[adapted]

by
F. Scott Fitzgerald

Chapter 1

In my younger and more gentle years, my father gave me advice that I still remember. “Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone,” he told me, “just remember that not everyone in this world has had the same advantages that you’ve had.” He said nothing more, but I understood him. Since then, I have tried not to judge people too quickly. Because of this, many strange people trusted me with their secrets. Still, there was a limit to my patience. When I returned from the East last autumn, I felt tired of careless and dishonest people.

Only Gatsby was different. Gatsby had an unusual gift for hope. He believed deeply in the promises of life. In the end, Gatsby himself was not the problem. The trouble came from the dark things around his dream.

My family had been successful people in the Middle West for three generations. After college and the war, I became restless. The Middle West no longer felt like the center of the world to me, so I decided to go East and learn the bond business.

In the spring of 1922, I moved to West Egg on Long Island. At first I planned to live in New York City, but instead I rented a small house in a strange and fashionable area near the water. My house was cheap and old, squeezed between two huge mansions. The mansion next to mine belonged to a man named Gatsby.

Across the bay was East Egg, where the richest and most fashionable people lived. My cousin Daisy Buchanan lived there with her husband, Tom Buchanan. I knew Tom from college, and one warm evening I drove over to their house for dinner. Tom met me outside. He was now a strong, heavy man with hard eyes and an aggressive manner. Even his voice sounded rough and powerful.

“I’ve got a nice place here,” he said proudly. He showed me the gardens, the lawn, and the water beyond the house. Then we went inside.

The large room was bright and full of wind from the open windows. White curtains moved softly through the air. On a couch near the windows were two young women dressed in white. One of them was Daisy.

“I’m p-paralyzed with happiness,” she said, laughing softly as I entered.

The other woman was Jordan Baker. She was quiet and calm, with cool gray eyes. Daisy spoke in a low, exciting voice that made people listen carefully. I told Daisy that many people in Chicago had sent their love to her.

“Do they miss me?” she cried.

“The whole town is unhappy without you,” I answered.

“How wonderful!” she laughed. Then suddenly she added, “You ought to see the baby.”

“I’d like to.”

“She’s asleep. She’s three years old.”

Tom walked around the room restlessly and stopped beside me.

“What are you doing, Nick?”

“I’m in the bond business.”

“Never heard of it,” he said shortly.

“You will,” I answered.

Jordan Baker finally spoke. “You live in West Egg,” she said. “You must know Gatsby.”

“Gatsby?” Daisy asked quickly. “What Gatsby?”

Before I could answer, dinner was announced. We moved outside to the porch, where candles burned softly in the evening wind. Daisy laughed and talked lightly, but there was something restless beneath her charm.

“Look,” Daisy said suddenly. She showed us her finger. It was blue and dark. “You did this, Tom, you big brute,” she said.

“I know I hurt it. I hate that word ‘big brute,’” Tom said angrily.

“Big brute,” Daisy repeated with a small smile.

At dinner, Tom began talking angrily about books and politics. “Civilization’s going to pieces,” he said. “If we don’t look out, white people will lose control of everything.”

“Tom’s getting very deep,” Daisy said lightly.

Tom continued speaking seriously while Daisy and Jordan exchanged amused looks. Then the telephone rang inside the house. Tom stood up at once and went inside.

Daisy leaned toward me with a sudden smile. “I’ll tell you a family secret,” she whispered. But before she could continue, the butler returned and quietly spoke to Tom. Tom frowned and disappeared into the house again.

Jordan leaned closer to me. “You mean you don’t know?” she asked. “Tom’s got some woman in New York.” I stared at her in surprise. “She might at least not telephone him at dinner time,” Jordan added calmly.

A moment later Daisy and Tom returned to the table as if nothing had happened. “It’s very romantic outside,” Daisy said brightly. “Isn’t it, Tom?”

“Very romantic,” Tom answered. But the atmosphere had changed, and all of us felt it.

Inside, the red room was bright with light. Tom and Jordan Baker sat on opposite sides of a long couch. Jordan was reading from a magazine in a calm voice. When Daisy and I entered, Jordan lifted her hand.

“To be continued,” she said, throwing the magazine onto the table. Then she stood up. “Ten o’clock,” she said. “Time for this good girl to go to bed.”

“Jordan is playing in a golf tournament tomorrow,” Daisy explained. Then I remembered where I had seen Jordan before. Her face often appeared in sports newspapers and magazines.

“Good night,” Jordan said softly. “Wake me at eight.”

“If you get up,” Daisy answered.

As Jordan went upstairs, Daisy laughed. “I think I should arrange a marriage,” she said. “Come visit often, Nick, and I’ll push you and Jordan together somehow.”

“She’s a nice girl,” Tom said after a moment. “Her family should not let her travel around alone like this.”

“Her family is only one old aunt,” Daisy answered coldly. “Besides, Nick will look after her.” Tom and Daisy looked at each other silently.

“Is she from New York?” I asked.

“From Louisville,” Daisy said. “We grew up there together.”

Then Tom suddenly looked at Daisy. “Did you tell Nick your secrets out on the porch?”

“Did I?” Daisy laughed. “Maybe we talked about the Nordic race.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear, Nick,” Tom said.

A few minutes later I got up to leave. Tom and Daisy walked with me to the door. Just as I started the car, Daisy called out:

“Wait! We heard you were engaged to a girl out West.”

“It isn’t true,” I answered. “I’m too poor to get married.”

“But we heard it from three people,” Daisy said. “So it must be true.”

As I drove away, I felt confused and slightly disgusted. Daisy and Tom seemed rich and charming, but something unhappy lived under the surface of their lives. Tom’s affair in New York shocked me less than the strange sadness in Daisy’s voice.

When I reached my house in West Egg, the summer night was bright and full of sound. I sat outside for a while and looked toward Gatsby’s mansion.

Then I saw a man standing alone on the lawn. It was Gatsby. He stood quietly with his hands in his pockets, looking across the dark water. I was about to call to him, but he seemed to want to be alone. Suddenly he stretched out his arms toward the bay. Far away, I could see a small green light at the end of a dock. When I looked again, Gatsby was gone, and I was alone in the restless darkness.