Tender is the Night
F. Scott Fitzgerald
Penguin Books. First published 1934.
I loved 'The Great Gatsby', I didn't like this one as much. The narrative is set in the same time frame, after the first World War, and before the economic Crash of 1929 and the Depression that followed that. It is the setting of a whole lot of fiction that I read, including the early PGW, and the early Agatha Christie stories. Of course the later two authors do not include any serious social comment in their novels. Fitzgerald's novels, at least the two I have read, are almost completely social comment.
For some reason, after I wrote the above pargraph, I hit a 'blogger's block'. I was not able to coherently imagine my reactions to the book. After thinking about it, on and off, over the past month or so, I decided to put down whatever I can, and end this post.
The book is a complex, not easy to assimilate story about a group of rich, not very ethical Americans, and their doings in Paris, Cannes and Zurich. Central to the story are the goings on between a rich, self-made psychiatrist Dick Diver and a young, up-and-coming actress Rosemary Hoyt. Rosemary, egged on by her mother, forms an adulterous relationship with Diver which goes through fairly predictable ups and downs. Superficially, the novel details the moral degeneracy of the American upper classes during the Jazz age, going from a description of one crazy party and its aftermath to another. This hedonistic procession is broken by some back stories, for example, one which shows how Dick Diver became a much sought-after celebrity psychiatrist, educated and trained in Zurich.
The writing is absolutely lovely, almost every sentence structure demonstrating new ways of using the language. Among these, however, there are some idiotic constructions, particularly idiotic similes that appear to be put in unthinkingly for effect. So much so, some of them seem a parody of themselves. The problem is, such inconsistencies in language, along with some other things, as mentioned below, make me doubt the sincerity of the writer, and therefore consider his social comment superficial. They make me think of Fitzgerald as an immensely talented and intelligent man, but unscrupulous and lacking integrity, using his talent to hide his inability to say anything meaningful about people, and their interactions with each other and with society. He talks badly of the forever-partying rich, appearing to despise his heroes and heroines, but I think he actually admired them. And it's not just the incongruities in his language that I find jarring. Particularly unacceptable was his treatment of the murder of a black attendant in a Paris hotel by one of the characters, and its cover up by the rest, including one or two whom we are called upon to consider admirable. The episode is treated as minor transgression, that needs to be smoothed over, like for example, getting arrested for drunkenly stealing a car.
Fitzgerald and his writings, I think, are much beloved of the neo-cons and the neo-liberals of today, and I can see where that admiration comes from. He is like the protagonist of one of his own stories, and his writings are, I guess, autobiographical.
For some reason, after I wrote the above pargraph, I hit a 'blogger's block'. I was not able to coherently imagine my reactions to the book. After thinking about it, on and off, over the past month or so, I decided to put down whatever I can, and end this post.
The book is a complex, not easy to assimilate story about a group of rich, not very ethical Americans, and their doings in Paris, Cannes and Zurich. Central to the story are the goings on between a rich, self-made psychiatrist Dick Diver and a young, up-and-coming actress Rosemary Hoyt. Rosemary, egged on by her mother, forms an adulterous relationship with Diver which goes through fairly predictable ups and downs. Superficially, the novel details the moral degeneracy of the American upper classes during the Jazz age, going from a description of one crazy party and its aftermath to another. This hedonistic procession is broken by some back stories, for example, one which shows how Dick Diver became a much sought-after celebrity psychiatrist, educated and trained in Zurich.
The writing is absolutely lovely, almost every sentence structure demonstrating new ways of using the language. Among these, however, there are some idiotic constructions, particularly idiotic similes that appear to be put in unthinkingly for effect. So much so, some of them seem a parody of themselves. The problem is, such inconsistencies in language, along with some other things, as mentioned below, make me doubt the sincerity of the writer, and therefore consider his social comment superficial. They make me think of Fitzgerald as an immensely talented and intelligent man, but unscrupulous and lacking integrity, using his talent to hide his inability to say anything meaningful about people, and their interactions with each other and with society. He talks badly of the forever-partying rich, appearing to despise his heroes and heroines, but I think he actually admired them. And it's not just the incongruities in his language that I find jarring. Particularly unacceptable was his treatment of the murder of a black attendant in a Paris hotel by one of the characters, and its cover up by the rest, including one or two whom we are called upon to consider admirable. The episode is treated as minor transgression, that needs to be smoothed over, like for example, getting arrested for drunkenly stealing a car.
Fitzgerald and his writings, I think, are much beloved of the neo-cons and the neo-liberals of today, and I can see where that admiration comes from. He is like the protagonist of one of his own stories, and his writings are, I guess, autobiographical.
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