the compass of
those aspiring arms.
The sense of being in a strange an unfamiliar place deepened on me and as the
moon rose higher the unessential houses seemed to melt away until I was aware
of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailors eyes - a fresh
green breast of the new world. Its vanished trees, the very trees that had made
was for Gatsby's house, had pandered once with whispering leaves pandered once
in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams --and for a transitory
and enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this
continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor
desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate
with his capacity for wonder. [line drawn through italicized words in
original]." In the published version, Chapter I ends fastidiously: "...he
stretched his arms out toward the dark water in a curious way, and, far as I
was from him, I could have sworn he was trembling. Involuntarily I glanced
seaward - and distinguished nothing except a single green light, minute and far
away, that might have been the end of a dock. When I looked once more for
Gatsby he had vanished, and I was alone again in the unquiet darkness."
So the revised chapter closes on just the right note of quiet mystery. Let
the story unfold, let it create its own myth. But, when the story is finished [...]
and [people have retreated] "back into their money or their vast carelessness,"
then it is time for Nick Carraway to sound the coda.
And so we find the elegiac passage, "...as the moon rose higher the
unessential houses seemed to melt away,' originally written for the end of
Chapter I, moved all the way to the closing pages of the published book. There
it seems neither rhetorical nor anticipatory, but eminently fitting, relating
[...] loss [...]to the American dream once so full promise but now
corrupted by the [rich], whose wealth is license to use other people's lives
for their playthings.
Thus, the perfection of the published novel is found to be the result of a
self-critical writer who could complete the hard work of this hand-written
manuscript and then write in his ledger: "Now the hard work begins."
- Please comment on each new post and then reply to the comment of any of your peers. Each comment and reply must be no fewer than 50 words and contain a minimum of one quote. Replies must be directed towards comments that are not similar to your own. Each comment must be posted before 12:00 p.m. on the day it was assigned; the reply must be posted by 12:00 p.m. on the following day.
- Please read the following article "The Best Gatsby" by Budd Schulberg and consider the changes that Fitzgerald made to his masterpiece.
- Remember to follow the dates of the posts when leaving a comment. You are responsible for one comment and one reply each day from this point on.
- Happy Valentine's Day weekend. There are two new posts. "Chapter 7 -- The Hottest Day of the Year" is due Sunday at Midnight. "Chapter 8 -- The Holocaust Was Complete" is due by Monday at midnight. Don't forget to reply to your peer's comments.
The Best Gatsby
By BUDD SCHULBERG
May 18, 1975
If you seek an antidote to the image of F. Scott Fitzgerald the
playboy, Fitzgerald the spoiled brat of American letters, or Fitzgerald the
careless genius, you may now go to the source, the facsimile of the
hand-written manuscript of "The Great Gatsby," recently published by Matthew
Bruccoli, editor of the Fitzgerald/Hemingway Annual.
Throughout the manuscript (and on through the galley revisions) one follows
through the galley revisions) one follows Fitzgerald's tireless quest for the
mot juste as he changes shadow to silhouette, quickly to vigorously, he
interrupted to he suggested, a sort of joy to a joyous exaltation, looked to
glance, My house was on the tip of West Egg to the more direct I lived at West
Egg. We could fill this column with such examples. But still more provocative
are the block cuts, long passages of lovely writing surgically removed because
they interfere with the narrative flow or because they tell too much too soon
about the Buchanans instead of allowing them to define themselves in dialogue
and action.
In telling us of the Buchanans' symbolic move from the Middle West to the
East, for instance, Fitzgerald first had Nick saying: "Why they came East I
don't know - perhaps for the same reason I did, searching among unfamiliar
surroundings for that vague lost stimulus of the war. Everybody knew Tom
Buchanan, of course, east and west, and they had lived almost everywhere for a
while, at least everywhere horses are ridden and polo is played in a
fashionable sense. And for a little while for no particular reason, except
perhaps the recurrent fascination of the war, they [Line drawn through
italicized words in original]."
There Fitzgerald stopped, crossed out all of the above and started again:
"Why they came east I don't know - perhaps they too were searching among
unfamiliar surroundings for that vague lost stimulus of war. They had spent a
year in France, for no particular reason and they drifted here and there
unrestfully wherever horses were ridden in the fashionable sense and polo was
played and people were rich together. [Line drawn through italicized words in
original]." Finally, in print, it boils down to: "Why they came East I don't
know. They had spent a year in France for no particular reason, and then
drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich
together."
The next, 16-line paragraph - gracefully describing Nick's eccentricity in
driving with the top down, how people in passing cars stare at him, how he
smiles encouragingly back, how they look alarmed and turn away - is omitted.
Able to scrap a passage most novelists would indulge, Fitzgerald recaptures the
tone and economy of the Why they came east paragraph and simply opens the one
to follow with: "And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over
to East Egg to see two old friends whom I scarcely knew at all."
The cut is a nice example of the philosophy of editing appalled throughout
the manuscript to maintain a delicate balance between Nick's and Fitzgerald's
material. The telling of this short, intensive novel through the eyes of Nick
Carraway is flawless because Fitzgerald is always on guard against the
self-indulgence of first-person narration.
We find an intriguing example at the end of the first chapter of the
manuscript. Nick, just returned from dinner with the Buchanans, looks out from
"my wretched lovely house at West Egg" (changed to "my estate at West Egg" in
the published novel) and sees his mysterious neighbor (Gatsby) "stretch out
both his arms hands toward the sky and in a curious way - far as I was from him
I could have sworn they were he was trembling. Involuntarily I looked up. When
I lowered my eyes looked down again he was gone, and I was left to wonder
whether it was really the sky he had come out to measure with the compass of
those aspiring arms.
The sense of being in a strange an unfamiliar place deepened on me and as the
moon rose higher the unessential houses seemed to melt away until I was aware
of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailors eyes - a fresh
green breast of the new world. Its vanished trees, the very trees that had made
was for Gatsby's house, had pandered once with whispering leaves pandered once
in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams --and for a transitory
and enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this
continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor
desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate
with his capacity for wonder. [line drawn through italicized words in
original]." In the published version, Chapter I ends fastidiously: "...he
stretched his arms out toward the dark water in a curious way, and, far as I
was from him, I could have sworn he was trembling. Involuntarily I glanced
seaward - and distinguished nothing except a single green light, minute and far
away, that might have been the end of a dock. When I looked once more for
Gatsby he had vanished, and I was alone again in the unquiet darkness."
So the revised chapter closes on just the right note of quiet mystery. Let
the story unfold, let it create its own myth. But, when the story is finished [...]
and [people have retreated] "back into their money or their vast carelessness,"
then it is time for Nick Carraway to sound the coda.
And so we find the elegiac passage, "...as the moon rose higher the
unessential houses seemed to melt away,' originally written for the end of
Chapter I, moved all the way to the closing pages of the published book. There
it seems neither rhetorical nor anticipatory, but eminently fitting, relating
[...] loss [...]to the American dream once so full promise but now
corrupted by the [rich], whose wealth is license to use other people's lives
for their playthings.
Thus, the perfection of the published novel is found to be the result of a
self-critical writer who could complete the hard work of this hand-written
manuscript and then write in his ledger: "Now the hard work begins."