New York Times reader I have a confession to make. One that may make you dubious of my credibility, judge me in a way that only New Yorker’s are capable of. You see I did not know Jay Gatsby in the capacity you all dream of. I cannot indulge you in the underground secrets of a murderer or the dazzling feats of a wartime hero. Contrary to public opinion Gatsby was as tangible as you and I and it would do you bountiful amounts of benefit to expel any preconceived notions you may have before reading this article. For on this very page I present to you the unfiltered depiction of an existence plagued with resplendent delusions, toxic grandeur and unruly desires. The recount of a man crippled by the American dream many of us grasp onto so dearly. …show more content…
His unrivalled magnetism could permeate even the most jaded of facades. However Gatsby was always shrouded in a film of garish fog, a protective layer of mysticism. Perhaps it was a concoction of those qualities that allowed him to claim a position of indisputable infamy so quickly. Or perhaps it was simply the liquor that leaked through every pore of his lavish household. Jay Gatsby possessed a quality so unique that I recall every minute detail of our first meeting, his magnificent posture, his sense of indelible splendour all wrapped up in a bundle of hope that ceased to be quenched. From that moment on I knew that my thirst for a deeper understanding, a breath of the untarnished air below the surface was only to be satisfied when I had explored every facet of a being so complex and full of