Page 47
The music was feverishly vibrating through walls, almost like the light, and I suppose I should’ve known the guests who were listening. There is nothing much to throwing a party you know. In the beginning it all seemed more than it was, as I felt that I should be acquainted with the strangers in my home. Until I realized I didn’t have to, all that was needed was my name, and the letters would spread like the wine being passed. I don’t mind the popularity –but need it rather. They should all know of me, even if their language is off tangent; perhaps the right person would hear and interest would arise. So much as it would lead them to my wealth and I. Perhaps Daisy.
Curiosity is all that I want to give for now. And a party. And so Nick came, as one of the few guests I actually invited. Although he’s my neighbor, I rarely came in contact with him, but I know he knows of my existence. I’ve waited for time to reveal itself, but all that speaks to me is the past; and now it’s become easy for me to speak of it also. “Your face is familiar,” were first the words of reminisce, and second of intrigue.
“Weren’t you in the Third Division during the war?” I said innocently. Reality is plenty different from the plot, but much has gone my way, so I choose to plot again. “Why, yes. I was in the ninth machine-gun battalion.” Right he was. “I was in the Seventh Infantry until June nineteen-eighteen. I knew I’d seen you somewhere before.” Right I knew. Later on I invited him for a ride in my hydroplane; I also told him that I lived in my house.This house. I told him I lived in this house... which now I suppose was rather vague. Then he said something rather…embarrassing. “This is an unusual party for me. I haven’t even seen the host. I live over there-” Then he directed his hand toward something and continued “and this man Gatsby sent over his chauffeur with an invitation.” I couldn’t hide my expression and just replied “I’m Gatsby.”
Sunday, January 22, 2012
If Gatsby was our Narrator
The music was feverishly vibrating through walls, almost like the light, and I suppose I should’ve known the guests who were listening. There is nothing much to throwing a party you know. In the beginning it all seemed more than it was, as I felt that I should be acquainted with the strangers in my home. Until I realized I didn’t have to, all that was needed was my name, and the letters would spread like the wine being passed. I don’t mind the popularity –but need it rather. They should all know of me, even if their language is off tangent; perhaps the right person would hear and interest would arise. So much as it would lead them to my wealth and I. Perhaps Daisy.
Curiosity is all that I want to give for now. And a party. And so Nick came, as one of the few guests I actually invited. Although he’s my neighbor, I rarely came in contact with him, but I know he knows of my existence. I’ve waited for time to reveal itself, but all that speaks to me is the past; and now it’s become easy for me to speak of it also. “Your face is familiar,” were first the words of reminisce, and second of intrigue.
“Weren’t you in the Third Division during the war?” Reality is plenty different from the plot, but much has gone my way, so I choose to plot again. “Why, yes. I was in the ninth machine-gun battalion.” Right he was. “I was in the Seventh Infantry until June nineteen-eighteen. I knew I’d seen you somewhere before.” Right I knew. Later on I invited him for a ride in my hydroplane; I also told him that I lived here. Then he said something rather…embarrassing. “This is an unusual party for me. I haven’t even seen the host. I live over there-” Then he directed his hand toward something and continued “and this man Gatsby sent over his chauffeur with an invitation.” I couldn’t hide my expression and just replied “I’m Gatsby.”
Curiosity is all that I want to give for now. And a party. And so Nick came, as one of the few guests I actually invited. Although he’s my neighbor, I rarely came in contact with him, but I know he knows of my existence. I’ve waited for time to reveal itself, but all that speaks to me is the past; and now it’s become easy for me to speak of it also. “Your face is familiar,” were first the words of reminisce, and second of intrigue.
“Weren’t you in the Third Division during the war?” Reality is plenty different from the plot, but much has gone my way, so I choose to plot again. “Why, yes. I was in the ninth machine-gun battalion.” Right he was. “I was in the Seventh Infantry until June nineteen-eighteen. I knew I’d seen you somewhere before.” Right I knew. Later on I invited him for a ride in my hydroplane; I also told him that I lived here. Then he said something rather…embarrassing. “This is an unusual party for me. I haven’t even seen the host. I live over there-” Then he directed his hand toward something and continued “and this man Gatsby sent over his chauffeur with an invitation.” I couldn’t hide my expression and just replied “I’m Gatsby.”
Saturday, January 14, 2012
American Dream
“The city that was once thriving with middle-wage earning blue-collar workers is now home to frightening statistics on homeless, joblessness, and poverty.”
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kim-carter/the-failed-american-dream_b_1154832.html
If you don’t feel like reading this article, it’s basically about San Bernardino (a Southern California city) who was ‘living the American dream,’ and unconsciously gloating with success, but now is currently second in poverty next to Detroit (as of 2011). 34.6% of the city’s residents (about 72,000 people) fall below the poverty line. Or perhaps you already knew this because we all picked the same article since it was the first to show in results.
Anyway,
We’ve already mentioned in class how the American Dream is to reach some point of success through hard work; and the only way this is possible is because we have “equality” in the United States. Well from the beginning of The Great Gatsby, the first things Nick speaks of is how his father said (and now what he says) everyone isn’t born with the same opportunities. Really to me, this is like a thesis statement to the whole book. To my understanding, he’s basically implying that the American Dream is dead/dying; and then the rest of the story is his proof.
It’s a kind of weird proof though because while usually one would want to be supported with straight-forward evidence, everything in this book is a symbol for the reflection of American society in the 1920s…or should I say just Gatsby.
{Spoiler Alert} If you’ve read to at least chapter 7, it appears that Gatsby’s dream is officially dead. Once in poverty, now filthy rich, Gatsby has mixed his feeling for daisy and his lust for wealth; they’re basically one is his mind. Since daisy has rejected him, it’s evident that his dream was only for materialism and not love, but of course he’s going to be in denial (chapter 8) and try to keep it alive. This shows how the American dream has lost its goal of happiness, and deteriorated to just the interest of greed & money.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kim-carter/the-failed-american-dream_b_1154832.html
If you don’t feel like reading this article, it’s basically about San Bernardino (a Southern California city) who was ‘living the American dream,’ and unconsciously gloating with success, but now is currently second in poverty next to Detroit (as of 2011). 34.6% of the city’s residents (about 72,000 people) fall below the poverty line. Or perhaps you already knew this because we all picked the same article since it was the first to show in results.
Anyway,
We’ve already mentioned in class how the American Dream is to reach some point of success through hard work; and the only way this is possible is because we have “equality” in the United States. Well from the beginning of The Great Gatsby, the first things Nick speaks of is how his father said (and now what he says) everyone isn’t born with the same opportunities. Really to me, this is like a thesis statement to the whole book. To my understanding, he’s basically implying that the American Dream is dead/dying; and then the rest of the story is his proof.
It’s a kind of weird proof though because while usually one would want to be supported with straight-forward evidence, everything in this book is a symbol for the reflection of American society in the 1920s…or should I say just Gatsby.
{Spoiler Alert} If you’ve read to at least chapter 7, it appears that Gatsby’s dream is officially dead. Once in poverty, now filthy rich, Gatsby has mixed his feeling for daisy and his lust for wealth; they’re basically one is his mind. Since daisy has rejected him, it’s evident that his dream was only for materialism and not love, but of course he’s going to be in denial (chapter 8) and try to keep it alive. This shows how the American dream has lost its goal of happiness, and deteriorated to just the interest of greed & money.
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