This book is unique in a way that two lines in and the book had me completely. That’s new, because I’m a skeptic and I normally take pages or chapters to finally make up my mind about a book. What Mr. Gatsby did to the people he met, probably this book did to me. Pay attention here, I haven’t said that I liked the content yet. I only said the book had me and my undivided attention. I do not imply that I hated the content either. The book, just somehow, managed to draw the kind of attention foreign to its genre. When you delve into a “great book”, a “classic”, you normally go in slow and give it time (at least I do). But, with this book, when I got in, I was devouring everything wolfish-ly, as if I were reading a thriller or solving a mystery.
That being said, the entire plot is a requiem to a grand fiasco. You learn early that Daisy and Gatsby are never getting together, yet hopelessly root for them while waiting for the facade to fall and crumple. This is also a queer book where nothing particularly good comes out in the end to any of the characters. The hero is not showered with kisses for waiting five years for the woman he loves, nobody gets married, no one finds true love, nobody swoons at the over the top romantic gestures and nobody dies a heroic death. That can really suck for some readers! As for me, I bought it. There’s no way, this tale could have been a success. It was bound for misery all along.
The “Great American Dream” is perhaps identified with this book so much, as the entire plot builds up to achieve that golden dream and falls short in the end, while the Great American Dream stands shimmering at the distance, like the green light; “great”, bordering your ken, yet unattainable- a “dream”.