I hardly ever reread books. There have been so many excellent books written that I usually feel obliged to keep reading new ones for fear of running out of time and missing something wonderful. For The Great Gatsby, however, I make an exception.
This Great American Novel tells the story of Gatsby and friends, exploring the empty opulence of people who feel a little out of place in the post-war 1920s. It is a story of wealth, loneliness and wild parties; a tale of tragedy, love and pastel-coloured suits.
It encapsulates the essence of an era with such visual language. The characters are so perfectly drawn, yet some ambivalence is maintained by the narrator’s eking of information from various accounts. It is brilliantly written. The final lines are possibly my favourite combination of words that has ever happened in the history of literature. (Look away now if you don’t…
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