I recently caught a TV screening of the new(ish) version of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby and it reminded me forcefully of the power of the word. It also drove home a point that I make constantly as a historian, namely that the context in which a book is read and the state of mind of a reader goes a long way toward what one will take out of a reading, or remember. For instance, There was a description in Gatsby toward the end, which I had missed or rather not noticed when I read the book, but given all that I’ve been through in the past couple of years almost jumped out immediately. It was a description of Tom and Daisy Buchanan and it went like this:
They were careless people, Tom and Daisy— they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made….
Replace careless with callous and to me that passage sums up a couple of former colleagues (or for that matter the entire institution) as nothing else can. For I know first hand what it is to be subject to the “smashing up” described by F. S. F. Nearly two years later, I’m still picking up, or attempting to pick up, the pieces while those callous Tom and Daisy equivalents go on blithely with their lives, no doubt, wrecking still others. I could go on, I suppose and wallow further in dregs of bitterness (to pick up the words of another American “I am big, I contain multitudes”) but I think I’ve already given them more rent-free space in my blog and brain than I should have.