I
Inmyyounger
og
andmorevulnerableyearsmyfaren
fathergavemesomeadvicesom
thatI’vebeenturningoverinmymindeversiden
since.“Wheneveryoufeellikecriticizinganyone,”he
sa
toldme,“justrememberthatallde
thepeopleinthisworldhaven’thadde
theadvantagesthatyou’vehad.”Hedidn’t
sa
sayanymore,butwe’vealltid
alwaysbeenunusuallycommunicativeinen
areservedway,andIunderstoodthathebetydde
meantagreatdealmoreenn
thanthat.Inconsequence,I’minclinedtoreserve
alle
alljudgements,ahabitthathar
hasopenedupmanycuriousnaturestomeog
andalsomademethevictimofnoten
afewveteranbores.Theabnormalmindisquicktodetect
og
andattachitselftothisqualitynår
whenitappearsinanormalperson
person,andsoitcameaboutthatincollegeIwasunjustlyaccusedofbeingen
apolitician,becauseIwasprivytothesecretgriefsofwild,unknownmen.De fleste
Mostoftheconfidenceswereunsought—frequentlyIhar
havefeignedsleep,preoccupation,orahostilelevitynår
whenIrealizedbysomeunmistakabletegn
signthatanintimaterevelationwasquiveringonde
thehorizon;fortheintimaterevelationsof
unge
youngmen,oratleastthetermsinsom
whichtheyexpressthem,areusuallyplagiaristicog
andmarredbyobvioussuppressions.Reservingjudgementsis
et
amatterofinfinitehope.Iam
fortsatt
stillalittleafraidofglipp
missingsomethingifIforgetthat,asmyfar
fathersnobbishlysuggested,andIsnobbishlyrepeat,en
asenseofthefundamentaldecenciesisparcelledut
outunequallyatbirth.And,
etter
afterboastingthiswayofmytolerance,Ikommer
cometotheadmissionthatithasen
alimit.Conductmaybefoundedonthe
harde
hardrockorthewetmarshes,men
butafteracertainpointIdon’tcarewhatit’sfoundedpå
on.WhenIcamebackfromtheEast
sist
lastautumnIfeltthatIønsket
wantedtheworldtobeinuniformog
andatasortofmoralattentionforever;I
ville
wantednomoreriotousexcursionsmed
withprivilegedglimpsesintothemenneskelige
humanheart.OnlyGatsby,the
mannen
manwhogiveshisnametodenne
thisbook,wasexemptfrommyreaction—Gatsby,whorepresentedalt
everythingforwhichIhaveen
anunaffectedscorn.Ifpersonalityisanunbrokenseriesofsuccessfulgestures,thentherewas
noe
somethinggorgeousabouthim,someheightenedsensitivitytothepromisesoflife,asifhewererelatedtooneofthoseintricatemachinesthatregisterearthquakesti
tenthousandmilesaway.Thisresponsivenesshad
ingenting
nothingtodowiththatflabbyimpressionabilitywhichisdignifiedunder
underthenameofthe“creativetemperament”—itwasanextraordinarygiftforhåp
hope,aromanticreadinesssuchasIhar
haveneverfoundinanyannen
otherpersonandwhichitisnotlikelyIshalleverfinne
findagain.No—Gatsbyturnedoutallrightatthe
slutten
end;itiswhatpreyedonGatsby,whatfouldustfloatedin
de
thewakeofhisdreamsthattemporarilyclosedut
outmyinterestintheabortivesorrowsog
andshort-windedelationsofmen.My
familie
familyhavebeenprominent,well-to-domennesker
peopleinthisMiddleWesternbyen
cityforthreegenerations.TheCarrawaysare
noe
somethingofaclan,andwehar
haveatraditionthatwe’redescendedfromden
theDukesofBuccleuch,butden
theactualfounderofmylinje
linewasmygrandfather’sbrother,whokom
camehereinfifty-one,senten
asubstitutetotheCivilWar,og
andstartedthewholesalehardwarevirksomhet
businessthatmyfathercarriesontoday.I
aldri
neversawthisgreat-uncle,butI’msupposedtose
looklikehim—withspecialreferencetoden
theratherhard-boiledpaintingthathenger
hangsinfather’soffice.IgraduatedfromNewHavenin1915,
bare
justaquarterofacenturyetter
aftermyfather,andalittlesenere
laterIparticipatedinthatdelayedTeutonicmigrationkjent
knownastheGreatWar.Ienjoyedthecounter-raidsothoroughly
at
thatIcamebackrestless.Insteadofbeing
den
thewarmcentreoftheverden
world,theMiddleWestnowseemedsom
liketheraggededgeofden
theuniverse—soIdecidedtogå
goEastandlearnthebondbusiness.Alle
EverybodyIknewwasinthebondbusiness,soIsupposeditkunne
couldsupportonemoresinglemann
man.Allmyauntsanduncles
snakket
talkeditoverasiftheywerechoosingen
aprepschoolforme,og
andfinallysaid,“Why—ye-es,”withveldig
verygrave,hesitantfaces.Fatheragreedtofinancemefor
et
ayear,andaftervariousdelaysIkom
cameEast,permanently,Ithought,inthespringoftwenty-two.Thepracticalthingwasto
finne
findroomsinthecity,men
butitwasawarmseason,og
andIhadjustleftaland
countryofwidelawnsandfriendlytrees,soda
whenayoungmanattheofficesuggestedthatwetok
takeahousetogetherinacommutingtown,ithørtes
soundedlikeagreatidea.He
fant
foundthehouse,aweather-beatencardboardbungalowateightyen
amonth,butatthesiste
lastminutethefirmorderedhimtoWashington,og
andIwentouttothecountryalene
alone.Ihadadog—atleastI
hadde
hadhimforafewdaysuntilheranaway—andangammel
oldDodgeandaFinnishkvinne
woman,whomademybedog
andcookedbreakfastandmutteredFinnishwisdomtoherselfover
overtheelectricstove.Itwaslonelyfora
dag
dayorsountilonemorgen
morningsomeman,morerecentlyarrivedenn
thanI,stoppedmeontheroad.“Howdoyou
kommer
gettoWestEggvillage?”he
spurte
askedhelplessly.Itoldhim.
Og
AndasIwalkedonIwaslonelynolonger.Iwasaguide,apathfinder,anoriginalsettler.
He
hadde
hadcasuallyconferredonmethefreedomoftheneighbourhood.Og
Andsowiththesunshineog
andthegreatburstsofleavesgrowingonthetrees,akkurat
justasthingsgrowinraske
fastmovies,Ihadthatfamiliarconvictionthatlivet
lifewasbeginningoveragainmed
withthesummer.Therewasso
mye
muchtoread,foroneting
thing,andsomuchfinehealthtobepulledned
downoutoftheyoungbreath-givingluft
air.Iboughtadozenvolumesonbanking
og
andcreditandinvestmentsecurities,og
andtheystoodonmyshelfinrødt
redandgoldlikenewpenger
moneyfromthemint,promisingtounfoldtheshiningsecretsthatbare
onlyMidasandMorganandMaecenasvisste
knew.AndIhadthe
høye
highintentionofreadingmanyandre
otherbooksbesides.Iwasratherliteraryincollege—one
år
yearIwroteaseriesofveldig
verysolemnandobviouseditorialsforden
theYaleNews—andnowIwasgoingtobringe
bringbackallsuchthingsintomylivet
lifeandbecomeagainthatmest
mostlimitedofallspecialists,den
the“well-roundedman.”Thisisn’t
bare
justanepigram—lifeismuchmer
moresuccessfullylookedatfromasinglewindow,afteralt
all.Itwasamatterof
tilfeldighet
chancethatIshouldhaverentedahus
houseinoneofthestrangestcommunitiesinNorthAmerica.ItwasonthatslenderriotousislandwhichextendsitselfdueeastofNewYork—and
hvor
wherethereare,amongothernaturalcuriosities,to
twounusualformationsofland.Twentymilesfrom
den
thecityapairofenormouseggs,identicalincontourog
andseparatedonlybyacourtesybay,jutut
outintothemostdomesticatedkroppen
bodyofsaltwaterinden
theWesternhemisphere,thegreatwetbarnyardofLongIslandSound.Theyarenotperfectovals—liketheeggintheColumbusstory,theyare
begge
bothcrushedflatatthecontactend—buttheirphysicalresemblancemå
mustbeasourceofperpetualwondertothegullssom
thatflyoverhead.Tothewingless
et
amoreinterestingphenomenonistheirdissimilarityineveryparticularexceptshapeog
andsize.IlivedatWestEgg,the—well,thelessfashionableofthe
to
two,thoughthisisamest
mostsuperficialtagtoexpressthebizarreog
andnotalittlesinistercontrastmellom
betweenthem.Myhousewasattheverytipoftheegg,
bare
onlyfiftyyardsfromtheSound,og
andsqueezedbetweentwohugeplacessom
thatrentedfortwelveorfifteenthousanden
aseason.Theoneonmy
høyre
rightwasacolossalaffairbyanystandard—itwasafactualimitationofsomeHôteldeVilleinNormandy,med
withatowerononeside,spankingny
newunderathinbeardofrawivy,og
andamarbleswimmingpool,og
andmorethanfortyacresoflawnog
andgarden.ItwasGatsby’smansion.
Eller
Or,rather,asIdidn’tkjente
knowMr.Gatsby,itwasamansioninhabitedbyagentlemanofthatnavnet
name.Myownhousewasaneyesore,
men
butitwasasmalleyesore,og
andithadbeenoverlooked,soIhadde
hadaviewofthevannet
water,apartialviewofmyneighbour’slawn,og
andtheconsolingproximityofmillionaires—allforeightydollarsamonth.AcrossthecourtesybaythewhitepalacesoffashionableEastEggglittered
langs
alongthewater,andthehistoryofthesummervirkelig
reallybeginsontheeveningIkjørte
droveovertheretohavemiddag
dinnerwiththeTomBuchanans.Daisywasmy
andre
secondcousinonceremoved,andI’dknownTomincollege.Og
AndjustafterthewarIspentto
twodayswiththeminChicago.Her
ektemann
husband,amongvariousphysicalaccomplishments,hadde
hadbeenoneofthemostpowerfulender
endsthateverplayedfootballatNewHaven—anationalfigureinamåte
way,oneofthosemenwhoreachslik
suchanacutelimitedexcellenceattwenty-onethatalt
everythingafterwardsavoursofanticlimax.His
familie
familywereenormouslywealthy—evenincollegehisfreedommed
withmoneywasamatterforreproach—butnå
nowhe’dleftChicagoandkom
comeEastinafashionsom
thatrathertookyourbreathaway:forinstance,he’dbrought
ned
downastringofpoloponiesfromLakeForest.Itwas
vanskelig
hardtorealizethatamann
maninmyowngenerationwaswealthynok
enoughtodothat.Whythey
kom
cameEastIdon’tknow.They
hadde
hadspentayearinFrancefornoparticulargrunn
reason,andthendriftedhereog
andthereunrestfullywhereverpeoplespilte
playedpoloandwererichsammen
together.Thiswasapermanent
trekk
move,saidDaisyoverthetelephone,men
butIdidn’tbelieveit—Ihadde
hadnosightintoDaisy’shjerte
heart,butIfeltthatTomville
woulddriftonforeverseeking,et
alittlewistfully,forthedramaticturbulenceofsomeirrecoverablefootballgame.Og
Andsoithappenedthatonen
awarmwindyeveningIkjørte
droveovertoEastEggtose
seetwooldfriendswhomIscarcelykjente
knewatall.Theirhousewas
enda
evenmoreelaboratethanIexpected,en
acheerfulred-and-whiteGeorgianColonialmansion,overlookingthebay.Thelawnstartedatthebeach
og
andrantowardsthefrontdoorforen
aquarterofamile,jumpingover
oversundialsandbrickwalksog
andburninggardens—finallywhenitreachedthehuset
housedriftingupthesideinbrightvinesasom
thoughfromthemomentumofitsløp
run.Thefrontwasbrokenby
en
alineofFrenchwindows,glowingnå
nowwithreflectedgoldandwideåpent
opentothewarmwindyafternoon,og
andTomBuchananinridingclotheswasstandingmed
withhislegsapartonden
thefrontporch.Hehadchanged
siden
sincehisNewHavenyears.Nå
Nowhewasasturdystraw-hairedmann
manofthirty,witharatherhardmouthog
andasuperciliousmanner.Twoshiningarroganteyes
hadde
hadestablisheddominanceoverhisansiktet
faceandgavehimtheappearanceofalltid
alwaysleaningaggressivelyforward.Not
engang
eventheeffeminateswankofhisridingclotheskunne
couldhidetheenormouspowerofthatbody—heseemedtofillthoseglisteningbootsuntilhestrainedtheøverste
toplacing,andyoucouldse
seeagreatpackofmuscleshiftingnår
whenhisshouldermovedunderhisthincoat.Itwas
en
abodycapableofenormousleverage—acruelbody.Hisspeakingvoice,
en
agruffhuskytenor,addedtotheimpressionoffractiousnessheconveyed.Therewas
et
atouchofpaternalcontemptinit,selv
eventowardpeopleheliked—andthereweremenatNewHavensom
whohadhatedhisguts.“Now,don’t
tro
thinkmyopiniononthesemattersisfinal,”heseemedtosi
say,“justbecauseI’mstrongerog
andmoreofamanenn
thanyouare.”Wewereinthe
samme
sameseniorsociety,andwhilewewerealdri
neverintimateIalwayshadtheimpressionat
thatheapprovedofmeog
andwantedmetolikehimmed
withsomeharsh,defiantwistfulnessofhisegen
own.Wetalkedfora
noen
fewminutesonthesunnyporch.“I’vegot
et
aniceplacehere,”hesa
said,hiseyesflashingaboutrestlessly.Turningme
rundt
aroundbyonearm,heflyttet
movedabroadflathandlangs
alongthefrontvista,includinginitssweepasunkenItaliangarden,ahalv
halfacreofdeep,pungentroses,og
andasnub-nosedmotorboatthatbumpedthetideoffshore.“ItbelongedtoDemaine,theoilman.”
He
snudde
turnedmearoundagain,politelyog
andabruptly.“We’llgoinside.”
We
gikk
walkedthroughahighhallwayintoen
abrightrosy-colouredspace,fragilelyboundintothehuset
housebyFrenchwindowsateitherender
end.Thewindowswereajar
og
andgleamingwhiteagainstthefreshgrassutenfor
outsidethatseemedtogrowen
alittlewayintothehuset
house.Abreezeblewthroughthe
rommet
room,blewcurtainsinatoneenden
endandouttheotherlikepaleflags,twistingthemopp
uptowardthefrostedwedding-cakeoftheceiling,og
andthenrippledoverthewine-colouredrug,gjør
makingashadowonitaswindgjør
doesonthesea.The
eneste
onlycompletelystationaryobjectintherommet
roomwasanenormouscouchonwhichto
twoyoungwomenwerebuoyedopp
upasthoughuponananchoredballoon.Theywere
begge
bothinwhite,andtheirdresseswereripplingog
andflutteringasiftheyhadde
hadjustbeenblownbackinetter
afterashortflightaroundthehuset
house.Imusthavestoodfor
et
afewmomentslisteningtothewhipog
andsnapofthecurtainsog
andthegroanofapictureonthewall.Then
det
therewasaboomasTomBuchananlukket
shuttherearwindowsandthefanget
caughtwinddiedoutabouttherommet
room,andthecurtainsandtherugsog
andthetwoyoungwomenballoonedslowlytothefloor.Theyoungerofthe
to
twowasastrangertomeg
me.Shewasextendedfulllengthather
slutten
endofthedivan,completelymotionless,og
andwithherchinraisedalittle,asom
ifshewerebalancingsomethingonitwhichwasquitelikelytofalle
fall.Ifshesawme
ut
outofthecornerofhereyesshegaveingen
nohintofit—indeed,Iwasnesten
almostsurprisedintomurmuringanapologyforha
havingdisturbedherbycomingin.Den
Theothergirl,Daisy,madeanattempttorise—sheleanedslightlyforwardmed
withaconscientiousexpression—thenshelaughed,anabsurd,charmingliten
littlelaugh,andIlaughedogså
tooandcameforwardintoden
theroom.“I’mp-paralysedwithhappiness.”
Shelaughed
igjen
again,asifshesaidnoe
somethingverywitty,andheldmyhånden
handforamoment,lookingopp
upintomyface,promisingthattherewasingen
nooneintheworldshesomye
muchwantedtosee.Thatwas
en
awayshehad.Shehintedin
en
amurmurthatthesurnameofthebalancingjenta
girlwasBaker.(I’vehearditsaidthatDaisy’smurmurwas
bare
onlytomakepeopleleantowardhenne
her;anirrelevantcriticismthat
gjorde
madeitnolesscharming.)Atanyrate,MissBaker’slipsfluttered,shenoddedatme
nesten
almostimperceptibly,andthenquicklytippedherhodet
headbackagain—theobjectshewasbalancinghadde
hadobviouslytotteredalittleog
andgivenhersomethingofen
afright.Againasortofapologyarosetomylips.
Nesten
Almostanyexhibitionofcompleteself-sufficiencydrawsen
astunnedtributefromme.I
så
lookedbackatmycousin,som
whobegantoaskmequestionsinherlow,thrillingvoice.Itwasthe
typen
kindofvoicethattheearfølger
followsupanddown,asom
ifeachspeechisanarrangementofnotesthatvil
willneverbeplayedagain.Her
ansiktet
facewassadandlovelymed
withbrightthingsinit,brighteyesog
andabrightpassionatemouth,men
buttherewasanexcitementinhervoicethatmenwhohadde
hadcaredforherfounddifficulttoglemme
forget:asingingcompulsion,awhispered“Listen,”a
løfte
promisethatshehaddonegay,excitingthingsbare
justawhilesinceandthatthereweregay,excitingthingshoveringinden
thenexthour.Itoldher
hvordan
howIhadstoppedoffinChicagoforadag
dayonmywayEast,og
andhowadozenpeoplehadde
hadsenttheirlovethroughme.“Dothey
savner
missme?”shecriedecstatically.
“Thewhole
byen
townisdesolate.Allthecars
har
havetheleftrearwheelpaintedsvart
blackasamourningwreath,og
andthere’sapersistentwailalle
allnightalongthenorthshore.”“Howgorgeous!
Let’s
gå
goback,Tom.Tomorrow!”
Thensheaddedirrelevantly:
“Yououghtto
se
seethebaby.”“I’dliketo.”
“She’sasleep.
She’s
tre
threeyearsold.Haven’tyouever
sett
seenher?”“Never.”
“Well,yououghtto
se
seeher.She’s—”.
TomBuchanan,
som
whohadbeenhoveringrestlesslyom
abouttheroom,stoppedandhvilte
restedhishandonmyshoulder.“Whatyou
gjør
doing,Nick?”“I’mabondman.”
“Whowith?”
I
fortalte
toldhim.“Neverheardofthem,”heremarkeddecisively.
Dette
Thisannoyedme.“Youwill,”I
svarte
answeredshortly.“YouwillifyoustayintheEast.”
“Oh,I’llstayintheEast,don’tyouworry,”he
sa
said,glancingatDaisyandthentilbake
backatme,asifhewerealertfornoe
somethingmore.“I’dbea
Gud
Goddamnedfooltoliveanywhereelse.”At
dette
thispointMissBakersaid:“Absolutely!”
med
withsuchsuddennessthatIstarted—itwastheførste
firstwordshehadutteredsiden
sinceIcameintotherommet
room.Evidentlyitsurprisedheras
mye
muchasitdidme,forsheyawnedog
andwithaseriesofrapid,deftmovementsstoodopp
upintotheroom.“I’mstiff,”shecomplained,“I’vebeenlyingonthatsofaforas
lenge
longasIcanremember.”“Don’t
se
lookatme,”Daisyretorted,“I’vebeentryingtofå
getyoutoNewYorkallafternoon.”“No,thanks,”
sa
saidMissBakertothefire
fourcocktailsjustinfromde
thepantry.“I’mabsolutelyintraining.”
Herhost
så
lookedatherincredulously.“Youare!”
He
tok
tookdownhisdrinkasom
ifitwereadropinthebottomofaglass.“Howyouever
får
getanythingdoneisbeyondme.”I
så
lookedatMissBaker,wonderingwhatitwasshe“gotdone.”Ienjoyed
se
lookingather.Shewasaslender,small-breasted
jente
girl,withanerectcarriage,whichsheaccentuatedbythrowingherkroppen
bodybackwardattheshoulderslikeayoungcadet.Hergreysun-strainedeyes
så
lookedbackatmewithpolitereciprocalcuriosityut
outofawan,charming,discontentedansikt
face.Itoccurredtome
nå
nowthatIhadseenhenne
her,orapictureofhenne
her,somewherebefore.“YouliveinWestEgg,”sheremarkedcontemptuously.
“I
kjenner
knowsomebodythere.”“Idon’t
kjenner
knowasingle—”.“Youmust
kjenne
knowGatsby.”“Gatsby?”
demandedDaisy.
“WhatGatsby?”
Før
BeforeIcouldreplythathewasmyneighbourmiddag
dinnerwasannounced;wedginghistensearmimperativelyundermine,TomBuchanancompelledmefromthe
rommet
roomasthoughhewereflyttet
movingacheckertoanothersquare.Slenderly,languidly,theirhands
satt
setlightlyontheirhips,theto
twoyoungwomenprecededusut
outontoarosy-colouredporch,åpen
opentowardthesunset,wherefire
fourcandlesflickeredonthetableinthediminishedwind.“Whycandles?”
objectedDaisy,frowning.
Shesnappedthem
ut
outwithherfingers.“In
to
twoweeksit’llbethelongestdagen
dayintheyear.”She
så
lookedatusallradiantly.“Doyou
alltid
alwayswatchforthelongestdagen
dayoftheyearandthenglipp
missit?Ialwayswatchforthelongest
dagen
dayintheyearandthenglipp
missit.”“Weoughtto
planlegge
plansomething,”yawnedMissBaker,sitter
sittingdownatthetableasom
ifsheweregettingintosengen
bed.“Allright,”saidDaisy.
“What’llweplan?”
Sheturnedtomehelplessly:
“Whatdo
folk
peopleplan?”BeforeIcould
svare
answerhereyesfastenedwithen
anawedexpressiononherlittlefinger.“Look!”
shecomplained;
“I
skadet
hurtit.”Wealllooked—theknucklewas
svart
blackandblue.“Youdid
det
it,Tom,”shesaidaccusingly.“Iknowyoudidn’tmeanto,
men
butyoudiddoit.That’swhatI
får
getformarryingabruteofen
aman,agreat,big,hulkingphysicalspecimenofa—”.“I
hater
hatethatword‘hulking,’ ”objectedTomcrossly,“eveninkidding.”“Hulking,”insistedDaisy.
Noen ganger
SometimessheandMissBakertalkedatonce,unobtrusivelyog
andwithabanteringinconsequencethatwasaldri
neverquitechatter,thatwasaskjølig
coolastheirwhitedressesog
andtheirimpersonaleyesintheabsenceofalle
alldesire.Theywerehere,
og
andtheyacceptedTomandmeg
me,makingonlyapolitepleasantefforttoentertaineller
ortobeentertained.They
visste
knewthatpresentlydinnerwouldbeover
overandalittlelaterthekvelden
eveningtoowouldbeoverog
andcasuallyputaway.Itwassharply
forskjellig
differentfromtheWest,whereankveld
eveningwashurriedfromphasetophasetowardsitsclose,inacontinuallydisappointedanticipationeller
orelseinsheernervousdreadoftheøyeblikket
momentitself.“Youmakemefeeluncivilized,Daisy,”Iconfessedonmy
andre
secondglassofcorkybutratherimpressiveclaret.“Can’tyou
snakke
talkaboutcropsorsomething?”Imeantnothinginparticularby
denne
thisremark,butitwastatt
takenupinanunexpectedmåte
way.“Civilization’sgoingtopieces,”
brøt
brokeoutTomviolently.“I’vegottentobe
en
aterriblepessimistaboutthings.Har
HaveyoureadTheRiseoftheColouredEmpiresbydenne
thismanGoddard?”“Why,no,”I
svarte
answered,rathersurprisedbyhistone.“Well,it’s
en
afinebook,andeverybodyoughttolese
readit.Theideais
hvis
ifwedon’tlookoutden
thewhiteracewillbe—willbeutterlysubmerged.It’s
alt
allscientificstuff;it’sbeenproved.”