Every year before reading the most famous novel in the world with my high school juniors, I used to give background information about F. Scott Fitzgerald, the 1920s, and the novel itself. Most kids had some idea of prohibition and Al Capone; flapper dresses and the “Roarin’ 20s.” The actual plot of The Great Gatsby, though cleverly drawn out and climatic, wasn’t anything they hadn’t heard before, I’d tell them. Sure, in the 1920s, a novel that included murder, suicide, underground mob activity, and cheating spouses was certainly a novelty. However, let’s face it: most of my students, by 17, had seen FAR more violence and gratuitousness on television, in the movies, and for some, unfortunately, in their real lives. I’m pretty confident it isn’t the simple plot content that keeps Gatsby in constant circulation among American classrooms. Furthermore, though my teaching focus DID contain quite a bit of exploration regarding the idea of the American dream, the ability (or inability) to conjure the past, and the danger of inexorably high expectations, I am convinced one of the biggest reasons high school English teachers keep returning to this particular text has much to do with Fitzgerald’s language itself. I know this isn’t the first time I’ve used this space to praise his writing brilliance, but no matter how I phrase it, I don’t know that there’s any way to do Fitzgerald justice. He truly had a magnificent ability to interweave symbolism, sensory imagery, and perfectly subtle parallels.
As fans of Fitzgerald know, he led a short and troubled
life. Portions of The Great Gatsby
must be autobiographical, although more so in the details than in the larger character
actions. Fitzgerald wanted Gatsby to be perfect, and spent a good deal of time
proposing and considering a variety of titles before he settled, somewhat
unsettlingly, on The Great Gatsby.
Not surprisingly, then, he was also adamant that the cover be more than just
ordinary. The original cover art was completed by Spanish artist Francis Cugat,
ironically before Fitzgerald had even written the novel’s final words. Fitzgerald
purposely included subtle allusions to the cover throughout his prized text. As bold moves often do, the cover choice initially garnered a variety of mixed emotions,
including Ernest Hemingway’s loud distaste (now immortalized in his A Moveable Feast).
Whether homage to Dr. T.J. Eckleberg, Coney Island, or Daisy
herself (the “girl whose disembodied face floated along the dark
cornices and blinding signs” of New York), Gatsby’s original cover art is both beautiful and unique. Saturated in symbolism, it’s too important-- too intentional-- to even consider NOT including as the image gracing the cover. The idea that alternate versions exist-- that artists and publishers in subsequent years have deemed themselves worthy to discount and replace something so hauntingly meaningful and perfect already-- is irritating to say the least. Therefore, when I found out about the latest cover (based entirely on the most recent film adaptation and plastered with Leonardo DiCaprio's handsome albeit completely unnecessary face), my heart sank for a second. Replacing Cugat's cover with another artistic creation is one thing-- stupid, yes; but also hopefully well-intentioned and at least somewhat creative. But a posed picture from a movie? Please. While not quite as bad as the scholars idiots who attempt, year after year, to have the n-word omitted from Huck Finn, there is a part of me that views this new cover as a skewed form of censorship. I used to spend over an hour analyzing, discussing, and writing about the cover art with my 11th graders...the color scheme, the number of tears, the muddled lights, the female nudes basking in the center of the intentionally drooping irises...how could you not stop for a second to appreciate and interpret the intricacies that exist in the piece?
I have a huge and hand-painted replica of the original Gatsby cover framed in my bedroom (a gift created by a former student!) as a daily reminder of the power Fitzgerald's words. Regardless of the fact it's due to the movie's concurrent release, I am undoubtedly thrilled to hear The Great Gatsby may very well be one of the top-selling books of 2013: it says a hell of a lot more about American culture and society than last year's embarrassing 50 Shades of Grey debacle. Yet despite that, it's hard to swallow a new and movie-based cover enveloping one of the greatest staples of American literature, especially one whose original "wrapping" is so specific and time-honored. Changing the packaging doesn't change the content, therefore publishers do potential new (and old!) fans a disservice by disguising the product. Perhaps, though, it's fate's timely way of ironically demonstrating one of Gatsby's themes: flashiness and novelty and wealth, despite all kinds of evidence to the contrary, are fantastically successful forms of bait. Only, in the case of purchasing the flashy new book, the end-prize will most certainly NOT be fleeting or empty-- a promise that, unfortunately, can't be said for Fitzgerald's characters.
I have a huge and hand-painted replica of the original Gatsby cover framed in my bedroom (a gift created by a former student!) as a daily reminder of the power Fitzgerald's words. Regardless of the fact it's due to the movie's concurrent release, I am undoubtedly thrilled to hear The Great Gatsby may very well be one of the top-selling books of 2013: it says a hell of a lot more about American culture and society than last year's embarrassing 50 Shades of Grey debacle. Yet despite that, it's hard to swallow a new and movie-based cover enveloping one of the greatest staples of American literature, especially one whose original "wrapping" is so specific and time-honored. Changing the packaging doesn't change the content, therefore publishers do potential new (and old!) fans a disservice by disguising the product. Perhaps, though, it's fate's timely way of ironically demonstrating one of Gatsby's themes: flashiness and novelty and wealth, despite all kinds of evidence to the contrary, are fantastically successful forms of bait. Only, in the case of purchasing the flashy new book, the end-prize will most certainly NOT be fleeting or empty-- a promise that, unfortunately, can't be said for Fitzgerald's characters.
