The Great Gatsby Induces Stupidity

Right. I don't post a whole lot. I get that. That's mostly because I try not to make a habit of posting unless I have something worth talking about, and that hasn't been the case lately. I would apologize, if I was sorry. But frankly, the last thing I'm gonna do is bore my irresistibly charming and unquestionably intelligent readers with something that I don't feel is worth discussing, so I stand my ground. That being said, I'm writing this post because something has managed to wake me from my deep authorial slumber. This something is a book; a great literary classic that has withstood the test of time, and is now championed amongst literary circles as a veritable avatar of masterful story telling and use of symbolism. As a matter of fact, at the time of this writing, we are currently studying it in my American Literature class.

That something is The Great Gatsby, and I'd like to tell you a little bit more about it. Specifically, we're going to look at the mind-numbingly retarded behavioral patterns that this book has elicited from my classmates.

In my class, a common method that we utilize in discussing books is something called a fish bowl. I won't bother to explain in-depth what a fish bowl is, partially because fuck fish bowls and also I hate them. For those of you too debonair and suave to be bothered with clicking on that little link, all you need to know is that a fish bowl is a form of dialogue that allows large groups of people to discuss a topic. It's a dreary event, marked by awkward pauses and some terrifically inaccurate insight that always leaves me baffled and fascinated.

Imagine those fish as awkward teenagers who spend 45 minutes rephrasing the same thing.

Class started, we rearranged the desks to accommodate the seating patterns mandated by the fish bowl, and we began our discussion. It started innocuously enough, with the discussion leaders presenting their questions while discussers (of which I was one) bantered and said nothing of interest.

Now in my American Lit class, there's this guy. And try as I might, over the course of the school year I've come to despise every facet of his being. I could spend much longer than could be considered healthy elaborating on his big stupid face and how big and stupid his face is. Because seriously, this guy's face is infuriating. This guy (we'll call him Hotdog) prides himself on his (entirely fictional) level of intelligence; listening to him talk, you can practically see the condescension and subtle allusions to his 'superiority' dripping from his big stupid face like liquid butter. He may not necessarily think others are beneath him, but it's entirely obvious that he considers himself to be magnitudes of intelligence higher than his peers. To him, his opinion isn't just worth hearing; it's the only correct one. Other students need his guidance and gentle spirit to guide them through the complexities of literary analysis, and while their feeble attempts are cute, they'll never quite reach his level (and he's also an annoying asshole). While it may be entirely possible that I'm exaggerating most/all of his bad qualities, it's also entirely possible that he's a big stupid jerk.

Look at that face. That stupid face.

Hotdog was a discussion leader in this particular fish bowl, and he was ready for some hardcore analyzing. Specifically, Hotdog felt the need to whore out vague symbolism to every Goddamn thing in the book. Everything came under his scrutiny, from the color of the window of a building that was only mentioned once to a character trait that was mentioned two chapters ago and hasn't been mentioned or displayed since. Now I understand that, when it comes to The Great Gatsby, acknowledgement and understanding of the symbolism plays a huge role in one's understanding of the book as a whole. However, by its very nature, something can only be a symbol if it's a recurring thing that makes repeated appearances throughout the book.

You know where we are in the book right now? Chapter 2.

You know when it's borderline impossible to deduce what will and won't be a recurring thing, and therefore possibly symbolic, in a book? When you're only in the second chapter.

You know where Hotdog saw symbolism? Fuggin' everywhere. 

You shut your whore mouth; I can TOTALLY argue for a concrete answer to an inherently subjective and easily misinterpreted literary device!

Eventually, the whole class began to follow Hotdog's example, abusing the concept of symbolism until it was left a whimpering, bloodied mess in the corner of the room. After listening to the never ending stream of garbage, my passive-aggressive side spoke up.

"Hey guys, I know this book is supposed to have a lot of symbolism, but we're in the second chapter. We have no way of determining the symbolism of anything yet, so can we please quit acting like everything has to have a deeper meaning?"

The whole class stopped and looked at me like I had just suggested mass suicide as a fun after-school activity. After returning their collective look of incredulity, I started to feel a little afraid. Without missing a beat, Goddamn Hotdog decided to voice the class's opinion.

"Look Johann, the teacher even said that there's a lot of symbolism in this book; obviously we're gonna look for it."

This rock symbolizes Fitzgerald's regret over being an alcoholic, because shut the hell up. 

I got a bit defensive. "Well I'm not saying that, I'm saying that we've spent the past 5 minutes discussing the color of the windows of a building that was only mentioned once. Can we move onto something...you know, relevant?"

It was a fruitless endeavor. So now, I refuse to talk during fish bowls, opting instead to doodle into a notebook and count the minutes until the whole sordid ordeal is over.