Review The Great Gatsby Book Novels & Stories

"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 next morning I walked into AP English Lit early for the first time, which was partly because I wanted to avoid hallway commentary and partly because I'd left my annotated copy of *The Great Gatsby* in the classroom the day before and needed it back before the quiz. The room was empty except for the teacher. Ms. Okafor was maybe thirty-five, with natural hair pinned up on one side and reading glasses pushed to the top of her head that she'd clearly forgotten were there. She was at her desk with a red pen moving fast across what looked like a stack of essays, and she didn't look up when I came in. "Kane. Third desk from the left, second row. Your Gatsby is under the chair." I blinked. "How

It was here, amidst the hushed whispers of knowledge, that Jasmine’s life took an unexpected turn. She had come to return a book, a first edition of Pride and Prejudice that her grandmother had gifted her. It was irreplaceable, a piece of her family’s history, and she’d been meticulous about keeping it safe. But in her haste to grab a book on the top shelf, she’d accidentally swapped it with someone else’s. When she realized her mistake, she’d already left the library, and the book she’d taken home was not hers. The book she’d ended up with was a first edition of The Great Gatsby, its cover embossed with gold lettering.

Brock asked one evening, trying to start a conversation. “It’s fine, Dad.” “Need any help with the research?” “No.” “Reinna, how about you? What are you reading in English?” Mom chimed in. “We’re doing The Great Gatsby,” I replied, trying to sound intellectual. “It’s about the hollowness of the American Dream and the impossibility of recapturing the past.” I glanced at Austin, practically beaming the word “intellectual” across the table. He didn't even twitch. He just cut his chicken with extreme precision. The way he held his knife and fork, like he was surgically removing the food from the plate, was hypnotizing.

I slid into my usual seat in third-period English by the window where the afternoon light made everything look softer. Mr. Henderson was already at his desk, shuffling papers with the distracted air of a man who’d been teaching the same curriculum for twenty years and had stopped being surprised by anything. Mia was late, which was unusual. She was usually perched on the edge of my desk by now, filling the air with whatever gossip had surfaced during first period. I pulled out my copy of The Great Gatsby—we’d been dissecting it for three weeks, and I’d grown to hate the green light almost as much as I loved the prose—and tried to focus on the notes I’d taken the day before.

And l unintentionally read the title. “Oh you’re reading The Great Gatsby”, l suddenly asked. Before l could stop myself. “Yes. It’s a great book”, the man replied with a warm smile as he glanced down at his book. “Have you read it yet?”, he asked curiously. “Are you kidding me”, l laughed. “I wasn’t actually in love, but l felt a sort of tender curiosity”, l laughed as l quoted Gatsby. With an exaggerated air of sophistication. The young man laughed in amusement and l felt a unfamiliar sense of joy at his laughter. And suddenly l blurted out, “I’m Leigh, by the way”.

The key fonts were crisp, the glow promising pages I’d only dared to dream of. The largest box held rare first editions of The Great Gatsby, Lolita, 1984—books I’d read in borrowed copies, from uninspiring editions or library dogs and mildew. Now they lay before me, pristine: rich mahogany leather, gold leafing on the spines. My breath caught in my chest; owning even one would’ve been impossible. Now I had three. I traced Gatsby’s title with trembling fingers, it felt like a betrayal or a blessing. Last came the envelope, heavy, thick lines beneath my name. I opened it, life slowing. Ink flowed in clear handwriting:

“Goodnight Aspen.” Aspen leaves with the book. It’ll be nice to have another friend. I don’t get to see Samantha much anymore so it’ll be nice to have Aspen around. He likes books like I do. I’ll have to make him a list to read while he is here. I scan the shelves and decide on to finally try The Great Gatsby. My teacher gave me a list of more advanced books to read that I would typically be reading when I reach high school. So far I’ve loved the books she recommended. The Giver was one of my favorites.

About how I needed to ditch the black facade and act more like my twin. The thought made my stomach do something strange. I hated it. A couple of minutes passed again, and by past five, I found myself opening our conversation yet again. I re-read the entire thing. Fifteen minutes passed, and I was still reading it. My thumb swiped, and I went searching for any e-book copy of The Great Gatsby. The search came up dead. I went back to our entire conversation at around six in the morning, and yet again, I read the whole thing.

Edward Swift has not moved from where he had been sitting earlier and he still had the same book in his hands. After the tall man left the room I waited until Edward would put his book down and actually listen to what I have to say but he didn’t. I realized that he wasn’t reading the book but just staring at the pages considering how his eyes didn’t move along the lines and how he would not turn the pages over. “The Great Gatsby, what a book.” I awkwardly said. “You have read this book?” he asked with that terrifying frown still on his face. “Yes” I lied. I haven’t read the book but I have seen the movie “It was such a shame that a man like Gatsby had to die for a crime he didn’t commit.” I