The mystery of Jay Gatsby, mysterious for sure once and always, probable bootlegger, always one step ahead of the law, we will always have with us, we who have read the book. What I have never understood is what Gatsby ever saw in Daisy, who is nothing more than a shallow, totally materialistic airhead, without an original thought in her entire life. I suppose she is a symbol of the just for him woman, who would have made his life fulfilled, a paragon of the perfect woman in his mind. Every time I read this book leading to its tragic end, I want to scream to the OLD SPORT: Get away from her! She's no good, Gatsby. But every time Gatsby ends up face-down in his bloody swimming pool, the choir in the background singing solemnly "Nearer my God to Thee." Chasing the wrong dream, the orgiastic green light in the distance, some people never learn.
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