A Bunch of Literary Shite

So I just got back from my two tests, and before I write about what I want to write about let me discuss how it went. First was the math test. Easy, piece of cake, it was like shooting big fat trout in a tea cup. I missed ONE question--and I might even get 1/2 credit for that one. I set up the problem correctly, and what I put as the final answer was technically correct, but I also could have (should have) supplied a more precise answer. Also, as I write this I am again reminded that I cannot for the life of me spell answer (which is correct here only because I have access to spell check). Does anyone have some kind of device to remember how to spell it? I used to have trouble spelling Wednesday until I saw that it looks like "Wed" (as in get married to) "nes" (Nintendo Entertainment System) "day" (thus the middle of the week is the day when one marries their Nintendo game system). Anyway, I'll take a minus one because frankly, I thought I'd be struggling in this class. I can't believe how easy this class is. I didn't test into it (I tested higher) but I thought there would some challenge. Oh well, I'll take the easy "A" any day.

Spanish was just okay. I think I got a "B" on it. The hardest part was (once again) the listening part (she talks too damn fast) and the vocabulary section. Unlike previous classes, the vocab part was basically "here are six Spanish words, pick four and define them" in Spanish!!! Yeah, I sucked that part up. Oh well, all I need there is a "D-"

Now that's out of the way...the literary stuff swirling around inside my head. Today we talked about THE GREAT GATSBY in my Modern American Fiction class. My friends Paul and Mike both think I'm off my nut for loving this book so much. Before class started we were discussing what might be on the quiz (we quiz over our readings at the beginning of every class). Paul was unsure of who was who in the book, he seemed a little peeved (amazed?) that I knew everybody (except Tom Buchanan's mistress whose first name escaped me at the time (it's Myrtle)). While they both agreed it's a good book they wanted to know why I LOVE it so much. They laughed at me a little when I said (honestly) I don't know. So I've been trying to come up with a reason why. First, I have to admit, I read this book on my own initially (having never been in a real literature class in High School which forced me to read it) because of its reputation. I also am going to admit that at first, the only reason I said it was my favorite book was because I wanted to look smart. Six years after reading it for the first time, I can actually say that it's my favorite book--there is no ego in my love of GATSBY (anymore). So, what's so great about it?

As far as books go, it's brief (180 pages in the trade paperback edition). I like short, compact little packets of writing. Don't get me wrong, I like 'em long (CRIME AND PUNISHMENT) but nothing comes closer to what I want to someday do as a writer like GATSBY. Short and to the point. What else is so great about? All the characters (and I mean all of them) are tragic figures, none more than Gatsby himself. Why do I like that? Because they each have a halo of sadness that pervades over them--oh sure, the novel is basically a series of parties and beer blasts (to quote S.E. Hinton) but all that jovial behavior is a mask. All the people in GATSBY are fakes, phonies, and liars...but just under the surface are real, lonely, heartbroken people. Just like real life. And then there is Gatsby, whom I most identify with (which is ironic because he's the book's "mystery character"). Gatsby is a mystery by his own design. What I can tell you about him is this: he was born poor, went to war and came back a man on a mission. He became wealthy (the only way you can in America, by cheating someone or something) and set about trying to win back the love of a woman he lost in his youth. He buys a mansion (that looks like a French city hall) directly across the bay from where his beloved Daisy lives (with her husband). At night, he walks to the water and stares at the dim light of her property. He loves her, is obsessed with her. Gatsby spins these tales about himself, in a sense he's a "self-made man" because everything about him (including his name) is a fabrication. He literally created himself, or at least him public image. Why do I identify with this? Well for starters, like most people, I have a sense of who I am (who I really am) as well as who I want to be. I take both of these people and try to live in the middle ground between the two (not always easy to do). Is that lying? I suppose and then again we all do it (to some extent, and some people do this more than others). That Gatsby is fated to die not only for BUT BECAUSE of his love makes him all the more romantic of a figure. Hell, Gatsby (and Eric Clapton) should be the patron saint of unrequited love. As a hopeless romantic myself, I feel a certain kinship with Gatsby.

I also take a perverse amount of pleasure in books that make me feel gloomy/sad/depressed (such as the hopelessness of the characters in my second favorite book THE OUTSIDERS). Again, this is pretty normal/common among people (why else are tragic (sad) movies, plays, TV shows, and songs still so popular?). Real life is like that (tragic and sad) so venturing into a literary world where this occurrence is magnified into art is enjoyable.

I'm not obsessed with GATSBY (we'll get to obsession in a second) but I do examine it closer than any other book in existence. I have two copies (the result of moving to St. Louis last semester without my first copy). I simply couldn't live without the book in my immediate proximity (suffice to say, it's my "desert island" book). Anyway, this second copy I bought because I'm a nutcase is pretty heavily marked up. I have highlighted key passages, words I don't know (complete with their definitions scrawled in the margins), I even have a nice summary of the roman "novel" THE SATYRICON just before chapter seven (in which Fitzgerald references Trimalchio). I don't just read this book, I want to deconstruct it--look at all it's little pieces (even those that aren't really needed to "get" it). Over the break I bought a cheap Dover Thrift edition of some of Fitzgerald's short stories...I read two (one was decent/weird...the other was good) but I gave up on it (for now). I really don't have much desire to read any of his other books. I don't know why this is, I guess I'm afraid what they say about him will be true (that he was pretty much a drunk hack who has about three good books).

ANYWAY, that's why I love THE GREAT GATSBY. Anyone reading this who hasn't read it (or hasn't read it recently) should do themselves a favor and pick it up. I can't stress how valuable (I think) it is.

Now onto obsession. I am once again bitten by the Pynchon bug. Tonight after my tests I went to the fourth floor of the library and sat on a stool in front of his small two shelves. They didn't have a copy of his latest book AGAINST THE DAY (which I really want to read). I want to read THE CRYING OF LOT 49 but we're reading it in a few weeks...and I know I should wait. I had to go pick up a book at the school bookstore today...and I almost picked up the edition our teacher ordered (it's a larger trade paperback (which I love) and has a better cover). I refrained from this impulse (only because I am a poor college student). AGAINST THE DAY is $29.00 and I only have $27.00 on my Borders giftcard (which I need to use to buy Leah a Valentine's Day gift). Anyway, I flipped through a couple of books in his section in the library...most were critical essays on his work. A few were longer (believe it or not) than the actual novels they were about. Over the break I read the first 20 or so pages of GRAVITY'S RAINBOW. I was doing pretty good...and then...BAM!!! I didn't know what the hell was going on. I felt ashamed and put it back--but I still want/need to read it. I've heard that's how it is with Pynchon. You don't "get" everything. According to most of the critical essays I browsed, it seems that Mr. Pynchon doesn't really concern himself with conventions of literature (like plot and sequence). If the Pynchon books were a woman she'd be that really strange girl (with big tits) you're too intimidated to talk to. And forget about fucking her (sorry I'm so crude). I am obsessed with Pynchon. I read SLOW LEARNER over the break and now I'm hooked. I have VINELAND (which I may start this weekend (i.e. tomorrow)). I keep forgetting I have it...it's a nice hardback, too. Ugh....I'm so sick.

On my way back home from the library I thought about the Wednesday Club writing contest. And how I don't really feel like I have nothing to submit. I have "The Dodo Egg" but it needs work. I have resolved to work on cleaning it up...and I sort of want to email it to Terri and find out what she thinks (and get her help). But I'm scared. I need to get some more people to read it too, but my friends Mike and Paul didn't really care much for it last semester. Anyway, the reason I'm relating all of this to you is because when I got back to my dorm room tonight I had an email rejection from McSweeny's website for that very story!! Baby's first rejection slip. I can't believe how excited I am to be turned down. I feel like Melville. Or Dickens. I feel like I have joined a very exclusive clube (the reality is...I HAVEN'T joined the exculsive club). Anyway, my pagan mind is taking this email as a sign. I must revise, re-work, and re-tool this story. I'm going to work on it this weekend (i.e. tomorrow). If you see me, please remind/encourage me to do this.


My favorite GATSBY quote: "Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope."