“Very few things matter and nothing matters very much.”

-\\tF. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise

Reading The Great Gatsby was a crucial experience for me. It came at a time when my passion for reading was on the verge of fading. I had loved books since a young age, but high school English was like a bucket of cold water on my enthusiasm. It wasn't that I had difficulties; quite the contrary, I did extremely well with little effort (while the opposite was true in physics). Instead, it was about taking something enjoyable and turning it into a chore. Reading became something I had to do within a specific timeframe, rather than a leisurely activity. Moreover, the feeling of being forced to extract something from a book - to find the themes, symbols, and meaning in the text, as if it were an objective exercise like a "find the hidden objects" game in Highlights magazine - took away all the joy.

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby managed to keep that spark of love alive - just barely - long enough to carry me into early adulthood, when I could once again read for the sheer pleasure of it.

Why The Great Gatsby? Among all the assigned readings I've ever done, I found it the most accessible, the smoothest, and the most entertaining. Unlike Holden Caulfield in The Catcher in the Rye, who has always baffled me, I understood Jay Gatsby's desire to impress a girl. After all, I was in high school, and fruitless attempts to impress others took up a significant part of my day. Sure, I was required to write an essay on the symbolism, but that was easy because the symbols were right there, like shells on the beach at low tide, easy to find and pick up. But it wasn't just the simplicity; it was the beauty. When Nick Carraway imagined the brooding Gatsby pondering the green light at the end of Daisy's dock, I could envision it too, as clearly as anything in the world.

This is all a rather long way of saying that I was bound to be disappointed when I returned from Gatsby to Fitzgerald’s first novel: the somewhat-weird, mildly annoying, yet ultimately worthwhile This Side of Paradise.

This Side of Paradise tells the story of Amory Blaine, a young boy from a wealthy and well-respected family. We meet Amory in preparatory school, follow him to Princeton, and eventually leave him adrift and searching. During this time, Amory experiences love and heartbreak, avoids combat in World War I, and engages in a series of internal and external dialogues that have come to represent a generation, although it really only applies to a narrow group of white, privileged, upper-class Ivy League students like Amory.

Fitzgerald’s novel is semi-autobiographical, incorporating events and locations - such as St. Paul, Minnesota; Princeton; and a painful breakup - into his fictionalized story. If Amory is meant to be a substitute for Fitzgerald, it is a relatively harsh self-portrait. Amory is a mostly-unlikable protagonist: self-absorbed, overly-confident, thin-skinned, aimless, and lazy.

Unlike the straightforward Gatsby, This Side of Paradise is composed of three separate acts: two "books" separated by an "interlude."

The first book, titled "The Romantic Egotist," covers Amory’s matriculation. It is written in the third-person, from Amory’s perspective. Most of the action takes place at Princeton, where Amory is convinced that he has a bright future and that he shouldn't have to work hard for it. I found the first book to be a bit of a chore, as Amory is a prime example of unearned privilege. He is fickle, prickly, and generally unpleasant to be around. The supporting characters, such as Monsignor Darcy and Thomas Park D’Invilliers, are only minimally developed. Certainly, none of Fitzgerald’s secondary characters make as vivid an impression as Tom Buchanan in Gatsby.

The "interlude" portion of the novel quickly covers Amory’s participation in World War I as an instructor. No further details are provided about his military service. Thus, unlike other postwar novels like The Sun Also Rises, the war does not overshadow the story. It's worth noting that Fitzgerald himself, unlike Hemingway, never went overseas.

The second book, titled "The Education of a Personage," begins with a chapter written as a play, complete with stage directions and dialogue. There is no explanation for this sudden change in narrative style, but it works, despite drawing attention to itself. Here, we learn about Amory’s courtship and love affair with a debutante named Rosalind (presumably based on Zelda Sayre). The ebb and flow of their relationship, described through conversation, comes close to making Amory a relatable and somewhat sympathetic character, redeeming him a bit from the first book.

For long stretches, I felt trapped by Amory’s pompous pronouncements. His long monologues can be quite frustrating. However, every now and then, Fitzgerald inserts a beautiful moment. Near the end of the novel, for example, Amory is walking down the road when a man in a limousine offers him a ride. Amory then subjects the man to a tiresome lecture on his economic theories. As the ride ends, it turns out that Amory went to Princeton with the man’s son, who is now dead.

"I sent my son to Princeton…Perhaps you knew him. His name was Jesse Ferrenby. He was killed last year in France.”

“I knew him very well. In fact, he was one of my particular friends.”

“He was – a – quite a fine boy. We were very close.”

Amory began to perceive a resemblance between the father and the dead son and he told himself that there had been all along a sense of familiarity. Jesse Ferrenby, the man who in college had borne off the crown that he had aspired to. It was all so far away. What little boys they had been, working for blue ribbons…The big man held out his hand. Amory saw that the fact that he had known Jesse more than outweighed any disfavor he had created by his opinions. What ghosts were people with which to work!

Mostly, though, Amory is detestable. For instance:

"I detest poor people,” thought Amory suddenly. “I hate them for being poor. Poverty may have been beautiful once, but it’s rotten now. It’s the ugliest thing in the world. It’s essentially cleaner to be corrupt and rich than it is to be innocent and poor.”

To me, This Side of Paradise is a rough first attempt by an extremely talented author. There is some experimentation going on, as Fitzgerald transitions from third-person narrative to a play, while also including letters, poetry, and verse. You will have to decide for yourself whether you are impressed or distracted by this changing structure.

(Note: this "experimentation" might simply have been Fitzgerald piecing things together, since This Side of Paradise started out as a different, unpublished work.)

My paperback copy is less than three hundred pages long, but This Side of Paradise still felt meandering, baggy, and episodic. There were parts where my eyes simply glazed over. But just as often, I was carried away by Fitzgerald’s lyrical and beautiful prose, his ability to describe a place so vividly that you feel as if you are right there:

At first Amory noticed only the wealth of sunshine creeping across the long, green swards, dancing on the leaded windowpanes, and swimming around the tops of the spires and towers and battlemented walls…

The Roaring Twenties continue to live on in the American imagination, at least as measured by the number of Roaring Twenties parties I've attended in my life. This Side of Paradise adds fuel to that fire. In hindsight, it has been credited - according to Professor Sharon Carson, who wrote the introduction to my copy - with creating "the image of seemingly carefree, party-mad young men and women out to create a new morality for a new, postwar America."

In reality, This Side of Paradise tells the story of only a small slice of America's population. Those who were wealthy. Those who were white. Those who were living a fast and luxurious life during Coolidge’s laissez-faire administration, unknowingly headed towards economic disaster. Missing - or rather, completely ignored - is any indication of a world beyond the elite. There are no minorities. There are no wage-earners. There is no sign that anyone from this era managed to get through life without an emotionally-turbulent relationship with a flapper.

Because of the combination of author, setting, and historical context, This Side of Paradise will endure forever. As for me, I started to forget about it almost immediately.

Scott Fitzgerald's first novel catapulted him to fame.
In it, we encounter a leisurely and introspective story that I have greatly enjoyed. It deals with a young man seeking his place in a society where either you achieve success or you become a nobody. That's how tough it is.
Moreover, Fitzgerald creates a very curious yet highly effective blend of poetry, theater, and narrative.

It may not be the best book to start with this author, but if you like reflective novels, you will like it.

DNF @ 20%

I really, really made a sincere effort to like this book, but unfortunately, I just couldn't.

The first chapter, although at times it was a bit of a struggle to get through, was still somewhat readable. However, everything that occurred after Amory arrived at college truly put my patience (and reading ability) to the test.

I had high expectations of loving this book, especially since The Great Gatsby is one of my absolute favorite books, and I've also adored The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and every other short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald that I've ever read.

Now, I assume that it's because this was his debut novel, but I found the writing to be so dense that it completely took away all the pleasure of reading it for me. Despite the fact that every single sentence is complex, it also feels as if each one contains at least three metaphors and thirty adjectives. I just can't handle it -

Fitzgerald has long been one of my literary blind spots.

The Great Gatsby is indeed a masterpiece. I studied it in school and have read it several times since, along with a lot of background nonfiction and some contemporary novels that draw inspiration from its storyline. However, everything else of his that I've attempted (Tender Is the Night being the other one) has seemed aimless and more about style than substance.

Amory Blaine, a wealthy Midwesterner, progresses from boarding school to Princeton, harboring literary aspirations and engaging in various love affairs. He firmly believes he is a "boy marked for glory." But Monsignor Darcy, his mentor, urges the young man to focus more on character development than on his charming personality.

This debut novel was hugely popular upon its initial release, earning Fitzgerald his literary reputation and Zelda Sayre's hand in marriage. With its slang ("Oh my Lord, I'm going to cast a kitten"), it felt very much like a period piece to me, most notably for its experimentation with structure: some parts are written like a film script or Q&A, and there are also poems and lists. This novelty might well be the result of the author piecing together drafts and unpublished fragments, but it still struck me as bold.

In a strange way, though, the novel is ahistorical as it glosses over world events with a flippancy that I find characteristic of Fitzgerald. Even though Amory is called up to serve, his general reaction to World War I is dealt with in a paragraph; Prohibition doesn't receive much more attention.

I understand that the book is fairly autobiographical and was originally written in the first person, which I might have preferred if it led to greater authenticity. I could appreciate some of the witty banter and the overall coming-of-age arc, but mostly I felt indifferent to this one.

I kept thinking: "This is pretty good for a 22-year-old."

I also kept thinking: "This book would never have been published today." I'm not asserting that as an absolute truth about the book. I'm just saying I had these thoughts constantly.

On almost every page, I was reminded that this novel was written by a young writer. Someone who hadn't quite figured out how to pace a novel, or how to focus his themes, or how to handle dramatic scenes without either shortchanging them or making them seem overly sentimental. World War I presented as a narrative summary called "Interlude"? I don't care if Fitzgerald hadn't actually been to war - neither had Stephen Crane. Also, the different structural choices and narrative voices from one section to the next don't give the impression of an author in complete control of the material or making conscious decisions. They feel more like the author is still finding his way.

Strangely enough, because the book was such a chaotic jumble to me, I loved the detail in the novel about Amory's reading habits. Throughout the book, Fitzgerald assumes that a list of authors' names will convey to his readers Amory's current state of mind and level of maturity. Here's an example:

"He read enormously every night—Shaw, Chesterton, Barrie, Pinero, Yeats, Synge, Ernest Dowson, Arthur Symons, Keats, Sudermann, Robert Hugh Benson, the Savoy Operas—just a random mixture, for he suddenly realized that he had read nothing for years."

Of course, these passing mentions of authors, some referred to only by their last names because they were so well-known back then, can't have the same impact now as they did when Fitzgerald wrote the novel. Many of these authors are out of print or rarely read. But the references to books and authors in "This Side of Paradise" served to remind me of the mystery of literary longevity. And this became the question that preoccupied me while reading it: Why do some books remain popular for a few months or years, while others are read for generations? "This Side of Paradise" itself is now part of that mystery.

Even in his very first work, it is certain that Fitzgerald has the most beautiful language that I have ever come across in the realm of literature.

This book is rather like a fine material that has been poorly shaped. It contains some truly excellent moments, yet also has some not-so-good ones. I would say that I really liked the first 50 pages and the last 50 pages as well. However, in between, I had a hard time getting through.

Fitzgerald had not yet established his distinct style in this book. It is evident that he was experimenting with many different ideas here, which unfortunately made the work lack coherence. That "play" style chapter at the beginning of the second part, in my opinion, was extremely out of place. And the attempt to mention famous figures such as politicians and writers just to demonstrate how well-informed he was is quite annoying.

Nevertheless, the introduction to the protagonist at the start and the school and university parts were quite enjoyable. His interactions with Rosselda and Elenor were also good.

I would recommend reading this book for those who are fond of Fitzgerald's works and for the sake of his beautiful prose. It may not be a perfect masterpiece, but it still has its charm and闪光点 that are worth exploring.

Fitzgerald's first novel, with its theme of lost innocence and disillusionment after World War I, catapulted him almost immediately into the realm of Great American Writers.

7/10

Contains Spoilers

The story is told in a frantic, disjointed style, mirroring the frenetic flappers of the jazz age. They tried to dance away all the malaise of their generation. Paradoxically, it's also a languid tale of a dispirited dilettante with no real purpose in life.

It's a curious novel where all the major moments and crises in the protagonist's life are casually brushed off. His father, mother, and closest family friend and mentor die, he loses his inheritance, and his "one true love" leaves him for a financially secure future. But these are treated as unimportant incidents.

Perhaps reflective of the age when youth, spirits, hope, and joy were trampled, the novel presents a series of disappointments and misfortunes, leading the reader into a state of impotent despondency.

Amory Blaine quickly recovers from each disappointment in a melancholic stupor and carries on. He doesn't have enough spirit to be an iconoclast. His existence can be summed up in one word: dilettante.

The Jazz Age seemed hungry for this kind of literature. The first printing sold out almost immediately (3,000 copies in 3 days), and there were 11 more printings in the next 2 years. Maybe misery loves company. It was a youthful novel by a young man who "had seen it all".

Overall, I found it rather bland and annoying. After reading The Sun Also Rises, this one pales in comparison. While the themes are similar, Hemingway's novel soars with spirit and soulfulness, disturbing and moving the reader with its gravitas. This Side of Paradise, on the other hand, is a rather humdrum destination. I'd rather be on the other side.

Brilliant dialogue that still rings true after many years of being published. It is truly remarkable how the words written by F Scott Fitzgerald have endured the test of time. The depth and authenticity of his dialogue continue to captivate readers and resonate with them on a profound level.

One can't help but wonder what he would have accomplished if he had not died so young. Fitzgerald was a literary genius, and his early death cut short what could have been an even more illustrious career.

Imagine the masterpieces he might have created, the new perspectives he could have offered, and the impact he could have had on the literary world. His works, such as "The Great Gatsby," are already considered classics, but one can only dream of what else he might have achieved.

Despite his untimely passing, Fitzgerald's legacy lives on through his writing, inspiring generations of writers and readers alike. His ability to craft engaging and thought-provoking dialogue serves as a testament to his talent and creativity.

Even after all these years, his words still have the power to move and inspire, reminding us of the enduring value of great literature.

**An Apprentice Work, With Flashes Of Genius**

This Side Of Paradise was Fitzgerald’s first novel, which catapulted him to literary stardom at just 23. It became the unofficial chronicler of the flapper era. The success was such that his ex-girlfriend, Zelda Sayre, agreed to marry him. However, we know how that ultimately turned out.

The autobiographical protagonist, Amory Blaine, is insufferably narcissistic and egotistical. Fitzgerald was well aware of this and added a touch of satire to his portrayal of the vain golden boy. The earlier version was even titled The Romantic Egotist. Structurally, the book is a hodgepodge, consisting of vignettes, impressions, poems, and even something like a one-act play near the end. WWI is oddly glossed over in an interlude.

It's a coming-of-age novel with an experimental feel. Fitzgerald refers to Joyce’s A Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man, and its influence is palpable, especially in the second half. The book follows Amory’s comfortable midwest childhood, his Princeton years, and the restless post-war Jazz Age generation. Throughout, there's a search for those things we rhapsodize about in our youth: love, beauty, spirituality, and fulfillment. The narrator sometimes drones on, like a pedantic teaching assistant.

Despite being clearly an apprentice work, at times painfully so, it shows a great deal of potential. You can understand why Maxwell Perkins agreed to publish it, despite the protests of his colleagues. The book has an undeniable vitality, a spark of originality, and the occasional flash of genius. Fitzgerald is trying to capture his generation, one breaking free from pre-war mores. What it lacks is a Nick Carraway figure to provide an outsider's perspective.

What's eerie is the number of prescient passages. For example, “Amory, you’re young. I’m young. People excuse us now for our poses and vanities, for treating people like Sancho and yet getting away with it. They excuse us now. But you’ve got a lot of knocks coming to you.” There's also a post-breakup bender that foreshadows Fitzgerald's later alcoholism. The book is suffused with an elegiac feeling, especially near the end. When Amory revisits Princeton, Fitzgerald gives us a stunning passage that showcases his lyrical gift and intuitive understanding of life's currents and rhythms. In short, there's real artistry here.

When "This Side of Paradise" was published in March 1920, it was an instant hit both critically and commercially. This was Fitzgerald's first novel, and its success brought him more than just literary acclaim. It also led to a significant personal victory. Zelda Sayre, who had ended her relationship with Fitzgerald the previous year, agreed to marry him when the novel was accepted for publication. After the first print run sold out within three days, Fitzgerald wired for Zelda to come to New York City to marry him that weekend. She agreed, and they were married a week after the novel's publication. The couple then plunged headfirst into the glamorous but ultimately destructive life of celebrity.

In some respects, it's hard to fathom why this work was so well-received. It clearly shows the signs of a first novel. The writing quality is uneven, and the tone is inconsistent, as if it were hastily cobbled together from various pieces that don't always blend seamlessly. Fitzgerald combines different narrative forms, such as standard prose, play-like narrative, free verse, and rather pedestrian poetry, to tell the story of Amory Blaine, a young Midwesterner who dreams of achieving extraordinary success. Amory goes to boarding school and then to university, experiences love and heartbreak, drinks too much, attempts to write, serves in the war, works briefly in an advertising agency, and spends countless hours philosophizing alone and with his friends.

Amory is closely modeled after Fitzgerald, and much of the action is autobiographical. While what appealed to critics in 1920 was the exploration of young American manhood in the aftermath of World War I, it's the autobiographical elements that are probably most interesting to modern readers. Fitzgerald's ego, insecurities, relationship with Zelda, desire for success, and the cynicism of the age are all vividly portrayed in the text. Amory Blaine's self-obsession is a reflection of Fitzgerald's own, and it feels all the more real for its insightfulness. In a moment of introspection, Blaine reflects on his flaws and weaknesses, and his awareness of his own shortcomings adds a layer of depth to the character. However, despite the beautiful prose, the evocative portrayal of the era, and the fascinating autobiographical insights, this is not a novel that I would particularly want to read again. I think the main problem is that clever young men are often not as interesting as they imagine themselves to be. I give two stars for Amory's story and an additional one for the window it provides into the mind of the young Fitzgerald.

"I know myself...but that is all" decries Amory Blaine at the end of F. Scott Fitzgerald's first novel, which was published to literary acclaim in 1920.

The book vividly describes Amory's arduous journey of self-realization. Along the way, he courageously discards love, wealth, and propriety in his unwavering pursuit of his true self. He firmly believes that his personal quest has unearthed what Cervantes described as "the most difficult lesson in the world," namely, to know oneself. Alas, Amory, the self-proclaimed Romantic Egotist, indicates by the conclusion that he has transformed into a "personage" through his passage from youth to the wisdom he has amassed...all by his mid-20's! Undoubtedly, Fitzgerald, who was a mere 24 when this book first saw the light of day, had a similar unwavering belief in his artistic genius. However, the trajectory of his own life might well have led him to offer a less audacious analysis for Amory had he penned this work later in his dazzling, yet tragic career.

Fitzgerald's young protagonist has much to impart to us about introspection and soul-searching meditation. But, with apologies to the ancient Athenian reformer Solon, "count no man happy (or wise) until his final day."

This is the captivating tale of the idiosyncratic life of the handsome and bright Amory Blaine, born to a rich (but distant and diffident) father and a sophisticated and thoroughly modern mother. He grapples with dying social conventions, changing mores, and new political values (particularly after World War I). Despite his efforts to conform even at Princeton, he must forge his own path. Along the way, he encounters friendship, love, and even intellectual-spiritual guidance from a diverse array of individuals. With the trademark Fitzgerald touch, many of the character names are whimsical comments on personalities or clever nods to literary predecessors (for example, at least three of the women possess names of strong-willed characters in Shakespearean comedies).

What is even more impressive about this first novel is its experimental use of a mélange of styles. It includes a stream-of-consciousness section (thus predating the more prodigious works of Joyce, Woolf, and others), and the inclusion of both verse and dramatic stage dialogue (the latter reminiscent of Noel Coward). Moreover, there are some of those spectacular and variegated descriptions that Fitzgerald was later to master in THE GREAT GATSBY and TENDER IS THE NIGHT. Last, but not least, this work delves into themes of importance beyond Amory's self-actualization; it provides a sublime insight into the changing image of America in a post-World War I world.

All of the above elements are indeed praiseworthy. However, it seems churlish to state that in reading this volume nearly a century later, one admires the incipient talent, but does not always relish the result. I have already suggested that Amory's ultimate epiphany seems to me to be a rather bold assumption. More significantly, the book's loose form often betrays the author's inexperience in structuring a novel; it is more of a montage of scenes that seem to incorporate some of his earlier writings. In addition, the book's two perspectives - Amory's and the omniscient author's - seem inconsistent and occasionally jarring to read. Some sections are even inflated (such as those at Princeton) in contrast to the brief commentaries on Amory's military life or working career. The balance is lacking because Fitzgerald, as a young man (genius though he was), was writing what he knew...and university life certainly loomed large in his early years. This indeed is a book that merits our respectful admiration but not our undying love.

What the hell was that?

This question suddenly popped into my mind. I was in a state of confusion and shock.

It was something completely unexpected and strange.

I tried to make sense of it, but my mind was racing with various thoughts.

Maybe it was a hallucination, or maybe it was something real that I couldn't quite understand.

I looked around, hoping to find some clues or explanations.

But everything seemed normal, except for that one strange incident.

I couldn't help but wonder if it was a sign of something more significant.

Was it a message from the universe, or just a random occurrence?

As I continued to think about it, I felt a sense of unease.

But at the same time, I was also curious to find out the truth.

I decided to keep my eyes and ears open, and see if anything else strange would happen.

Maybe with time, I would be able to figure out what the hell that was.