The Fitzgerald Philosophy
In the realm of creative nonfiction, the pressure is quite grand that the protagonist does, in fact, appear as a believably real person. The reader is fully aware that this character does not only breathe and eat crackers and make love on the page, but they still have to care about this character. This person has indeed walked this earth and has potentially suffered illness, had failed relationships, suffered depression and maybe even written one of the most famous novels in the contemporary canon, but do they seem real? F. Scott Fitzgerald, the star of his own heartbreakingly raw essay, “The Crack-Up” has done all of the above. In an autobiographical account about ditching the conventions of life and personhood, Fitzgerald becomes more human on the page than we’ve ever seen him before.
Though the writer of beloved The Great Gatsby dives deep into his personal struggles with depression and turmoil, he never abandons the reader or leaves us behind. The piece opens with “Of course all life is a process of breaking down, but the blows that do all the dramatic side of the work — big sudden blows that you […] in moments of weakness, tell your friends about, don’t show their effect all at once,” (Fitzgerald 139). “The Crack Up” is indeed a self-reflection and Fitzgerald’s moment to find identity post misdiagnosed tuberculosis, falling behind at university, war and heartbreak. Yet, his ability to use narrative techniques makes for a wonderfully immersive piece.
As Fitzgerald descends into the moments that led to his “writer not person” identity, he never forgets to throw a bone to the reader to maintain our inclusion. Let’s face it, readers are selfish, and we want to see ourselves or things we recognize when we are reading. In the midst of describing a psychological breakdown and relaying his inner thoughts, Fitzgerald notes moments of “wait[ing] around for a thousand hours with the tin cup of self-pity,” (143). Though all readers may not be able to relate to this sort of mental lapse in judgment or motivation, the imagery Fitzgerald constructs, such as a homeless man on the street to describe the feeling of self-pity, is absolutely remarkable.
Being the novelist he is, Fitzgerald also masters the art of the “cliffhanger” throughout the piece. It is unclear whether we clearly receive all of the moments that Fitzgerald alludes to on the page, but by including lines such as “And cracked like an old plate as soon as I heard the news” (141) propels us to keep reading to find out what the news might be.
Extreme vulnerability is a product of first-person narration in creative nonfiction, but Fitzgerald, in his attempt to describe his decision to ditch his personhood for the life of only a “writer”, he becomes just as human as the next person you’ll see on the street today. Maybe they’ll even be holding a tin cup.
