Um, that's not a hyperlink. To post one you include the link as part of a text, like
this.
Anyway you're obviously not going to come to the right conclusion about Fitzgerald's last two completed novels on your own, and since
Gatsby happens to be near the top of my desert-island items I'll provide the best CliffsNotes you'll ever see on this arguably greatest of all American novels.
You've made a complaint about
Gatsby that is quite common, namely that it lacks sympathetic main characters, though I'd say the narrator Nick Carraway is one and the stock Jewish criminal Meyer Wolfshiem, while a shady character in more ways than one, has a certain nobility of intention about him when he explains why he refuses to attend his old friend's funeral (in stark contrast to nearly everyone else who had abandoned the book's tragic hero when he became no longer useful). Another common claim you've made is that the novel is an indictment of the Jazz Age and/or the American Dream (which, needless to say, is still very much alive). Both of these claims are wrong on their face given the novel's enduring popularity, but they're still instructive, as they can guide us as to why Gatsby both the book and the character continues to speak to so many readers in America and beyond, and also because they're intricately related to each other despite one concern seeming to be more aesthetic than social and vice versa.
I'm guessing you're already familiar with the plot, so let me briefly touch on one of the great mysteries of the novel that I wasn't able to figure out for years. When Daisy accidentally kills her hubby's mistress Myrtle and Jay waits outside her room while planning to take the rap for her manslaughter, he is discovered by Nick who is disgusted at his former idol's seeming lack of concern for the deceased and sole interest in the well-being of his unattainable object of affection who to his willful obliviousness has already forsaken him. In nearly all cases the reader would readily partake in Nick's disgust at such a twisted obsession, but the sentiment we feel for Gatsby is one less of righteous anger than of forlorn pity. Perhaps that's because we know all his efforts will be for naught, or because of some vague understanding on our part that love can make one do unfathomable things, but I'd found none of the explanations fully satisfactory... until I read Harold Bloom's intro to his
Critical Interpretation on the book.
There Bloom makes the most convincing argument I've seen on this conundrum: "Gatsby is in love neither with Daisy nor with love itself, but rather with a moment out of time that he persuades himself he shared with Daisy." This love goes beyond the kind of schoolboy philosophizing about the woman he felt he was in love with as opposed to the actual one, or even some kind of an ideal he thought he was pursuing. Bloom continues:
So the "Great" in the novel's title is in fact not at all ironic, as it's commonly claimed, and the titular hero's pursuit of material possessions is for a higher purpose which is simply out of the reach of a genuine materialist like Daisy. When Gatsby finally pays for his refusal to succumb to reality we still feel for him on some instinctive level, as he never loses hope and gives up on his dream of a perfect love or eros that most mortals don't dare aspire to, let alone attain, and because his death serves as an enduring image of the American Dream for Carraway and the rest of us, without which the book would not exist through Nick's narration.
That's why the usual discussion about whether
The Great Gatsby is about the withering of the American Dream or a cautionary celebration thereof is in the end a fruitless endeavor, as Fitzgerald was too great an artist not to entertain both and other myriad possibilities. And also why
Gatsby will prove more enduring than anything else by the author including
Tender Is the Night, as none of his other characters occupy as central a place in American mythology known as the American Dream as its titular hero while transcending it, for as much as he relies on American production for his upward mobility he never lets go of his hope for a perfect union that may or may not be attainable but remains universal in its sublime idealism which again has such a strong impact on Carraway and the rest of us. I've long believed that
Gatsby is to the 20th century what Twain's
Huckleberry Finn is to the 19th and would hesitate to place one above the other, but if I had to choose one for myself I'd go with Fitzgerald's masterpiece without question. To me it is the pinnacle of American prose fiction, the one book that will likely outlive all others produced in this country. I revisit it every year or so and it never fails to feel fresh and contemporary. Few works of art continue to speak to me as much as
Gatsby.
As for its screen adaptations... the very first one is considered lost forever and the second one from 1949 hard to find, so you're talking out of your behind as usual when you nominate the infamous Coppola-scripted Clayton film as the best available. But even limiting our choices to those after '49 I much prefer the recent 2013 version starring DiCaprio as you-know-who. There are lots of things to take issue with in the film, be they director Baz Luhrmann's trademark excesses (its
Rhapsody in Blue that introduces Gatsby to the viewer for the first time has gotta be the most bombastic, in-your-face version of the Gershwin classic ever to appear on the screen), Leo's sometimes equally over-the-top acting and eye-rolling accent, or the miscasting of Tobey Maguire as Nick Carraway, and no doubt it's these issues that prompted the majority of critics to give it a thumbs-down, but I thought this was the first
Gatsby film adaptation I'd seen that made Fitzgerald's magnum opus come alive as a tale of High Romantic poetry it is, with its titular protagonist as the doomed tragic hero. Compare the clip from the '74 film linked above with this:
It's probably the most crucial passage in all of Fitzgerald's novel, the one that all but seals the hero's fate when it describes his reunited lover as clutching and crying with erotic joy while she buries her head in his designer shirts rather than himself. But the '74 film treats this grand theater as if it were a leisurely walk in the park, while Luhrmann's penchant for bombast actually works in his favor for once and aptly turns this scene into a piece of high melodrama, with Lana Del Rey's enchanting "
Young and Beautiful" accompanying the young couple. You actually care what happens to Gatsby in the Luhrmann adaptation, unlike in the Clayton version which infamously left most viewers cold even with the dashing Redford in the title role.
You should give the '13 version a chance. If nothing else it'll provide 2 1/2 hours of ravishing designs and scenery.