F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby is a work of art. Set in the roaring 20s in New York, the novel follows Nick Carraway as he unravels the truth about his neighbor, Jay Gatsby, his cousin Daisy, and everyone else surrounding his new apartment in West Egg. For the first six chapters of this novel, I didn’t understand the hype, but I was sold by the end.
While I didn’t love this book quite as much as I expected to, I still really liked it. Fitzgerald’s language is perfection, and the plot is beautifully crafted. Somehow, Fitzgerald managed to write a book where I didn’t like a single character, but I think that’s why this book is so great because everyone in it is so flawed. This novel was so thought-provoking that even when I wasn’t fully invested in the first half or so, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I still can’t decide if the characters are incredibly complex or exceptionally simple, but I do know they’re all liars.