47: The Great Gatsby

one day late, sorry, I also don’t know what I’ll be reading this week. Whatever is fine, maybe that one by Lisa See on loan to me from my coworker.

Seems like I’m not very fluent lately about the books I’m reading, as in I have no idea what I am typing here when I am typing here.

So instead I made a list about the things that I liked about it

- The title, alliteration, it never gets old
- The name Gatsby, first made a huge impression one me as a Japanese hair product brand, but naturally I’ve heard of the novel before the hair product
- Daisy, the entire time I imagined her as Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina
- The estate, also imagined as the estate in Sabrina, especially the scenes in the garden where they have these lavish parties
- The names, everyone has such amazing names

The writing is very concrete at times and superfluous at other times, which played as a nice contrast for me.

I also kept a list of paragraphs that I liked, but I lost that piece of paper, so I only have the page numbers from after page 80. If I ever find that piece of paper, which shouldn’t be too hard since it IS yellow, I shall update this.

page 80 For a while these reveries provided an outlet for his imagination; they were a satisfactory hint of the unreality of reality, a promise that the rock of the world was founded securely on a fairy’s wing.

page 95 We drank in long greedy hallows

page 120 His house had never seemed so enormous to me as it did that night when we hunted through the great rooms for cigarettes. We pushed aside curtains that were like pavilions, and felt over innumerable feet of dark wall for electric light switches – once I tumbled with sort of splash upon the keys of a ghostly piano.

page 121 There was a ripe mystery about it, a hint of bedrooms upstairs more beautiful and cool than other bedrooms, of gay and radiant activities taking place through its corridors, and of romances that were not musty and laid away already in lavender but fresh and breathing and redolent of this year’s shining motor-cars and of dances whose flowers were scarcely withered.

page 132 If that was true he must have felt that he had lost the old warm world, paid a high price for living too long with a single dream.

Posted: February 21st, 2011
Categories: BOOKS
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