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I recently read Gatsby again. I was only thirteen the first time and now I am twenty-nine. I felt it was a due a good dusting. It was quite a bore the first round as required reading. "Why would I care about a bunch of rich people being superfluously supercilious and capricious!" I declared to my teacher who chuckled about my word choice. I tended to be succinctly garrulous when pressured at that age. I blame mother who falls back on her intelligent and cultured breeding to defend her unfortunate poverty. Oh how things change and yet stay the same! And that's how I still feel about the Great Gatsby. Yes it is a masterpiece, but I sneer at Max Perkins and his fluidity. His well edited words of Fitz only further the divide of the classes and cement the glass ceiling of American high society. It is so perfectly sculpted that I find myself a little nauseated all the same. You can literally see Daisy, see Buchanan, you can see Jay Gatz. And the world still has them, wrecking havoc and throwing money at their problems. Swine before pearls, I say! Damn them! Damn them all!