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A Google user
In the summer of 1985, I sat on the top floor of the Weldon library at Western every night reading Fitzgerald. The world of ice cream coloured shirts, collars up, and acid wash jeans was very far away.
I hadn't started classes yet (though I would eventually drop out by Thanksgiving). I spent my time in a lithium-like haze through the sticky July and August heat, so far into books and so disconnected with real life Iliterally felt drugged.
If Springsteen music was my soundtrack, and Steinbeck my wise Grandfather, then Fitzgerald was the witty, lyrical uncle of gin, jazz and dreams.
He had an exquisite way of creating a scene cinematically, operatically, so that you could read a passage over and over again the way you could relisten to a Gershwin piece and never be fatigued.
It was the odour of those old books up there in the dusty stacks, some first editions. I would open them, the pages tart in my nose, and wonder, who else had been there before me, looked like, in the same way I wonder what old pennies have seen.
The last pages of Gatsby, the first paragraph of Winter Dreams, Pat Hobby's second station in the commisary - who could ask for anything more in a writer? Who could ask for anything more?
I'm forty three now, and follow the advice someone once gave me: Read Gatsby at 20, 30, 40, 50; because the words will carry you into your advancing years.
Nothing burns faster than the flame of youth, and it's ashes turn to gray in our hair.
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alice schadewald
I didn't know it was to be collection, of stories, but I loved it. Had to reacquaint myself with the jargon - some long ago now forbidden - but it was nice to be reintroduced to a time when life seemed quieter. Glad to have read it . . . it is a treasure to behold.
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J. White
At first I was skeptical bc I couldn't stand Fitzgerald's run-on sentence structure or make sense of some story endings. But they became vernacular poetry and singularly gorgeous! Benedict is one of my fav stories now.
4 people found this review helpful