Book Review: The Great Gatsby by F.Scott Fitzgerald

The imprint and enticements of Hollywood are clearly all over The Great Gatsby. The earlier works of Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise and The Beautiful and Damned, are more intimate and less plot driven and reveal more about their characters, but Gatsby is sure a good read. It’s got the sexual intrigue and the murder and the big house and the social climbing of the East. It’s got flashy cars and big parties and Pro Golfers, American excess and trite moral aphorisms. In short, it’s made for Hollywood.

The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald.


The Great Gatsby is narrated by Nick Carraway, fresh from the first World War, who settles in a small bungalow on Long Island surrounded by rich neighbors prepared to do social battle with one another. Right next door is the mysterious Jay Gatsby, more conspicuous than any other, with a nefarious plan to woo away his old flame Daisy from her rich husband. It’s all pretty banal, and that’s the point. Of course it ends up in ruin, like all American dreams.

Like any Fitzgerald there’s beautiful language and fatalistic sentiment throughout. Nick is somewhat of a bystander and gets entangled by default. His emotions are muted while the others flail away drunkenly. Still, he gets caught up in all the shenanigans.

As we passed ever the dark bridge her wan face fell lazily against my coat’s shoulder and the formidable stroke of thirty died away with the reassuring pressure of her hand. So we drove on toward death through the cooling twilight.

Read Fitzgerald in the order of publication to gather the full scope of his genius and his unraveling.

G.T. Greenwood

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Book Review: The Beautiful and Damned, F. Scott Fitzgerald

The most striking thing about The Beautiful and Damned is Fitzgerald’s ability to control the arc of character development so eloquently and systematically over the entire course of this


The Beautiful and Damned, F. Scott Fitzgerald.

beautiful novel. Arguably, it takes off where his first book, This Side of Paradise, leaves off and follows a young man, Anthony Patch, just out of Harvard into the World where he chooses to remain at leisure and ever so slowly deteriorates for lack of purpose. It is said to be the story of Fitzgerald himelf and his wife Zelda, but there are obvious discrepancies, Fitzgerald’s early literary and financial success being the most obvious.

The young couple marry and wait, rather heartlessly, for his rich granfather to die and leave his rightfull inheritance:

The justification of his manner of living there was first, of course, The Meaningless of Life. As aides and ministers, pages and squires, butlers and lackeys to this great Khan there were a thousand books glowing on his shelves, there was his apartment and all the money that was to be his when the old man up the river should choke on his last morality.

The young couple idle and travel aimlessly waiting and becoming bored with each other and themselves…

He shut the door and coming back into the room stood for a moment lost in thought with the tennis-ball still clasped in his hand. there was one of his lonlinesses coming, one of those times when he walked the streets or sat, aimless and depressed, biting a pencil at his desk. It was a self-absorption with no comfort, a demand for expression with no outlet, a sense of time rushing by, ceaselessly and wastefully – assuaged only by that conviction that there was nothing to waste, because all efforts and attainments were equally valueless.

Middle age comes too soon and they continue to wait. Anthony tries feebly at a few jobs, goaded by all who surround them, but he lacks any ambition or inner fortitude…

By the late twenties…routine comes down like twilight on a harsh landscape, softening it until it is tolerable. The complexity is too subtle, too varied; the values are changing utterly with each lesion of vitality; it has begun to appear that we can learn nothing from the past with which to face the future – so we cease to be impulsive, convincible men, interested in what is ethically true by fine margins, we substitute rules of conduct for ideas of integrity, we value safety above romance, we become, quite unconsciously, pragmatic.

The inevitable happens, a downward spiral of alcoholism, infidelity and financial ruin. The lassitude infects his beautiful wife who ages gracefully but surely and finally life has passed them both by…

For a moment, while conflicting warnings and desires prompted Anthony, it seemed one of those rare times when he would take a step promted from within. He hesitated. Then a wave of weariness broke against him. It was too late – everything was too late.

The moral is obvious, but applies to each generation to relearn however lost. Fitzgerald’s language sizzles in this historical document of the Jazz Age. Beautiful.

G.T. Greenwood

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Book Review: On The Road, The Original Scroll by Jack Kerouac

Compare these two beginnings, the first from the published version of On The Road:


On The Road by Jack Kerouac.

I FIRST MET DEAN not long after my wife and I split up. I had just gotten over a serious illness that I won’t bother to talk about, except that it had something to do with the miserably weary slit-up and my feeling that everything was dead. With the coming of Dean Moriarty began the part of my life you could call my life on the road.

And now from the original scroll:

I first met Neal not long after my father died…I had just gotten over a serious illness that I won’t bother to talk about except that it really had something to do with my father’s death and my awful feeling that everything was dead. With the coming of Neal there really began for me that part of my life that you could call my life on the road.


On The Road, The Original Scroll, Jack Kerouac.


Which is more vital, like the road itself? As published in the Original Scroll version editor Howard Cunnell writes:

‘I’ve telled all the road now,’ Jack Kerouac said in a May 22, 1951 letter he sent from New York west across the land to his friend Neal Cassady in San Francisco. ‘Went fast because the road is fast.’ Kerouac told Cassady that between April 2 and April 22 he had written a ’125,000 [word] full-length novel…Story deals with you and me and the road.’ He had written the ‘whole thing on strip of paper 120 foot long…just rolled it through typewriter and in fact no paragraphs…rolled it out on floor and it looks like a road.’

That’s about all you need to know. Even if you’ve read Kerouac’s On The Road a hundred times get the Scroll and read it again anew. No paragraph breaks, all the original names of the “characters” including Neal Cassady, Allen Ginsberg, William Burroughs, Hal Chase, Henri Cru, Alan Ansen, Lucien Carr.

And finally, Kerouac gives his friend Neal, and all of us, a little advice on writing:

For kissakes man I know very well you didn’t come to me only to want to become a writer and after all what do I really know about it except you’ve got to stick to it with the energy of a benny addict.

It’s vital. It never stops. And it’s infectious like the published version never was. Fabulous.

G.T. Greenwood

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Book Review: Dharma Punx by Noel Levine

Noel Levine seems like the kind of person that confronts everything head on and with a single minded determination. I hate people like that; they’re so…focused.


Dharma Punx by Noah Levine.


He was “brought up” in Santa Cruz, apparently in pretty lenient surroundings, and threw himself at a young age into drugs, thievery and punk rock music. The authorities threw him behind bars, but they couldn’t break this indomitable spirit. He threw himself into more drugs and more punk rock and spray painting his name all around the city. They threw the book at him. He threw himself into AA, getting tattoos and sex. Like that it went, and he found meditation and the spiritual path with a little help from his father, bestselling author and teacher Stephen Levine, and ended up in India a few times watching the burning of corpses along the Ganges where he threw himself into celibacy. He then threw himself into teaching and helping people with their addictions and personal development.

There he stands, based in San Francisco, still going to punk rock shows, teaching enlightenment and touring with his meditation retreats.

It’s a pretty inspiring story. He destroyed many of his preconceived notions along the way, like his hatred for hippies and “all that spiritual crap”.

My question about Buddhism: If everything is nothingness then what is Buddhism? Throw yourself into that….

G.T. Greenwood

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Book Review: This Side of Paradise, F. Scott Fitzgerald

Having been taken hostage by Gatsby in High School and leaning more towards Hemingway I’ve shied away from Fitzgerald. It was a mistake. Also a sucker for the coming of age memoir, This Side of Paradise delivers intellectual pleasures that Papa could only dream about.


This Side of Paradise, F. Scott Fitzgerald.


A semi-autobiographical account Paradise follows the young Amory Blaine, son of Beatrice, from an early youth tied to his mother’s side, through a well off and jet setting adolescence to a more independent stage at Princeton full of parties and promise, and finally to the wake-up call of post baccalaureate reality. There are beautifully lyrical passages:

In self reproach and loneliness and disillusion he came to the entrance of the labyrinth…Another dawn flung itself across the river; a belated taxi hurried along the street, its lamps still shining like burning eyes in a face white from the night’s carouse. A melancholy siren sounded far down the river.

In disillusion with the actual system Amory postulates an alternative to Capitalism with honor the reward for hard work rather than money. He thinks people would work just as hard for it. His enthusiasm, and Fitzgerald’s prose, is contagious:

Did you ever see a grown man when he’s trying for a secret society – or a rising family whose name is up at some club? They’ll jump when they hear the sound of the word. The idea that to make a man work you’ve got to hold gold in front of his eyes is a growth, not an axiom. We’ve done that for so long that we’ve forgotten there’s any other way.

Amory becomes emphatic. The story builds. The character develops and we all know the outcome. Genius, fame, fortune, one of the great names of the Twentieth Century. In the end he retains his oversized vanity, but realizes his limitations and forges boldly ahead.

One astonishing feat in This Side of Paradise, among many, is the miraculous portrayal of Amory’s character development. As the adult emerges from the child so does the lyrical expression of intelligence and wisdom. The language evolves over the course of the novel from merely wondrous to expressly metaphorical and complexly allegorical. And we are able to see the trajectory from wondrous child to daydreaming artist to richly complex.

In a sense this gradual renunciation of beauty was the second step after his disillusion and had been made complete. He felt that he was leaving behind him his chance of being a certain type of artist. It seemed so much more important to be a certain sort of man.

A beautiful and inspiring book.

G.T. Greenwood

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Book Review: Among the Thugs, Bill Buford

In Among the Thugs Bill Buford, the editor of Granta, reveals the inner life of violent English football fans called hooligans. He joins them, as much as possible, on a number of outings over a few seasons, befriends them, insinuates himself into their clubs and their parties, and reports on a number of disgustingly and violently hedonistic episodes.


Among the Thugs by Bill Buford.


It could be read as a socialist manifesto where the members, disenfranchised by a system of longterm unemployment result to violence out of boredom and protest. That would be true, to a degree, but it doesn’t explain the extent of the nihilistic destruction of life and property. The numbers are shocking. Hundreds have died from angry stampedes at these games and untold property damage occurs after virtually every game, fueled by copious alcohol, the common denominator.

In a particularly gruesome account Buford travels to a match in Turin, Italy with a group from Manchester. They lose the game and go on a rampage through the streets destroying everything in sight in a well orchestrated attack that takes over the whole city. It’s an exciting and revolting account:

There was an intense energy about it; it was impossible not to feel some of the thrill. Somebody near me said that he was happy. He said that he was verry, very happy, that he could not remember ever being so happy, and I looked hard at him, wanting to recognize his face so that I  might find him later and ask him what it was that made for this happiness, what it was like. It was a strange thought: here was someone who believed that, at this precise moment, following a street scuffle, he had succeeded in capturing one of life’s most elusive qualities. But then he, dazed, babbling away about his happiness, disappeared into the crowd and the darkness.

The battle in Turin rages on causing untold pain, suffering and damages. Buford himself escapes the scene having gotten caught up in the antics and leaving with some newfound, misdirected anger. In a funny, but disturbing bit – meant to acknowledge all our human complicity – he tells off an old, innocent couple at the airport in distinctly hooligan fashion. It’s an indication of the mob spirit and a poignant remonstration.

The stories are exciting and entertaining. The journalism inspired. In the end though, there is not much here in the way of corrective justice. There is nothing here that warns us they are much different than ourselves. There is a feeling that human beings are hopeless. It’s a valuable warning and a very enjoyable read, if you can stomach it.

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Book Review: A People’s History of the United States, Howard Zinn

What should be required reading for every American, Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of The United States stands as a disturbing masterpiece of revisionist History.


A People's History of the United States by Howard Zinn.

On the premise that History is better understood not from the perspective of leaders or authority but from the masses of people themselves Zinn makes us all aware of the vast shortcomings, and downright lies, that most of us have been subjected to all our lives. The History books have promulgated the handy deceptions about Columbus, for example, the Founding Fathers and the Frontiersmen as all heroic and selfless when the stories of the people they subjected tell of something very different. Zinn tells these stories and sets the record straight, finally.

Indignities were often done in the name of progress. The first Indians Columbus encountered were forced to mine gold for the Spaniards looking to turn a profit.

“The Indians had been given an impossible task. The only gold around was bits of dust garnered from the streams. So they fled, were hunted down with dogs, and were killed.

Trying to put together an army of resistance, the Arawaks faced Spaniards who had armor, muskets, swords, horses. When the Spaniards took prisoners they hanged them or burned them to death. Among the Arawaks, mass suicides began, with cassava poison. Infants were killed to save them from the Spaniards. In two years, through murder, mutilation, or suicide, half of the 250,000 Indians on Haiti were dead. By 1550, there were five hundred.”

Zinn admits to being biased, but he also acknowledges that no History is unbiased and a different perspective is necessary.

“That makes it a biased account, one that leans in a certain direction. I am not troubled by that, because the mountain of history books under which we all stand leans so heavily in the other direction – so tremblingly respectful of states and statesmen and so disrespectful, by inattention, to people’s movements – that we need some counterforce to avoid being crushed into submission. All those histories of this country centered on the Founding Fathers and the Presidents weigh oppressively on the capacity of the ordinary citizen to act.”

It is acknowledged that History has always been full of oppression and subjugation of the weaker classes by the ruling elite and that hasn’t changed in the New World. English repression of the colonies was replaced with Colonial repression, tyranny for tyranny. And the subjugation has gotten even worse. With very few individuals controlling most of the wealth and rampant “free speech” in the form of vote buying there is a disparity of control. The military continues to grow, in peacetime and in war, and has an inordinate grip on both political parties. The size of the annual Defense budget is astounding and disgusting when viewed with the knowledge that just a small slice of it could pay for internal programs like adequate nutrition and education.

Zinn points out in chapters added since its first publication in 1980, that neither party is immune because the ruling elites continue to stay in power, on both sides, and they continue to amass more and more wealth and influence at the expense of the masses of people.

He covers everything that would be in a traditional U.S. History textbook with empathy for the vanquished and the perspective that, in progress, the ends do not justify the means. From the first landing to the colonial period, the Indian wars, the Revolution, slavery, Civil War, the World Wars, Vietnam, globalization, South American policy, and up to the war on terrorism Zinn captures the perspective of those who are martyred and analyzes the incredible human costs of triumph.

But, in the end, Zinn is optimistic and confidant in our eternal struggle. The stories of opposition he tells have always been with us, whittling away, and shall continue. In the addendum he states:

“There is very little in the government that I admire – certainly not in the present, and certainly not in recent years – but there is much that I admire in the United States, and what I admire is spirit of independence and thought, which has allowed so many Americans to protest against policies they disagreed with.”

Read it now.

G.T. Greenwood, Dec. 2010

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Book Review: The Fall, Albert Camus

The Fall is a long confession, but also a subterfuge.


The Fall by Albert Camus.


A middle aged Parisian, Clamence, relocated to Amsterdam tells his life story to a local he meets in a bar called Mexico City for five straight uneventful days. It’s a long winded, first person monologue with virtually no narrative and no word from the other, a man we know nothing about.

The “story” tracks Clamence’s descent from a good, commendable life in Paris, doing good deeds, to a penitent and cynical existence in self induced exile. He judges himself critically and ultimately damns himself forever, ostensibly for being human, having done nothing in particular wrong. In the end he yields to all temptations and from that exalted position judges all.

Clamence traces the genesis of his downfall to a suicide he witnesses and does nothing to stop. But he is too hard on himself. The woman threw herself from a bridge and drowned in the icy waters below. By his own confession there was little if anything to be done. And now, time after time, he finds victims in Mexico City to pour out his deficient confessions. Is it Camus himself finding a justification for writing about the insufficient human condition?

“I would be decapitated, for instance, and I’d have no more fear of death; I’d be saved. Above the gathered crowd, you would hold up my still warm head, so that they could recognize themselves in it and I could again dominate – an exemplar. All would be consummated; I should have brought to a close, unseen and unknown, my career as a false prophet crying in the wilderness and refusing to come forth.”

An interesting thought and a thought provoking, if not altogether compelling, read.

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Book Review: Quantum Questions, Ken Wilber

Rather than engage in a New-Age polemic about how modern Physics provides evidence for theories of Mysticism, Ken Wilber provides statements from the Physicists themselves about their own mysticism. Wilber claims, and stresses the significance, that all these physicists, from Bohr to Heisenberg to Einstein, are all admitted mystics, that Science itself stops far short of true insight.

Quantum Questions by Ken Wilber.

“There is, one again, a general and common conclusion reached by the majority of the theorists in this volume, and best elucidated by Schroedinger and Eddington. Eddington begins with the acknowledged fact that physics is dealing with shadows, not reality. Now the great difference, he says, between old and the the new physics is not that the latter is relativistic, nondeterministic, four-dimensional, or any of those sorts of things. The great difference between old and new physics is both much simpler and much more profound: both the old and the new physics were dealing with shadow-symbols, but the new physics was forced to be aware of that fact – forced to be aware that it was dealing with shadows and illusions, not reality.”

For example, Heisenberg gets philosophical:
“I think that on this point [the atomistic views of Democritus or Plato] modern physics had definitely decided for Plato. For the smallest units of matter are, in fact, not physical objects in the ordinary sense of the word; they are forms, structures or – in Plato’s sense – Ideas, which can be unambiguously spoken of only in the language of mathematics.” Werner Heisenberg (Uncertaintly Principle)

Ken Wilber lets them speak for themselves and they have a lot to say on a subject that is generally outside of their domain. It’s a refreshing strategy and a very good read.

G.T. Greenwood, November 2010

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Book Review: The Stranger by Albert Camus

What else can be said of this classic but; Did he do it? The murder, that is, on the beach. Hear me out…


The Stranger by Albert Camus.


The publishers of his autobiographic novel, The First Man, have supplied all the marginalia and interleaved notes that Camus left behind. Most of these are sketches of real life events that made their way into the book itself. The following did not:

“Jacques, at the time of the escape from the clandestine editorial office, kills a pursuer (he grimaced, staggered, a bit bent forward. then Jacques felt a terrible fury rising in him: he hit him once more from below in the [throat], and a huge hole burst open immediately at the base of the neck; then, crazed with disgust and anger, he hit him again right in the eyes without looking where he was striking…) then he goes to Wanda’s.”

What’s that? Jacques, the young Camus himself commits a random murder on the street! Are we to believe this is a fabricated event Camus was to employ had he finished his autobiography? Was it a dream perhaps, or did it really happen? And who is Wanda?

In the end, as Meursault would certainly agree, it makes no difference. You could either shoot or not shoot. Maybe the sun was in your eyes, or it wasn’t. Maybe the Arab deserved to die or he didn’t. Maybe it was out of self defense or not. Maybe you could include a fake (or real) murder in you own autobiography or not.

The implications are staggering. The Stranger remains an absolute must read – and then it must be read again. Why not?

G.T. Greenwood, November 2010

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