And then he dies, buried all alone accompanied by only his father , a friend since summer and a random owl eyed guy who frequented his parties that he threw throughout that summer. Who will then use the term 'old sport'?
I reread this book for the second time recently. There must have been something about it that makes it so endearing as a classic which I somehow failed to notice the first time reading it. True enough, this time around I found the language used beautiful, descriptions vivid and as the story builds up, you begin to walk around in the shoes of some of the characters... well, almost.
I sometimes wonder if things portrayed in fiction could have happened in real life, the desire deep down to do practically anything possible just to get back a person you once loved, or still love just like how Gatsby loved Daisy.
Or the fact that Wilson actually went forward to finish off Gatsby upon learning about the yellow car that took Mrs Wilson's life in that horrible accident.
Or how anyone could tolerate that bully Tom Buchanan. The description of him walking somehow reminds me of a T-rex, though I must admit that I've never been privileged to see one in person, walking or otherwise...
The thing is, I'm glad I read it again.At least I have a better understanding of what happened and an appreciation in the authors writing style.
Here is a favourite conversation from the book:
I'll tell you a afamily secret. It's about the butler's nose. Do you want to
hear about the butler's nose?
Nick: That's why I came over tonight
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