Books Like Great Gatsby Novels & Stories

He had read his father's books, maybe that's what he meant when he said he didn't read much. The classics were such a vague range, I would've hoped he had read every Jane Austen book, I would make sure of it for him. "You've read this, haven't you?" He asked, picking a copy of The Great Gatsby and I nodded my head, knowing he had read it too. "You look like someone who's read it", I noted to him as he shuffled the book in between his fingers and he smiled. "The Great Gatsby has a type now, huh?" He asked, stepping back into the mystery section, he was looking for a book for his sister. I knew he wasn't looking for himself, as his eyes wandered through the unknown books.

I quickly got Gatsby his kibble and some water. When the cat was happily eating, I turned my attention to Gabe. "What ya got there?" I sat on a barstool and swiveled closer to him. He glanced around sheepishly before heaving the book on the counter. Moments before I saw the cover up close, I'd imagined it to be a book from Professor Pops' Museum of the Supernatural, and worried Gabe stole it. No one was to touch those pages. Turned out the book was nothing mystical, just page after page of whimsical dresses by the designer Vera Wang.

He’s going to go far. He said he might stop by later so I prepare some extra food and leave it in the oven in case he does stop by and he’s hungry. Once I’m done eating I head into my room with Porsha and sit in my chair, scrolling through I*******m. Porsha jumps into her matching chair and we hang out for a while. I light a couple of candles and get into my bed, plugging my phone in and grabbing my book. I’m currently reading The Great Gatsby, a classic.

"You actually know my name? I thought I was legally registered as 'the car girl' or 'the ghost' around here." ​"I have ears," Ethan said softly, his gaze locking onto mine with total, undivided attention. "And I was in the back row during AP English. Your breakdown of The Great Gatsby was honestly the most brilliant thing I've heard in these hallways in four years. You completely dismantled Allie Grace's surface-level vanity project in about thirty seconds. It was amazing." ​A faint, genuine flush crept up my neck, completely different from the burning humiliation Mike had caused moments earlier. "Thanks. I just don't really buy into the whole old-money romance illusion."

"Right now, we have The Great Gatsby to attend to." Xalia gave me a playful, narrowed-eyes look but finally pulled out her notebook. "Fine. But you aren't getting away with this after class." I tuned her out, opening my copy of the novel. Staring down at the pages, I couldn't help but feel a dark sense of irony. Here we were, studying a book about a man whose entire luxurious life was built on a massive, carefully crafted lie—someone who recreated himself just to get the girl he wanted. It hit entirely too close to home. I stared at the green light on Gatsby's dock in the text, feeling like my own fake future was about to slip right through my fingers.

The warm glow is enough for me, as my feet shuffle towards the books. All first collections. My fingers reach for their spines as I go from row to row, my eyes getting even wider as I move. Jane Austen’s first collection. To Kill a Mockingbird. Pride and Prejudice. Crime and Punishment. Ulysses. The Great Gatsby. These had to have cost a fortune. I reach the end of the top row and grab a book. Jane Eyre. A door cracks open in a corner, but it sounds so far away that I don’t move. Until a second later when I hear footsteps right behind me.

But I didn't know why they were making such a big deal, if anything I'm helping them. The professor crossed his arms, just staring at me like I’d ruined his whole day. “Alright then,” he said, voice low but sharp. “Since you seem to know better, Miss…” “Lena Hart,” I replied quickly, my heart already beating fast. “Miss Hart,” he repeated, slowly, like my name tasted bitter in his mouth. “Tell me, what’s the deeper meaning behind the green light in The Great Gatsby?” I froze. Shit. I knew what most people said it meant—hope, dreams, blah blah—but the way he was staring at me told me that wouldn’t be enough. He wanted something deeper. Something more.

I am aware that he is like looking at my face for a long time and is keep on glancing at me. “Ahmmnn a book entitled Wuthering Heights by Emily Bonte, Nicholas Nickleby by Charles Dickens, and hemmnn Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.” I said as I look into the books there. “I see, those are rare books now since they are old and people nowadays don’t like sad and pure narration stories.” Henry said and I just nod. Henry is now helping me through the pile of books. It was almost 30 minutes yet we haven’t found one of the 3 books.