I was in a terrible reading slump and wanted something familiar, so I borrowed The Great Gatsby from the library. For a long time, I considered The Great Gatsby one of my favorite books. Not out of misplaced nostalgia for 1920’s America, but as a commentary on the emptiness of the American Dream. I didn’t enjoy it as much as I remembered, but I still do like the book as a commentary on the emptiness of the American Dream.

Gatsby is a man ruined by an inability to entirely rewrite the past to suit his fictitious present. He’s a man so blinded by his own desire that he ceases to exist outside of it.

The eyes of Dr. T.J. Eckleburg will haunt me forever...