grotesque and fantastic conceits haunted him in his
bed at night. A universe of ineffable gaudiness spun
itself out in his brain while the clock ticked on the
clothes upon the floor. Each night he added to the pattern
of his fancies until drowsiness closed down upon some
vivid scene with an oblivious embrace. For awhile 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."
After finishing The Great Gatsby in three days, these remain my favorite words. I cannot describe what this book did to me, only that it made me feel. The way Fitzgerald put his words together--beautifully, purposefully, meticulously--was unlike anything I've ever read before. It was poignant and rich and soul-shattering, and oddly (but almost appropriately), not because of the story. Rather, because of the emotions and the pictures it stirred inside me. It felt like reading...art.
Though skeptical of the justice it can do this masterpiece, I do want to see the movie now. I also just found out that there was a 1974 film made starring Robert Redford, so you can guess what I'm going to see as soon as possible.
ps--I guest posted over here the other day, if you'd care to take a look.