Was Gatsby Great? The Great Gatsby Part 2: Crash Course English Literature
“Nothing was made whole by the tragedy of the Great Gatsby. I think that’s why some readers find the novel to be depressing and hopeless, even amid all the lush language and witty turns of phrase. But I don’t think it is hopeless. Remember that line from the first chapter? ‘Gatsby turned out all right in the end, it was what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams….’ As individuals, and as a collective, the tragedy isn’t in dreaming; It’s in chasing an unworthy dream. So in the end, is Gatsby great?”
Books read so far in 2013
Anonymous
You’re right, I don’t typically read comic books. I like the Serenity comics from Joss Whedon and the Avatar: the Last Airbender comic is fun, but that’s the closest I come to the typical Marvel-ish superhero style.
I love Art Spegielman - Maus is an amazing piece of literature, but I personally like In the Shadow of No Towers and Breakdowns better.
Some other favorites are:
- Black Hole by Charles Burns
- Stitches by David Small
- Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid on Earth by Chris Ware
- The Push Man by Yoshihiro Tatsumi
- Fun Home by Alison Bechdel
- American Born Chinese by Gene Luen Yang
It’s interesting that you mention Daniel Clowes. I’ve never read anything by him but I just watched the movie Ghost World for the first time today. He has some great characterization skills, I may have to check out his other work soon.
This Saturday, don’t forget!
I’ll personally be driving over an hour to visit the nearest participating comic book store, but you folks might be a little luckier.
"
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools, singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white,
Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.
- Sara Teasdale
