From the cover: “Published in 1922, it chronicles the relationship of Anthony Patch, Harvard-educated, aspiring aesthete, and his beautiful wife, Gloria, as they await to inherit his grandfather’s fortune. A devastating satire of the nouveaux riches and New York’s nightlife, of reckless ambition and squandered talent, it is also a shattering portrait of a marriage fueled by alcohol and wasted by wealth”

This is the second novel where F. Scott Fitzgerald absolutely blew me away (fun fact: when I was doing some research on him before reading the book, I discovered he was a distant relative of Francis Scott Key, his namesake, who wrote “the Star-Spangled Banner). The love between Gloria and Anthony was so beautifully tragic (any Wicked fans out there?), it felt as though I was really living it through both of their perspectives. As the reader I couldn’t help but feel sorry for them; their potential, both to love and to prosper, was so wasted. Anthony’s abuse of alcohol, and Gloria’s frivolous spending of money they lacked lead them straight down the path of destruction.

Though their characters are completely different, I could not help but compare Anthony to Billy Pilgrim from Slaughterhouse Five. Anthony’s lack of awareness, both during his time in the war and after, mirror Billy’s in many ways. Both characters seem disconnected from reality; I think there is even a quote where Anthony wishes he could live in “the detached corners of his mind”. The contrast is, Anthony chooses to drown out his misery with alcohol, Billy with his reminiscing of past and future memories.

I would absolutely put this book on my re-read list. While I don’t typically go for tragic novels, this one is so beautifully written, I can’t help but desire to relive their passionate relationship once again.

She was incomprehensible, for in her, soul and spirit were one — the beauty of her body was the essence of her soul. She was that unity sought for by philosophers through many centuries. In this outdoor waiting room of winds and stars she had been sitting for a hundred years, at peace in the contemplation of herself.