Unlike the christmas trees of my youth which gain in splendor and stature with each passing year, I recall this book from mandatory reading in high school, as arduous, uninteresting drudgery. Despite the illusion, I am certain that the evergreen trees of childhood are really not that magnificent and majestic, so too with my adolescent rememberances of this novel.
In a word fantastic, and it is easy to justify its revered place in American literature. A tale of love and loss, what Fitzgerald does better than most any other author I can recall, is such a lyrical style. Throughout this novel I was drawn to certain phrases which taken out of context loose much of their beauty and imagery, but within the context of the novel as a whole are sublime.
I was so entranced with this work that I immediately started on another Fitzgerald classic, Tender is the Night