As the chapter ends.

I’ve just read The Great Gatsby by FSFitz,

something I have been wanting to do since 15, I think. I remember the relief teacher passing us a handout with the most interesting prose i have ever seen, something like [curious incident] writing. I never thought much about Gatsby then, I just added it to my list. All along i deduced from the prose i read that day that the book would follow a imaginative fantasy story line. (Right now my memory fails on what prose is it that i read in class that day).

But now that I have finished, i think the story has one of the most realistic with a twist of odd coincidences that seemed almost possible in that previous population of 1920s. Realities in the sense that it contains the friendship, affairs and accidental murder that a contemporary drama today covers in almost 4 to 5 one hour episodes. Then, this book may amount to nothing today lost in the mass of formulaic novels . But if you have never been through at least one chapter of the book you will never know the treasure it contains.

And with the movie premiering/ premiered I think there is almost nothing you can do to justify such literature.

My perception, before I knew it was a book I still remember that day in the cool air-conditioned computer lab, was that this must be a poem. Excerpts of the book has such vocabulary and sentence construction that exceeds much already considered imaginative minds today. You never knew a smile could evoke such emotion till the day you’ve read this paragraph that describes Gatsby’s smile:

“He smiled understandingly – much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of external reassurance in it, it may come across four or five times in life. It faced – or seemed to face – the whole external world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just so far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that at your best you hoped to convey.”

I have to relinquish this book again and over again till I can memorize all these perfect prose. A godlike literature that extracts real emotions that you may almost never know how to put in exact words. Just that Fitz’s words were more than exact, they seem to be more than accurate, more than alive and much more than perfect.

“the holocaust was complete.” [it unsettles my heart and soul to read this line]


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