I remember having a choice on my summer reading list going into Freshman year of High School. We had to pick one book from a few different categories. From one category, we already had two of the books sitting on the bookshelf in my dad’s study. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, and The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway. For some reason that eludes me now, my 13-year-old past self chose The Old Man and the Sea. I can appreciate Hemingway’s particular prose these days, but that was a rough 100-some page read for teenage me. It took me over half the summer to force myself through all of it. I am sorry, but there is no way to make fishing read as compelling. It is an impossible task.
Having said that, I do not know if I would have had an easier time with The Great Gatsby, but I was pleasently surprised by how readable and modern it felt. Whenever I pick up a book from almost a century ago (it will be 100 years old next year), I expect to find myself going backwards and re-reading sentences or entire paragraphs to fully understand them. I do not recall that happening more than a handful of times with Gatsby.
I think that might be because America doesn’t feel all that different from the America of Fitzgerald’s writing. The class barriers preventing Gatsby from ever achieving the American dream he believed in. The chasing after Daisy as a trophy to be placed on a mantle. The ability of a con man to find success and admiration, making spectacles to distract from his illegal activities. Gatsby should have gone into politics.
Side note, we should call each other “old sport” more.