I remember my theory had something to do with F. Scott Fitzgerald's contrast between movement--both East and West--and stasis. My paper explored his understated use of dynamic vs. static images to reveal the implications of the changing social and moral philosophy of the early 1920's.
Or something like that.
So tonight, at exactly 9:45 p.m. my daughter says to me, "Mom, I just wrote a paper on The Great Gatsby. Can you come take a look?"
"Of course I can, darling," I replied. "I am an expert, afterall!"
I thought her paper started off on the right foot:
At first glance The Great Gatsby seems to be just a series of random events that don’t really mean much, but the deeper you dig for meaning, the easier it is to find it.
True that, I thought. But then she revealed the deeper meaning:
West Egg and East Egg, Long Island are shaped like eggs, and it reminds me of humpty dumpty. Each character in the book sits on their own wall and eventually they all crack.
Wait! I'm getting an image:
At first glance, I thought, "where did she come from?" But the more I think about it . . . let's just say, if anyone ever asks me how I know she's my daughter, I'll tell them this story.
And maybe I'll mention the time in college when I wrote a paper on Keats, Shelley and Byron entitled The Peanut Butter Poets, based on the fact that their images stick to the roof of your mouth.
Or maybe I won't.