Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

I am in the minority here.
The book is about a bunch of racist Kardashians in the 1920s. They want to be rich and famous. The party away at the house of Jay Gatsby, drink excessively, refer to human beings as kikes and Negroe bucks. They are shallow and self absorbed and are unhappy due to the above. No one thinks to read a book, learn something, spend time with family, do volunteer work, try for any meaning or purpose.
Gatsby knew Daisy in his younger days and will do anything to get her back. Anything, that is, except become a decent human being. By anything, that means impress her with money. Of course, that might work if Daisy were not equally shallow and awful or if Gatsby truly cared about Daisy rather than obsessing over the conquest. He should have read Anne of Green Gables or Pride and Prejudice and learned a thing or two about the grand romantic gesture. Give of yourself like Gilbert, and turn the Avonlea school over to Anne. Or Darcy, and learn to become a true gentleman and consider the feelings of OTHERS.
Nick, our narrator is obsessed with Gatsby because he is just so darn enigmatic. Apparently he has so much time on his hands he devotes it to ruminations of "What's up with Jay?"
Why should we care about any of these awful people? Because pretentious people will tell us we just do not get it if we do not love it. No, I get it. They are just dull people in a dull book about awful people. The bad reality TV of the Jazz Age.
Everyone is awful. They give you no reason to care. This may be a small set of American life but certainly not a complete or compelling portrait. No one to root for, not a place to want to visit, just a lot of cancerous cigarettes smoke.