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Discussion: F Scott Fitzgerald A gifted writer, with the combined gifts of the poet and the artist. I have read almost all of Scott's work and can honestly say that it is a shame he was not recognised as the genius that he is, within his own lifetime. The Great Gatsby is in itself, a clear definition and delineation of the aspiration not just of 'the American dream, but the human dream'. Jay Gatsby may have been destroyed by his desire to possess that dream, with all its intangible apurtenances, but at least his dream was pure and clean, built out of idealism and love. The corruption of the novel comes across more clearly via Daisy and Tom Buchannan's 'carelessness' - this delineated in the most concrete of fashions by Daisy's felling of Myrtle, whilst driving Gatsby's car. The irony here is plangent and all too obvious. Myrtle, with her limited and dreary existence, aspires to become more than she is - and although she cannot see it, more than she can ever be. Whilst Gatsby, with his Jeffersonian purity, aspires, transforms and becomes Jay Gatsby, shedding the naive and circumscribed life of James Gatz. The wealth which Gatsby has struggled to attain in order to win back Daisy, wealth which like so many silk shirts, is worn so lightly and unselfconsciously by the very rich, is personified in the beauty and splendour of Gatsby's shiny nickel plated car. His car stands as a materialist symbol of aspiration, and is in effect its physical personification. Scott Fitzgerald gives over much description to the car, ensuring in the readers mind that it is viewed as a potent symbol of excessive, yet mysteriously achieved, wealth. When Gatsby relinquishes control of the car to Daisy, he also passes his own fate into Daisy's careless hands. As Myrtle rushes out to accost the car, which she believes is being driven by her 'sweetie' Tom, she is killed outright, yet Gatsby, whose hopes are all but extinguished, must wait for his fate to reveal itself. In losing Daisy, Gatsby may feel spiritually dead, yet his idealism can be seen to have taken him to the very edges of human aspiration. The 'foul dust that floated in the wake of his dreams' is Fitzgerald's delineation of the power of wealth to corrupt. Only Nick Carraway, who stands equidistant between his tenuous family connection to Daisy and Tom and his moral and romantic affinity with Gatsby, remains untarnished by the corruption of wealth. His lack of prosperity in the 'bond' business is Fitzgerald's clever rejoinder regarding the moral integrity of the average mid-western man. So The Great Gatsby tells us much about the 'human condition'. It tells us that dreams are the aspirational foodstuff of humanity and that integrity should never be forsaken in order to achieve those dreams. This in itself, tells us much about Fitzgerald's own life and opinions regarding his own artistic integrity. He believed that writing short stories for The Saturday Evening Post and the proliferation of other magazines who accepted his many stories, diluted his writerly capabilities and weakened his artistic integrity. Yet what Fitzgerald perhaps could not see, because he was far too close to the cause to see it clearly, was that he displayed immense integrity and a great deal of authorial fortitude in writing his short stories. Fitzgerald died whilst The Great Gatsby was out of print, and it has been said that he died a prematurely grey little man, who haunted Hollywood bookshops, looking to see if his own books adorned their shelves. Seeking in fact, some tangible proof of his existence as a successful writer. When his only daughter Scottie, tried to boost his estate (thereby keeping her mother in the mental institution she had been confined to for many years) by selling his notebooks to his alma mater Princeton, the chief librarian stated that they were 'under no obligation to purchase the belongings of every second rate mid-western hack, just because they had had the priveledge of attending Princeton'. It is some consolation - though small - to know that that gentleman had cause to regret his remarks, and it is a relief to know that eventually F Scott Fitzgerald was recognised, as Matthew J Bruccoli said, as a writer who 'got it right'. >>By Mme Bovary I think one of the saddest aspects on the life of Scott and Zelda had to be the circumstance of her death. To have so much passion, so much talent, and to have inspired such talent, then to die in a fire in a "mental prison" in Black Mountain, NC. I often wonder what the world missed of the talents of two people who seemed to be such a combustible pair, they simply burned each other up. Perhaps this is an example of the fires of passion we read about in Victorian poetry. >>By willwrite I think that if you look at many authors/poets and their partners you will find that same aspect of combustibility. Think Joyce and Nora Barnacle, where he continuously fed off of the amours which he tried to thrust her into. Think T S Eliot, Virginia Woolf, Ernest Hemingway - well his first wife suffered the extremes of guilt which he deliberetely nourished. Of course, these writers/poets lived in a similar era, an era where women were beginning to assert themselves and to openly be frank about their sexuality. Zelda was immensely proud of her body and not only walked around naked in front of Scott's guests but often insisted that they give her 'baths'. But asserting your need and your right to be 'free' has its price. What direction do you take? As Scott stated in Tender, quite clearly the women who strove for individuality also strove to possess a husband whose wealth would buoy them up and give them status in society. I agree that how Zelda died was immensely sad (have you read Save me the Waltz and her letters to Scott?) Zelda certainly had moments of genius, her descriptive capabilities were like few I have ever read, but she would never have been a great writer. Zelda lacked the ability to turn experience into a regulated and articulate narrative flow. Her characters are circumscribed and her plot lines are simplistic and (sorry to say it) utterly unadventurous. This, therefore, denotes not a great writer, but a writerly capability. Her paintings illustrate this point, they highlight talent, but suggest a mania, a compulsive desire to excell. In the end that compulsion drew her into an abyss of madness. Yes it is sad that she died in tuch a terrifying manner, but Scott's demise is just as tragic. >>By Mme Bovary Yes, I have read both of the aforementioned. And I admit that perhaps Zelda lacked the abilility to "turn experience into a regulated and articulate narrative flow", but perhaps if all writers suffered from Zelda's problems, and were locked away as she was,. would "Sophia's Choice " have this narrative flow? How about the writings of Kaye Gibbons? For God's sake lady, the woman suffered from a horrible mental illness for which the only treatment she received was to be locked up. Lucky we are not all imprisoned for our insufficiencies. Your intellect and intelligence certainly impresses poor little uneducated me. Perhaps you can use all that knowledge to teach, for as they say, "those that can't, teach". Or tell me where to buy your book. >>By willwrite Gosh, are you not being a bit harsh on someone who has read extensively about Zelda, Scott and their lives together (and apart), and has merely made a rational and personal observation regarding the writing skills of the former. Yes, it is unfortunate that they did not have the facilities when she was alive to deal with her mental illness. But from the books that I have read about it - very many I can assure you - a wide scope of treatments were used to aid her mental recovery. Only the very best care was given - and even if this was circumscribed by the era, it was at least the best that could be obtained within that era. I don't deny as Zelda said that 'sometimes madness is wisdom', we all know the creative capabilities of those whose mental clarity is - to some degree or another - affected. I am merely stating my views, in reciprocation to those I have read. Everyone is entitled to an opinion - and, if that opinion is based on reseach and serious study - then how can that opinion be construed as so offensive? Indeed, part of the reason I have reserached Fitzgerald and Zelda so thoroughly, is because I hope to write something one day about them and about their work. I can't hope at this - still early - stage to bring any great elucidation to bear, I am merely a fledgling, opening her wings, taking a breath and hoping for a friendly current to guide me. And yes, my current study related goal is to teach. >>By Mme Bovary Please accept my sincerest apologies for my total ineptitude in understanding your intentions, I just know that as a lifelong resident of Western North Carolina, I didn't have to read books on the treatment people received there, albeit a "wide scope" of treatment. I know that the hospital she died in was hell in the disguise of a hospital, but unfortunately, I don't have a wide scope of books to back up my theory. Just stories from former employees. Good luck with your book, I sure it will be read far and wide by all literary acadamians such as yourself. Just give me a good Larry Brown tale of a dead coon dog in the yard anyday. >>By willwrite Thank you for your apology - I am glad to know that I didn't actually give any offence. Long ago, when my fascination for Fitzgerald began (we share the same birthday, 24th September), I bookmarked the University of South Carolina's 'Fitzgerald Centenary' website. It gave me a wealth of information and I still occasionally refer to it now. I envy you - actually chatting to former employees - my information is all second or third hand. I do hope in either my third year of my degree (next year) or in my masters year, that I will be able to spend a semester at Princeton, looking over his notebooks etc would be a priveledge I cannot even imagine. I think that my fasination with Fitzgerald outweighs that of any other authors because he died not knowing how great a literary gift he was leaving behind. Hemingway, for example, had an outward belief in himself (I say outward because I know that inwardly any confidence he had in himself eroded over time), which Fitzgerald longed so much to emulate. I think that this is why he said that 'Ernest writes with the authority of success and I write with the authority of failure'. How can you not love such self-effacement? As for me being a literary acadamian, wow! What a compliment, I can only hope that one day that title will rest rather more comfortably on my shoulders than it does at present. As for Larry Brown - forgive my ignorance - I am afraid I have never heard of him. When you say a 'dead coon dog in the yard' are we talking about a Faulkneresque type novel such as 'Sanctuary'? Sanctuary was a novel which Scott recommended Zelda read whilst she was institutionalised, she despised it, refering to it as a crass 'potboiler'. So, of course - I just had to read it to find out why she disliked it so intensely. I agree with her, although it being a Faulkner novel, it was interesting to read, and thereby draw comparisons with the beautiful and terrifying 'As I Lay Dying' and 'The Sound and the Fury'. I really do hope that one day I will write something difinitive about Scott and Zelda - so much has been written so far, I am unsure whether I could bring anything new to light. Yet, having read so widely about them, I automatically find myself sifting the wheat from the chaff. The amount of apocryphal stories which are given credence, really makes me want to vilify such blatant autobiographical misdemeanours! So maybe I will write it one day - (I already have a working title!) just not yet. >>By Mme Bovary Larry Brown is yet another unsung hero from Oxford, Miss. He was a fireman, and the Algonquin press out of Chapel Hill picked up one of his short stories for their "Best loved short stories of the south". He went on to write "Big Bad Love, a collectiong of short stories, and Joe, a novel. He has since written many novels, and most recently wrote a beautiful book of essays titled "Billy Ray's Farm". Joe was the novel that made him my hero. If you need a break from academia, you should look up his books. You'll be doing your head and your heart a great favor. >>By willwrite Much as I would like to give my head and my heart a break - and much as your Mr Brown appeals - I have to stick my head back into Charlotte Bronte's Villette. It's such a removal from Jane Eyre, you absolutely wish for the heroine, Lucy Snowe, to assert herself and not clam up all the time. I guess that this is why the lecturers have got us to read both of them, so that a neat comparison can be drawn. I had much more fun last year with the Pamela/Shamela comparison though! Academic life cannot all be bliss. I have foolishly left the book I am least looking forward to, till last - Anthony Trollope's 'Can you forgive her?' I actually began to read it a month ago and cast it aside in favour of other novels, I couldn't get along with his delineation of an elitist English bourgoisee (if there is such a word). 830 pages discussing the fact that a woman in Victorian society has made her own choice over something relatively important - who she wants to marry! Wish me luck - I am nearly at the end of Villette! >>By Mme Bovary
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