What Sets One Apart

I've always wanted to write about the Roaring Twenties. A certain romance surrounds that era: jazz pouring onto the sidewalk late at night, prosperity and parties at every corner. To tell the truth, I don't know much about those times; but the vague idea I had formed based on the sound of Louis Armstrong's jazz, coupled with grainy photographs and bits and pieces from history class, made the time period seem enchanting enough.

Fitzgerald weaves an entirely different picture together, completely shattering my initial conception of the age. From a higher ground, his narrator looks upon the rich with sadness and poorly stifled contempt, like the blue face on the book cover. The roaring parties are, to him, far from tasteful. Where others stare, open-mouthed, at society's glamorous elite, he sees nothing but superficial drunks, exempt from the morals which govern the rest of the world.

Gatsby could not be more different from one of these empty drunks, and yet, on the surface, he is exactly the same. His lavish parties and colossal amounts of money are incredibly characteristic of the Jazz Age. However, unlike the people who appear at his gatherings, he does not give in to greed: he is fueled by love. This is, perhaps, the saddest thing about his predicament. In fact, his situation perfectly embodies the great American tragedy of the decade: status trumped everything. For this reason, love was never enough for Daisy and Gatsby: "she only married [Nick] because [Gatsby] was poor and she was tired of waiting for [him]," (Fitzgerald 130). Money drew her in, and after a time she was comforted by it. Only Gatsby was left to suffer. And yet, instead of withdrawing into himself or leaving the idea of her behind, he prospered. He chose to build himself up for her. This is precisely why Nick holds Gatsby in such high regard.

New York City, 1920