After reading Tyson’s incisive chapter on New Criticism (as well as re-reading
Fitzgerald’s classic American novel), I must admit I thought the New Critic’s claim of “Single Best Interpretation” presumptuous, and their directive to stick entirely to the text at best implausible, and most likely impossible. Yet, surprisingly, after more than three quarters of a century since its writing (as well as more than a quarter of a century since my last Gatsby reading), the enchantment of the tale remained so strong that I almost felt the title character himself “stretching out his arms toward” me through the ages and pages, imploring this “old sport” to at least give it the ol’ college try. So without further adieu, I offer Jay and you this thesis; that the main (male) characters of The Great Gatsby are so busy pursuing the fountain of youth that they missed the eternal maxim which states that in order to find True Love, one must also learn to love Truth.
Although the novel’s main men (Jay Gatsby, Nick Carraway, and Tom Buchanan) all seem to be stuck in some spot in their not so distant youths, they all seek to reclaim a slightly different stage from their glory days. While Nick waxed about his “vivid memories … coming back west from prep school” (Chapter IX, pg.183), and Gatsby gabbed incessantly about “repeating the past” of “five years before” (116,117; ch. VI) when Daisy became not only Jay’s girl, but his holy “grail” (156; ch. VIII). Tom is described as drifting “forever seeking … the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game” (10; ch.I). Still, Buchanan’s “cruel body” (11; ch. I) and “simple mind” (131; ch.VII), which he uses to physically dominate the women (Daisy’s bruised knuckle (ch.I), Myrtle’s broken nose (ch.II)), and intimidate the men; “Don’t think my opinion is final … just because I’m stronger and more of a man than you are” (11; ch.I), seems to put Tom more in the Jr. High schoolyard bully category. But if these dominating descriptions offer little hope for Tom’s growth, Carraway’s “cardinal virtue” (64; ch.III) of honesty and Gatsby’s unwavering devotion to Daisy (every chapter!) appear to offer promise for our two heroes’ development, if not happiness. Instead, the exact opposite happens, as all true love is lost, and lies and violence triumph.
Indeed, an initial surface reading of Gatsby might lead the reader to conclude the novel rewards dishonesty and brute force and dismisses faithfulness and truth, based on the fact the book ends with Tom’s life-and handshake- (188; ch. IX) intact, but Nick left with the “foul dust” (6; ch. I) of disillusionment and Gatsby dead. However, upon further review, it is not Nick or Jay’s love of truth or true love that spells their demise, but their lack of it. While Nick does appear to be above board as to his past or the basic facts of his life, his blatant stereotyping of the bit characters in his life (“I laughed aloud as … the three modish negroes rolled … the yolks of their eyeballs toward us …” (73; ch. IV), “I had … the desperate suggestion that they help me … when the demoniac Finn brought it in …” (92: ch.5) ) not to mention his caricature of the “tiny eyed … flat-nosed Jew” Wolfschiem (73; ch. IV), betrays not only a profound racial prejudice but a total inability to perceive a person as he or she really is. Similarly, Gatsby may be totally true to Daisy, but his failing to bring this devotion up to date no doubt stems from his almost total dishonestly about the other facets of his life, most notably his line of work.
What my politically incorrect college professor once dubbed “the dark side” of the Protestant work ethic; that is, so long as you’re a devoted husband and good provider you are allowed to do whatever the hell you have to in your profession to maintain that status, could easily have been coined with Gatsby in mind. Not only does a Jekyll/Hyde (or his case, Gatsby/Gatz), from old sport to “looked like he killed a man” (142; ch.VII) personality transformation occur in our hero nearly every time the subject is changed from pleasure to business, any Jay/James attempt at honesty simultaneously goes out the window as well. And nowhere in the novel is this dichotomy more prevalent than the novel’s “True Love” turning point, the Chapter VII Gatsby/Buchanan standoff.
After some initial small talk, the G-B confrontation really begins with Tom accusing Gatsby of causing a “row … in my house” (136; ch. VII), as the reader quickly realizes that no less than Daisy’s hand is at stake. The encounter has the feeling of a prize fight, and the imagery Fitzgerald uses (“Gatsby sprang to his feet,” “the words seemed to bite physically into Gatsby,” “Tom’s words suddenly leaned down over” him) does nothing to discourage this. Notice that in the beginning, when Gatsby’s devotion was being compared to Tom‘s unfaithfulness, Gatsby spoke “earnestly” while Tom “groped unsuccessfully” as Jay clearly won the early rounds. In the middle section, Gatsby went for the knockout, but since his left hook that Daisy “never loved Tom” wasn’t entirely true he only connected with a glancing blow against his opponent, and thus that segment must be scored a split decision. However, in the later rounds, Tom’s tactical decision to concentrate on Gatsby’s “true” weakness; namely his ruthless (and almost totally dishonest) business dealings, clearly turn the tide. For although Gatsby initially answered the charges politely, Tom’s repeated blows returned that “unfamiliar yet recognizable look” to Gatsby’s face, and the fight (and Daisy) was lost when Jay turned to Daisy and began “denying everything, defending his name against accusations that had not been made.” Daisy had no doubt heard this tune before, and in the end she rejected Gatsby not because he was too different from Tom, but because he was too much the same, remaining with a man with whom she was not happy, but not unhappy (152), instead of one who dreamed of “sacredness”(153) but inspired terror.
In a way he didn’t realize, Nick was on the right track (pun intended!) with his longing for the joy that his “Christmas time” return home from prep school, and the renewal “of old acquaintances” (183; ch. IX) brought him. The problem with this longing is that, at thirty, Nick (and Gatsby) should be the one inspiring memories for children, not longing to be one, not caught up in his own “holiday gayeties,” but intent on bringing the true meaning of Christmas to others. Throughout history, successful societies have all realized the paradox that the normal way for couples to grow up yet stay young is to have and raise children, a fact that seems to escape the pampered inhabitants of East and West Egg. While it’s true that Daisy isn’t exactly the Hallmark Channel mother, Nick does nothing to encourage Mrs. Buchanan’s motherhood instincts, saying blasé-ly of the babe, “I suppose she talks, and-eats, and everything” (21; ch. I). Still, to Daisy’s credit, having realized Tom is pretty much out of the fatherhood picture (note not only Daisy’s quote, “She was less than an hour old and Tom was God knows where,” but the ironic Chapter VII scene where he walks back into the room exactly when his daughter walks out), her groping comment to Pammy (as Daisy turns to Gatsby), “How do you like mother’s friends?” is no doubt delivered in hopes that Jay will show paternal interest. But Gatsby, still clinging to the Daisy of five years ago, instead “kept looking at the child with surprise … (as if) … he hadn’t really believed in its existence before” (123; ch.VII), therefore blowing a beautiful chance to strengthen his bond with his beloved.
Also, while there is certainly a lot of religious imagery in Gatsby, practically none of it is designed to inspire us to embrace the Faith. All the talk about Gatsby as “a son of God … about his Father’s business” (104; ch. VI), “his mind … like the mind of God” (117), merely seems to promote Gatz/Gatsby as a sort of secular savior, with Jay’s mansion (“I stared at Gatsby’s enormous house like Kant at his church steeple.” (93; ch. VI) “On Sunday morning while church bells rang … its mistress returned to Gatsby’s house” (65; ch. IV) serving as his house of worship. But unlike Gatsby, whose “Bootlegger’s Messiah” persona is borne out of a “ferociously indifferent” two week stint at “the small Lutheran college of St. Olaf” (105; Ch. VI) and is put to rest with a rather forgettable eulogy (unless you think “Blessed are the dead that the rain falls on,” is inspiring) by a Lutheran rent-a-minister, there is one solid family man in the story whose Faith is genuine, and who provides a powerful if brief counterpoint to negligent parenting and religious cynicism that permeates the story.
Although Michaelis, the only consistently compassionate character in the novel, brings comfort only to Wilson, his advice could have just as easily applied to Caraway or Gatsby. Trying to calm Wilson down after the horrible death of George’s wife, he first asks if he “ever had any children” (165; ch.VIII), for he realizes from experience that the way for George to not be overcome by grief is to get him to concentrate on someone close to him who also might be grieving-and really need his help. Then, after realizing George is childless, Michaelis quickly shifts the discussion to religion (ironically, considering Gatsby’s faith encounters as well as Tom’s “Catholic lie” to Myrtle (38; ch. II), suggests a priest, not a minister!), trying everything in his power to get Wilson to seek God’s solace. For the simple Michaelis knows that when Christ talks about being “born again” or “becoming like little children,” it does not mean to remain in that childish stage that characterizes the main characters, but to grow in faith while still maintaining the child-like innocence that allows a soul to remain “young at heart”-surely that romantic state of being Gatsby was searching for in his eternal longing for “the single green light” (16; ch. I). True, any interpretation relying heavily on a minor character, not to mention a Christian critique, when Fitzgerald himself was not exactly religious, is going way against the grain. But when a New Critic notices the word “Church” urgently proclaimed no less than six times in two short paragraphs, he can rightly say the text itself is striking back at our illustrious author’s intent.
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You would think the New Critics would have learned their lesson from the Protestant Reformation, which Luther started by shouting “Sola Scriptura!” (although the Bible itself urged its followers to adhere to both the text and tradition)-only to get pissed off that men soon found his interpretation wanting and started their own (over 25,000 at last count) churches too, including “Christian” sects where everything is subjective, (subjective reader-response theory, anyone?) that even deny Christ! While Luther-or Lois Tyson (whose brilliant NC Gatsby essay first breaks the “text only” rule when she refers to Fitzgerald’s biographical love of Keats in the second sentence of her article!) would have to admit that staying solely in the text is literally impossible, attempting to can still be valuable. As far as Tyson’s interpretation (where interestingly, she states as fact, not opinion) that Gatsby “tells us that unfulfilled longing is universal and inevitable,” I can only counter with the famous quote by the forth century theologian (and reformed Gatsby-esque playboy) Augustine, “The soul is restless until it rests in You.” But I cannot claim my test for “True Love” is the best unless the reader sees through me that He is the best way to stay “young at heart.”
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