30 December 2005

I have a confession to make. When I first read The Great Gatsby in high school, it was one of the least enjoyable books I had ever read. I found it nearly incomprehensible - the sentences all sounded nice, but their meaning was somehow beyond my grasp. (Coincidentally, I had the same experience with most of the poetry I read in high school.)

I'm re-reading Gatsby now and I'm delighted that it actually makes sense. I'm not sure how much of it is my understanding of Fitzgerald's cultural references, how much is my underlying familiarity with the text, and how much is the fact that I've read a lot since high school. Whatever it is, it gives me hope that someday I'll be able to enjoy poetry.

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