To declare that The Great Gatsby was an excellent novel or a shining example of “classic literature” goes without saying. Though I absolutely concur with that statement, and found the novel to be a refreshing departure from the typical genre fiction that I enjoy, I was struck by the colorful, elevated (though not overly-lofty), and darkly acerbic prose of the work. It is a tale of nostalgia lost, obsessions unfulfilled, and illusions embraced; a sublime tale of forlorn woe, wrapped in a shell of decadence and dismissiveness at the hands of the novel’s characters.

Fitzgerald’s insightful, and sometimes hard, view of the world during his time (and the stature of high society people found within it) in the 1920s caused me to pause and wonder how different those same classes of people might be today. Something tells me that, despite the technological advancements that we’ve made since, we’re really no different…or ever have been in so many ways. The world is comprised of diverse characters, as it ever has been; some redeemable, some noble, some neither.

I highly recommend this novel; not so much for its literary legacy, but for its warning to those who read it: Have the self-respect and strength of character to be sincere and act nobly on behalf of yourself to those around you, and do not take the easy path to cast those around you carelessly about, heedless of regard or consideration.