A friend asked me recently to name my favorite book and for the hundredth time I felt a shiver of apology as I reluctantly muttered the words, The Great Gatsby.
Why the apology? I don’t really know.
All I do know is that I’ve never been able to find a
book the equal of Gatsby when it came
to that thing called magic—the ability of a book to rise above its covers and
embrace you in a way you may never understand but will never forget.
It’s more than character, more than plot.
Like so many things in life, it doesn’t have to be explained. It’s either there
or it isn’t—in the characters, the plot, the location, the mood, the period, the
style—all the elements working together, magically.
Thousands
of authors have tried to capture the magic of Gatsby in their novels. Hunter Thompson is said to have typed out
the entire novel on a typewriter in hopes of improving his writing style.
Magic
like Gatsby is not transferable. You
have to create your own.
Movies
have spent millions trying to recreate Gatsby.
Robert Redford tried to be Gatsby but
he wound up being Robert Redford trying to be Gatsby. The magic wasn’t there.
Leonardo
DiCaprio is giving Gatsby his best
shot in a movie coming our way soon, and I wish him well. His Gatsby may be a tremendous critical and
box office success. But magic like Gatsby
is not for sale and it’s not transferable.
It’s
just plain magic, period.
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