If you have read and felt the melancholy and realism inherent within the Great Gatsby, you would know that I identify with someone as lost and infinitely reckless as Gatsby.
I identify with some unusual characters in fiction. I know a few Toohey’s in my real life, and some part of me is as weak as Toohey (Read the fountainhead).
What reminded me of the Gatsby was a social event I was at yesterday. I felt so completely out of place and so completely disconnected from the world around me, it felt like a bit of Gatsby. I could sense his isolation, though he lived only in fiction, I could sense his despondency, as I experienced a strange sense of loss, the loss of something precious and yet something intangible.
Whether I shall meet my end like Gatsby (with or without Daisy) is another matter of conjecture, but yesterday as I sat with a drink in my hand - there was only one name in my head - Gatsby.
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