Classic American Fiction: A Staggering Work of Heartbreaking Genius (Thanks, Dave)
American writers have all been caught somewhere in Jay Gatsby’s dream. Once they saw something fine and beautiful that they could pour their imaginations into. But that thing had a history, a context, and a spirit of its own, and when their imaginations displaced the thing itself, they got lost and panicked. They tried to relocate the fine and beautiful thing, but like Achilles’ tortoise opponent, it had moved just a little bit. And so they accelerated and reached out for it, but it had moved again. And so the infinite chase was on.
Huck made a pact with the river to carry him to it. He is still somewhere on his raft. Ismael teamed up with Queequeg and Ahab. But Queequeg was, himself, imagining an even more distant beauty, and Ahab’s imagination had turned in on itself and consumed whatever beauty was once there.
Holden’s beautiful brother died, his idolized brother lost sight of the beautiful thing, and his beautiful Phoebe woke him from his dream of being the catcher in the rye.
And Jay was borne into the past; first to the water, then to the Dakota dust.
Maybe the beautiful thing is out there, but it has so far eluded the American imagination.
