This is a library copy with a giant blood(?) stain on page 102.
When I first read The Great Gatsby decades ago, I didn’t question anything about it. Everybody I knew who read books said it was a great book, so I assumed I was reading a great book. As far as I was concerned, if F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote it, if Hemingway or Steinbeck or Twain or Dickens wrote it, then whatever it was must have been great. I didn’t question these things. Who was I to question the writing of a great novelist?
I started reading The Great Gatsby a couple weeks ago, but I had to stop because of some of the sentences. I don’t know how critical to be of sentences in a great, influential book. I hesitate commenting on The Great Gatsby because I criticized Holden Caulfield last week, and I don’t want to come across as constantly…
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