This Side of Paradise (Dover Thrift Editions)
F. Scott Fitzgerald
Language: English
Pages: 213
ISBN: 0486289990
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Fitzgerald's first novel, This Side of Paradise (1920) was an immediate, spectacular success and established his literary reputation. Perhaps the definitive novel of that "Lost Generation," it tells the story of Amory Blaine, a handsome, wealthy Princeton student who halfheartedly involves himself in literary cults, "liberal" student activities, and a series of empty flirtations with young women. When he finally does fall truly in love, however, the young woman rejects him for another.
After serving in France during the war, Blaine returns to embark on a career in advertising. Still young, but already cynical and world-weary, he exemplifies the young men and women of the '20s, described by Fitzgerald as "a generation grown up to find all gods dead, all wars fought, all faiths in man shaken."
talk to you—I feel he can be such a help—” She stroked his auburn hair gently. “Dear Amory, dear Amory—” “Dear Beatrice—” So early in September Amory, provided with “six suits summer underwear, six suits winter underwear, one sweater or T shirt, one jersey, one overcoat, winter, etc.,” set out for New England, the land of schools. There were Andover and Exeter with their memories of New England dead—large, college-like democracies; St. Mark’s, Groton, St. Regis’—recruited from Boston and
sardine to the prom in June, for instance, but I wouldn’t do it unless I could be damn debonaire about it—introduce her to all the prize parlor-snakes, and the football captain, and all that simple stuff.” “Amory,” said Kerry impatiently, “you’re just going around in a circle. If you want to be prominent, get out and try for something; if you don’t, just take it easy.” He yawned. “Come on, let’s let the smoke drift off. We’ll go down and watch football practice.” Amory gradually accepted
found himself talking to the person he least desired to. Isabelle manoeuvred herself and Froggy Parker, freshman at Harvard, with whom she had once played hop-scotch, to a seat on the stairs. A humorous reference to the past was all she needed. The things Isabelle could do socially with one idea were remarkable. First, she repeated it rapturously in an enthusiastic contralto with a soupçon of Southern accent; then she held it off at a distance and smiled at it—her wonderful smile; then she
chattered down-stairs. Boys who passed the door looked in enviously—girls who passed only laughed and frowned and grew wise within themselves. They had now reached a very definite stage. They had traded accounts of their progress since they had met last, and she had listened to much she had heard before. He was a sophomore, was on the Princetonian board, hoped to be chairman in senior year. He learned that some of the boys she went with in Baltimore were “terrible speeds” and came to dances in
a vapid youth of about twenty-four. He is obviously very unhappy, and she is quite bored. GILLESPIE: (Feebly) What do you mean I’ve changed. I feel the same toward you. ROSALIND: But you don’t look the same to me. GILLESPIE: Three weeks ago you used to say that you liked me because I was so blase, so indifferent—I still am. ROSALIND: But not about me. I used to like you because you had brown eyes and thin legs. GILLESPIE: (Helplessly) They’re still thin and brown. You’re a vampire, that’s