While away on my last adventure (slaying mighty behemoths and the like) I had some free time to read a book, and found “the Great Gatsby”. I chose to read it mostly because there’s a film been made of it, and that usually says something about the popularity/quality of a book when hollywood reckons it’ll make a shitton (official measurement used by top studio executives) of money. I was actually rather excited to have found a decent book in such a minimal library, but then I read it.
To put it mildly, this book is boring. Really fucking boring. Hardly anything happens, the narrative is a pain in the anus to read, and I couldn’t care less about a bunch of rich twats drinking in mansions (or whatever the hell it was they were “doing”). The only part of it I even remotely liked was the ending, as this is where stuff actually happens. Gatsby dies at the end because he couldn’t get his hole with this Daisy bird, so they run over her husbands’ bit on the side whose husband tries to murder Gatsby but dies, then Gatsby just up and dies as well. Spoiler alert, even this sequence of events is told at the pace of geriatric internet use, making it about as exciting as eating a raw potato, but with the rest of the book being so boring as to enduce somnambulism (not even a word of the day – I just know this word) towards a less boring activity it’s quite a welcome read.
My disappointment aside, why the fuck did they make a film out of this? Why is it considered a great novel? In fact, why is it considered THE “great American novel”? I read a bit on the background of this raw potato, and it was given to American troops during WW2 (dubya dubya twoooo!) as something to do when they weren’t arriving years too late and trying to take credit despite being partly Nazi sympathisers (another story). So this novel became popular through the army, which is America’s favourite thing (admit it, you love the army almost as much as you love eagles and frying things as if they’re chicken when they aren’t chicken) so naturally the whole country had a massive boner for it. Well, mabe it’s time you jizzed over the raw potato and moved on. Let that boner down. Watch what is bound to be the biggest let-down in years of filmmaking and let’s agree to read something less fucking boring in future.
On this last adventure, I also read the novel which became “Blade runner” and it’s really good. I didn’t even like the film, but the book is decent. Stuff happens. There’s an electric sheep in it, and many deep questions about mortality and what makes us human and our nature and destruction and just read it the next time you think of picking up the not-so-fucking-great Gatsby.
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