Which Novels Explore The American Dream Like 'The Great Gatsby'?

Fitzgerald's 'The Great Gatsby' tears apart the American Dream by showing how hollow it really is. Gatsby builds his entire life around chasing wealth and status to win Daisy back, but in the end, none of it matters. The Buchanans are still rich and careless, while Gatsby dies alone, his mansion empty and his parties forgotten. The novel exposes the dream as a lie—money can't buy happiness or erase the past. Even Gatsby's lavish lifestyle is built on crime, proving that success in America often comes from corruption, not hard work. The Valley of Ashes symbolizes the ugly truth beneath the glittering surface of the 1920s.

John Steinbeck’s 'The Grapes of Wrath' is a cornerstone of the American Dream narrative, but there are other novels that delve into this theme with equal depth. F. Scott Fitzgerald’s 'The Great Gatsby' is a classic exploration of the dream’s illusion, where Gatsby’s rise to wealth is shadowed by his unattainable love for Daisy. It’s a stark reminder that the dream can be as hollow as it is alluring. Another powerful read is 'Invisible Man' by Ralph Ellison, which examines the American Dream through the lens of racial inequality. The protagonist’s journey is a harrowing critique of a society that promises opportunity but delivers invisibility. For a more contemporary take, 'Americanah' by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie offers a fresh perspective on the dream, exploring the immigrant experience and the complexities of identity in a new land. These novels, like Steinbeck’s, challenge the notion of the American Dream, revealing its complexities and contradictions.

The Great Gatsby' nails the American Dream's illusion like no other. Fitzgerald crafts this glittering world of Long Island parties where everyone's chasing something—money, love, status—but it's all hollow. Gatsby himself is the ultimate self-made man, yet his wealth can't buy the one thing he wants: Daisy. The novel's brilliance lies in how it exposes the rot beneath 1920s glamour. The symbolism hits hard—the green light, the eyes of Dr. T.J. Eckleburg, the valley of ashes—showing how corruption and class divide America. It's timeless because that pursuit of empty dreams still defines us today.

I’ve always been drawn to novels that dive into the dark side of wealth, and 'The Great Gatsby' is just the tip of the iceberg. 'Tender Is the Night' by F. Scott Fitzgerald is another masterpiece that explores the crumbling lives of the wealthy, set against the backdrop of the French Riviera. The characters chase dreams that turn to dust, much like Gatsby’s obsession with Daisy. It’s a haunting look at how money can’t buy happiness or erase past mistakes.

In 'Behold the Dreamers', the American Dream is dissected through the contrasting lives of two families—the struggling Cameroonian immigrants, the Jongas, and the wealthy New Yorkers, the Edwards. The novel shows how this dream isn’t just about wealth but also stability, dignity, and belonging. For Jende and Neni, it’s a desperate climb: juggling visas, low-wage jobs, and societal barriers. Their optimism clashes with harsh realities—exploitation, racism, and the fragility of their legal status. The Edwards, meanwhile, embody the dream’s illusion. Clark’s Wall Street success masks marital collapse and ethical compromises. The crash of 2008 shatters both families, revealing how the dream feeds on inequality. The Jongas’ resilience contrasts with the Edwards’ disintegration, questioning whether the dream is a beacon or a mirage. Mbue doesn’t vilify ambition but exposes its costs—how it demands sacrifices of identity, family, and sometimes morality. The ending isn’t defeat but recalibration, suggesting the dream’s true measure is in how one survives its failures.

Gatsby himself is the poster child for this collapse—he literally reinvents himself through bootlegging and obsessive longing for Daisy, thinking wealth can rewrite history. But his mansion full of strangers and the green light’s hollow promise show how the Dream rots into spectacle. Daisy’s another piece of the puzzle: her voice 'full of money' isn’t just poetic; it’s the death knell for authentic aspiration. She chooses comfort over love, proving the Dream’s core is transactional. Even Tom, with his inherited wealth, represents the old guard that crushes upward mobility. Together, they’re a trifecta of disillusionment—Gatsby’s grind, Daisy’s apathy, Tom’s entitlement. The Valley of Ashes? That’s just the debris they leave behind.‌

The character of Jay Gatsby in 'The Great Gatsby' is fascinating because he feels so real, and that’s because F. Scott Fitzgerald drew inspiration from actual people and his own life. One of the most talked-about influences is Max Gerlach, a bootlegger Fitzgerald met during the wild parties of the 1920s. Gerlach was this enigmatic figure who claimed to be 'an Oxford man' and had a mysterious aura, much like Gatsby’s cultivated persona. Fitzgerald even kept a letter from Gerlach that ended with the signature line, 'Yours for the duration,' which feels like something straight out of Gatsby’s playbook. The way Gerlach embodied the self-made, larger-than-life dreamer—flaunting wealth but hiding shady dealings—mirrors Gatsby’s contradictions perfectly. But Gatsby isn’t just a copy of Gerlach. Fitzgerald poured bits of himself into the character, too. The longing for a lost love (Zelda, in Fitzgerald’s case) and the relentless pursuit of reinvention reflect the author’s own struggles. There’s also speculation that Gatsby’s idealism echoes the tragic trajectory of figures like Robert Kerr, a wealthy socialite whose life ended in scandal. What’s brilliant is how Fitzgerald blended these influences into a character who’s both uniquely American and universally relatable—a man who builds a palace of dreams only to watch them crumble. The layers of inspiration make Gatsby feel less like a fictional construct and more like a ghost of the Jazz Age, haunting us with his ambition and heartbreak.

'American Pastoral' tears apart the glossy veneer of the American Dream with surgical precision. Swede Levov embodies the post-war ideal—star athlete, successful businessman, picture-perfect family. But Roth exposes it as a fragile illusion. The riots of the 1960s shatter Swede’s world when his daughter Merry bombs a post office, revealing the rot beneath suburban prosperity. The novel frames the Dream as a collective delusion. Swede’s relentless optimism clashes with the era’s chaos, proving that meritocracy and hard work can’t shield against societal upheaval. Roth’s brilliance lies in showing how the Dream consumes its believers—Swede’s life becomes a grotesque parody of success, haunted by violence and betrayal. It’s less a critique than an autopsy, dissecting how idealism curdles into tragedy.