F. Scott Fitzgerald
The Great Gatsby “Absolutely real — have pages and everything. I thought
they‟d be a nice durable cardboard. Matter of fact, they‟re absolutely real. Pages and—Here! Lemme show you.” Taking our scepticism for granted, he rushed to the
bookcases and returned with Volume One of the “Stoddard Lectures.” “See!” he cried triumphantly. “It‟s a bona-fide piece of
printed matter. It fooled me. This fella‟s a regular Belasco. It‟s a triumph. What thoroughness! What realism! Knew when to stop, too — didn‟t cut the pages. But what do you want? What do you expect?” He snatched the book from me and replaced it hastily on its
shelf, muttering that if one brick was removed the whole library was liable to collapse. “Who brought you?” he demanded. “Or did you just come?
I was brought. Most people were brought.” Jordan looked at him alertly, cheerfully, without answering. “I was brought by a woman named Roosevelt,” he
continued. “Mrs. Claud Roosevelt. Do you know her? I met her somewhere last night. I‟ve been drunk for about a week now, and I thought it might sober me up to sit in a library.” “Has it?”