Gatsby Chapter 1, Nick’s language
Nick’s language, his choice of words, or as is commonly known, his diction needs to be noticed and commented on if not fully analyzed. Nick’s diction creates a picture of what he is describing, but it also creates a frame for his own feelings. How many times have your feelings changed your description? The same goes for Nick.
One of the first descriptions that popped out at me was this short paragraph (on page 4 or 8 depending on your edition):
And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees—just as things grow fast in movies—I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with summer.
First, we can take the main idea and theme together: rebirth, resurrection, revitalization. A quickening—he uses the word “fast”—of life (this is a nice coincidence, because the original meaning of quick was alive). Rebirths and beginnings are always associated with hope, for, I hope, obvious reasons.
Okay. Secondly, I want to approach a few words that leap off the page; most importantly: “bursts” and “conviction.” These words communicate intensity and power. “Bursts” is fairly obvious, and packs extra punch by being only a single syllable. Nick could just as easily and accurately described the leaves as clumps, clusters, bundles, or even thickets, but none of these carry the same force. “Conviction” is also a very strong word; usually we hear it in the context of “Law and Order,” but it also has a deeply spiritual side, both uses carry a sense of finality. The root of “conviction” is a Latin compound: com- which is an intensifier and the verb vincere which means to conquer. Its nearest relative is convince. And we know that once someone has been convinced his opinion and mistrust have actually been conquered. We see, then, that Nick’s choice of conviction carries an enormous power that may not have been so transparent the first time we read it.
Immediately following this one sentence paragraph is
There was so much to read for one thing and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the young breath-giving air.
The theme of this sentence should, in light of our previous analysis, be fairly obvious. Can you hear the passion and enthusiasm? Nick is no mere stale observer, he is striving after a passionate life, full of ambition, hope, future. His words betray a sense of that rare moment when possibilities far outnumber regrets or mistakes. Consequences are nowhere to be seen; the future is wide open.
From here I would like to take a look at two more passages which should require a less detailed reading since we have been able to establish part of Nick’s character through his choice of words.
The first is when Nick drives over to Daisy’s and catches a glimpse of their mansion:
The lawn started at the beach and ran toward the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sun-dials and brick walks and burning gardens—finally when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run. The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold, and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch. (page 6 or 11)
At first glance this may appear rather mundane and typical; re-read it now, but this time look at the strict literal meaning of the words (pay special attention to the verbs). On your second reading you probably noticed that the lawn is the subject of the first sentence and is doing all the action. It starts, runs, jumps, and drifts. You might agree that this is not typical lawn-like behavior. So what is happening? Could it be Nick’s internal sense of wonder that leads him to describe it so? It does all sound rather magical. Take the adjectives and nouns next: they are full of color. “Sun-dials” glow with the light and warmth of the sun; “brick walks” are a vibrant red; and I don’t think the gardens are literally “burning,” this must be a description of the oranges, reds, yellows, of the garden as the sun illuminates them. The French windows are not really made of gold (they would be rather useless as windows if they were), but it must be the reflected sunlight (notice, instead of complaining about glare he describes them as golden). Everything is alive, moving, open, except, inevitably, Tom who is the only thing stationary in the entire description. He is the fixed counterpoint and conclusively shuts down Nick’s expansive description and feelings. From Nick’s point of view, Tom is not so good.
Now you may be thinking that I’m reading a little too much into Tom’s character from just this short description, but I hope to “convince” you with my next and final example of Nick’s diction from chapter I. This is one of the most famous passages from the entire book and so I feel it should be quoted at length:
We walked through a high hallway into a bright and rosy-colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end. The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding cake of the ceiling—and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea.
The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two young women were buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon. They were both in white and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house. I must have stood for a few moments listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and the groan of a picture on the wall. Then there was a boom as Tom Buchanan shut the rear windows and the caught wind died out about the room and the curtains and the rugs and the two young women ballooned slowly to the floor. (p. 8/12)
The lyrical quality should be fairly obvious by now. There are touches of poetry (“making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea” & “ballooned slowly to the floor”); the senses are fully engaged—notice that he uses food to describe how objects look, so as to bring in our sense of taste. The two women are given goddess-like status as they float in the air with their white garments billowing about them. It is a remarkably well-written passage. We should be able to feel Nick’s wonder, admiration, marveling with the way he slows down time in order to describe such an astonishing vision. Did you notice how Tom is the one who shuts down the magic, sucks the life out of the room, so to speak? Did you see how the Tom’s “boom” is so out of place where all the other sounds are fragile (whip, snap) and fantastical (groan)?
Tom’s behavior further degrades him later in the chapter, but it should be clear that Nick has already framed him in very unfavorable terms—every time we hope for the romantic moment to continue sempiternally Tom guts that hope by force of his physicality.
As for Nick’s language, I hope I have been able to elucidate some of the finer tricks and turns that our storyteller is employing, how he is framing his story, and how he sees, or wants to see, or wants us to see the world. Language is carefully chosen and specifically manipulated to change the way we experience the story—be aware of it and the poetry and the tragedy will be more available as you read.
Filed under: Summer Reading, The Great Gatsby and
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