n  "The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild...."n
"Ode to a Nightingale," Keats

Dick Diver, a psychiatrist and writer in his late 30s with loads of potential, travels the fashionable places in France and Italy with his wife Nicole and a group of several other expat Americans.

The novel's title was taken from a line in Keats' "Ode to a Nightingale," which reflects on the fleetingness of pleasure and the certainty of death. The partly autobiographical novel was Fitzgerald's favorite and revolves around Diver's descent into full-blown alcoholism and a complete moral collapse after developing Florence Nightingale syndrome for, and marrying Nicole, his lovely and emotionally unbalanced patient. He further loses his way after an 18-year-old actress develops a crush on Dick. He falls for the enticement of youth and beauty, which is partly to blame for his wife beginning an affair with a young soldier. After the young actress jilts him and he's cuckolded by his wife, he begins drinking more heavily which only exacerbates his problems and further dooms his marriage and career.

Sorry, but I found this too much of a diver downer, a cautionary tale, for me to have enjoyed it or to give it a sincere recommendation.

There is something deeply ambivalent about Fitzgerald's appraisal of the dissipation, drunkenness and fatuous frivolity of a world to which he himself belonged. Surely we can only condemn the characters for their snobbery, their thoughtlessness, their attitude that money should get them out of the kind of difficulty that they have brought upon themselves through ignorance, self-deception or sheer bloody-mindedness? And yet at the same time we can feel sympathy for fragile Nicole, for Dick's descent into oblivion, for Rosemary's innocence. These are the characters that Fitzgerald treats with sympathy and kindness, whereas the McKiscos, whose only crime seems to be that they are not 'well-bred', are cruelly done by:

n  Dick laid aside his reading and, after the few minutes that it took to realize the change in McKisco, the disappearance of the man’s annoying sense of inferiority, found himself pleased to talk to him. McKisco was “well-informed” on a range of subjects wider than Goethe’s — it was interesting to listen to the innumerable facile combinations that he referred to as his opinions. They struck up an acquaintance, and Dick had several meals with them. The McKiscos had been invited to sit at the captain’s table but with nascent snobbery they told Dick that they “couldn’t stand that bunch.”

Violet was very grand now, decked out by the grand couturières, charmed about the little discoveries that well-bred girls make in their teens. She could, indeed, have learned them from her mother in Boise but her soul was born dismally in the small movie houses of Idaho, and she had had no time for her mother. Now she “belonged”— together with several million other people — and she was happy, though her husband still shushed her when she grew violently naïve.n

Does that reveal a deep-seated sense of superiority in the narrator, or is he making fun of the McKiscos' ambition, of their wish to belong to this tawdry world of high society? Does Dick marry Nicole for her money or for love? Is Dick brilliant or merely self-aggrandizing? There were so many questions left open in my mind, but then that is the mark of a classic, one that is not closed off, reduced to only one obvious interpretation, but a work that opens up possibilities in the imagination.

Psychiatrist Weds Patient, Goes to Pot

If anyone ever paid close attention to the old literary dictum, "write what you know", it must have been F. Scott Fitzgerald. His novels bear a striking resemblance to his own life. TENDER IS THE NIGHT does not qualify as an exception---it contains alcoholism, mental illness, and the post WW I, Jazz Age American youth scene in Europe; the Riviera, Paris, Switzerland, and Italy, central themes in the legend of Fitzgerald himself. Not having read or heard much about this novel beforehand, at first I felt I was reading a second-rate "Hangin' with the Homies over There in Frantz" or maybe "Rosemary Crashes the In-Crowd". As the novel unfolded, though, I began to appreciate its wider vision and deeper concerns. By the end, I felt that here was another chapter of the Great American Novel, a single version of which may never exist and maybe cannot possibly exist, but which may be perceived as several books that comprise the Great American Story when taken as one. If the rise from poverty to wealth and power is one strand of the `American story', then surely the descent from wealth and respectability to the lower depths is another. While Dick Diver's crash is not as complete as Hurstwood's in "Sister Carrie", he certainly winds up expelled from the Promised Land, [barred from his former social world] practicing medicine in ever smaller New York towns, his European days of glory long disappeared.

Fitzgerald is able to paint a slowly-revealed picture of talent and wit being worn down and defeated. The forces that accomplish this are subtle and not easily named. Dick, the rising young star of psychoanalysis, marries a beautiful patient who suffers from childhood abuse by her own father. She is extremely wealthy to boot. Together they form the core of a shining group of wealthy but rather aimless expatriates in those halcyon days of the dollar after World War I. Great things are expected from Dick, but ever-increasing alcohol and dissipation rob him of his career. He pours his energy into caring for and curing Nicole, his wife. Slowly, dependence on her wealth, living the life of a sybarite, and his decreasing attention to work turn the tables. She becomes the strong one; he begins to decline, has inconclusive affairs, and the end is inevitable. The sense of loss is palpable. "Her eyes followed his figure until it became a dot and mingled with the other dots in the summer crowd." A number of interesting minor characters and excellent description of life at that time, in those places, of that class, bring the novel to an extremely high level, along with Fitzgerald's mastery of dialogue that reflects the times perfectly. TENDER IS THE NIGHT is not only a great novel, it is an unforgettable portrait of an era that has completely vanished, yet which, with the help of movies, we still feel almost able to touch.

just finished a new favourite book in the early hours of my birthday

World War I sucked. I know this, because all wars have sucked.

The Spanish flu sucked. I know this, because all flus have sucked.

When the times suck, people tend to suck, too.

When people suck, they often do foolish things. They drink too much alcohol, have extramarital affairs, speak unkindly of others, treat people they perceive as inferior to them as objects, or garbage.

The people who populate this novel are perfect examples of what happens when people suck. Worse still, when they suck and they are at the top tier of humanity (whether they got there through birth, hard work or luck), they live fast lives, tell fast stories and tell faster lies. Their exteriors take priority over their interiors and they become, simply, casings.

This all could be a rich, juicy minefield for storytelling, but, sadly, it wasn't in this novel. Or, it wasn't for me, despite the great love I have always had for F. Scott's work.

Mr. Fitzgerald wrote, of this novel, in May 1926: “My book is wonderful. I don't expect to be interrupted again. I expect to reach New York about December 10th with the manuscript under my arm. . .”

It's interesting, to me, that he was so pleased with it. It is pleasing, in ways, with fabulous sentences like this one: The hotel and its bright tan prayer rug of a beach were one.

But, this novel felt to me a lot like his characters. . . like a casing. Everyone fell flat here, they were one-dimensional. It's not even a case of my liking them or disliking them. What's important is that they're not formed or developed. Yes, they're vacuous and annoying, but if they felt real to me, I would have enjoyed them.

The plot's a hot mess, too. I frequently had no idea what was going on, but instead of rereading the confusing paragraphs, I'd just plod on, hoping they'd all disappear and I'd finally see the end of the book.

And: Sigh. Don't get me started on the deep, intrinsic feel to yet another novel published by a man in the 1930s. Women are useless in this novel, unless they're gorgeous and willing to have sex; people of color are as insubstantial as discarded corsages, after the party.

In case it's unclear, I'm not writing this review with any pleasure this morning. This website, Goodreads, is currently treating its users, the readers and writers that have made this site WHAT IT IS, as discarded corsages, as well, and another literary hero of mine, F. Scott Fitzgerald, has made my stomach turn with his visceral racism and misogyny.

We need a hero, and quick, people. You won't find any in this novel.

This is pretty much a hot mess of a novel, at least by comparison to the tightly formed The Great Gatsby. The first section introduces so many blandly defined characters, I found it really hard to keep all the men in tights straight ..

Beyond her was a fine man in a jockey cap and red-striped tights; then the woman Rosemary had seen on the raft, and who looked back at her, seeing her; then a man with a long face and a golden, leonine head, with blue tights and no hat, talking very seriously to an unmistakably Latin young man in black tights, both of them picking at little pieces of sea-weed in the sand"

Within a few short chapters a naive 18-year old actress called Rosemary has declared her love for the married 34- year old, Dick Diver, (presumably it was his tights that did it). It is fairly certain it will all end badly, it is Fitzgerald after all.
I am being quite flippant about a book that I eventually came to embrace. Things certainly improved as the absurd pomposity of the first phase of the novel settled into something much more melancholy.
In theory, plenty happens within these 334 pages, - there is duelling, murder(s), incest, and much drunken debauch. However, Fitzgerald manages to use these dramatic moments almost as decorative wallpaper to his main story of mental instability, ruinous alcoholism, and unfaithfulness. It is hard not to draw parallels between Nicole and Dick Diver with the marriage of Zelda and Francis Fitzgerald, one of the preeminent couples of the Jazz Age, but I tried to read this on its own terms and have given it alot of leeway for prevailing attitudes of the era towards woman, sexuality, class and race.
There is something bitter-sweet about books written in these interwar years, a kind of post-war euphoria and sudden wealth make it seem like life was one continuous Charlestown and endless loafing about the Riveria and Fitzgerald doesn't disabuse you of that notion.

The great hall, its floor pock-marked by two decades of hobnails, was cleared for a tea dance, and four-score young Americans, domiciled in schools near Gstaad, bounced about to the frolic of "Don't bring Lulu" or exploded violently with the first percussions of the Charleston. It was a colony of the young, simple and expensive - the Sturmtruppen of the rich were at St. Moritz

But Fitzgerald is also adept at painting the darker side of the Jazz age - a dangerous lethargy pervades the page and the faint ridiculousness of Dick Divers denouement seems inevitable.

Tender is the Night though flawed in many respects, I think is a more raw reading experience than Gatsby, almost certainly impacted by what was going on in the authors life at the time. It is almost impossible not to open any section of this and find something stunningly quotable, I luxuriated in this prose. There is droll wit here, sharp social observation. The sum of its sometimes confusing parts is a kind of elegy to a life wasted and good times gone sour.

i didn't enjoy this book as much as i've liked fitzgerald in the past. unfortunately racism, sexism, etc. is something one often has to deal with as an occupational hazard of reading american books from the twentieth century...but in this case that seems more true than usual. i am also almost repulsed by all the characters; rather than write so that the reader believes the characters are inherently good, fitzgerald simply reiterates it. dick especially is awful and rosemary's only defining feature is her childishness, which, with this plot-line, is disgusting. one scene was almost an exploration of what would have happened in the great gatsby if tom had unfeelingly gone into the hotel room, no longer caring about his hold on daisy. the whole thing was unpleasant and i'm glad to be done with it. i do love fitzgerald's style of writing, though, and for that reason i don't think i could ever give him one star.

Μέσα στο πολυσέλιδο αυτό βιβλίο παρακολουθούμε την άνοδο και την πτώση ενός ιδιόμορφου ζευγαριού. Του γιατρού Ντικ Ντάιβερ και της γυναίκας του Νικόλ. Ο Φιτζέραλντ ουσιαστικά τροποποιεί λογοτεχνικά την ζωή του και την θυελλώδη σχέση του με την γυναίκα του Ζέλντα.
Το βιβλίο έχει ενδιαφέρουσες στιγμές, όμως όπως και στο "Μεγάλο Γκάτσμπυ" έτσι και σε αυτό το έργο ο τρόπος γραφής του Φιτζέραλντ μου φάνηκε κάπως παλιός, λίγο βαρετός και σε πολλές στιγμές παρωχημένος. Δεν νομίζω πλέον πως μου ταιριάζει ο συγκεκριμένος συγγραφέας ενώ σε γενικές γραμμές η θεματολογία του δεν με ελκύει. Ίσως σε μια άλλη εποχή, ίσως...
Εντούτοις δεν μπορώ να μην αναγνωρίσω την εξαιρετική σκιαγράφηση των χαρακτήρων του και τις όμορφες περιγραφές των τοπίων και ��διαίτερα της Γαλλικής Ριβιέρας. Στοιχεία όμως που δεν ήταν αρκετά για να με "δέσουν" με τους χαρακτήρες και να με ενθουσιάσουν σαν αναγνώστη...
3/5

ΥΓ: δεν είμαι σίγουρος αν η μετάφραση ήταν καλή, αλλά θα ανατρέξω στο πρωτότυπο για να τσεκάρω. Κάτι δεν πήγαινε καλά όμως

So disappointed with this.. started great but every paragraph, every page felt heavier than the last one..

Ci si sentiva soli e tristi, ad avere il cuore così vuoto l'uno per l'altra.

Una struggente storia d'amore? L'antenato dei romanzetti rosa odierni? Non direi. Piuttosto la discesa in un abisso. Raccontarlo non è facile, recensirlo tantomeno. Del resto in questo romanzo non succede pressoché niente. Niente d'importante, almeno. È, come ho già detto, un viaggio nella follia, ma non solo follia amorosa, anche follia mentale, fisica, morale, sociale. "Tenera è la notte" è un bellissimo titolo, un titolo misterioso e al contempo emblematico. Ci ho riflettuto su dalla prima all'ultima pagina, e alla fine sono giunto alla conclusione che quella notte è la notte dentro ognuno di noi. E non è tenera. È terribile. Tenera nel suo lato più pacifico, distruttiva nell'assenza di pace, di controllo.

Così mi sono tuffato sulle prime centoquaranta pagine pensando a quanto fosse futile Rosemary ai fini del romanzo, ma poi ho capito che era il modo di Fitzgerald per mostrarci il suo rapporto con la moglie visto dall'esterno, visto in modo ingenuo, un rapporto devastante che solo loro conoscevano.

Si passa dunque a Dick e al suo lavoro, ai giorni del suo incontro con Nicole, alla malattia della ragazza che poi fu l'unica cosa che lo portò ad amarla con tutto sé stesso. Il deterioramento di lei che porta al deterioramente di lui, lentamente, complice Rosemary, la bambina, complice la società senza valori, complice l'amore, il non amore, la malattia, la schizofrenia, il buio, la notte; una tenerezza mancata e assente, una famiglia disperata dentro e perfetta fuori.

Non posso dire di essere impazzito per questo libro. Mi lascia dentro un certo qual senso di disagio e di incompletezza, ma poiché sembra scritto da Dio ed è, per l'appunto, un abisso, mi sento di riservargli un elogio particolare. Fitzgerald ha scritto un romanzo chiaramente personale, un romanzo che ha fatto scoppiare in lacrime molte persone da quando fu scritto nel lontano 1934. A me non ha fatto piangere, non mi ha commosso, però mi ha aperto la mente, mi ha reso triste e anche malinconico. Una scrittura elegante e ipnotica che ti conduce nei recessi dell'animo di una malata e di un innamorato che cade a pezzi, un'onda distruttiva che si porta con sé il dottore e il paziente, se li porta via, via, e non li rimanda più indietro. Un vuoto di ideali, un paradosso nel mezzo delle due guerre più brutte della storia dell'uomo, un amore diverso dall'amore classico, un amore sofferto, calpestato, rivoltato, battuto. La lucidità porta con sé gli ultimi baci, il voler bene non è più un atto ma un modo di dire.

Sapeva finalmente il numero della terribile porta della fantasia, la soglia della fuga che non era fuga; sapeva che per lei, adesso e in futuro, il peccato più grande consisteva nell'illudere se stessa. O si pensa o gli altri devono pensare per noi, e toglierci il potere, pervertire e disciplinare i nostri gusti naturali, incivilirci e sterilizzarci.

Signori, "Tenera è la notte" è forse un capolavoro - termine banale -, o forse non lo è, ma quel che è certo è che si sprofonda. Si sprofonda tanto.

"Oh no, this wealthy hot barely legal teen needs me to take care of her body and her mounds of money forever because she's mentally unstable! What shall I do? Wait - oh man, here comes another hot barely legal teen! Am I going to have to have sex with her too?!" COOL STORY, F SCOTT FITZGERALD.

Fitzgerald's Tender Is The Night

F. Scott Fitzgerald's 1934 novel "Tender is the Night" is a story of part of America's "Lost Generation" in the period following WW I. Most of the story is set on the French Riviera in the 1920s with a large cast of wealthy, dissipated and idle Americans with little to do with themselves. The book tells of the fall of Dick Diver, a promising and idealistic young American psychiatrist. As an intern in Zurich, Dick had married a beautiful wealthy young American woman, Nichole Warren, who had been his patient. Nichole had severe and lasting psychiatric issues resulting from sexual abuse by her father. While on the Riviera, several years into the marriage, Dick is attracted to a callow 18-year old American movie actress, Rosemary Hoyt. Although he resists Rosemary's advances at the time, her memory stays with him. She and Dick have a brief affair a few years later. Dick ultimately sees her as shallow. By that time, his life has dissipated through drink, idleness, problems with Nichole, and the corrupting effect of Nichole's money. Nichole leaves Dick, and he returns to the States for a lonely, wasted life. It is all very sad.

The story is haunting, effectively organized, and well told. The opening scenes take place on the French Riviera with Dick seemingly at the height of his powers as a socialite and budding medical writer. After an extended opening, the story doubles back to Dick's life in Zurich and his fateful courtship of Nichole. We then witness Dick Diver's inexorable deterioration, alcoholism, and degeneracy, and the break-up of his marriage. The writing is eloquent and spare, with good characterizations of mostly unappealing people and pictures of places. Fitzgerald shows the rootlessness of a class of Americans after the Great War and the corrupting effects of money and idleness. Dick Diver's story, I thought, was sad and sentimental rather than tragic. There is little of the hero about him.

"Tender is the Night" is the story of wandering lives, lost innocence, and the waste of human potential. In some ways, the book reminded me of the writings of the Beats, following WW II. It is a 20th Century American book that rewards knowing.

Robin Friedman