Can one make the same basic point without becoming shrill or droning?
The
answer is yes, if one is F. Scott Fitzgerald and the subject the hollowness of
wealth. The best-known collection of Fitzgerald’s short fiction, Babylon
Revisited And Other Stories, amazes and engages while beating its one-eyed
message like a tom-tom.
The ten stories that make up this collection originally
appeared in magazines between 1920-1937. From the first, “The Ice Palace,” to
the last, “The Long Way Out,” these varied tales of lost youth and romantic
disappointment are all filtered through the prism of wealth and privilege.
Fitzgerald wrote about wealth in a way that
made it his exclusive territory. “Let me tell you about the very rich,” he explains
in “The Rich Boy,” included in this collection. “They are different from you
and me.”
Different doesn’t
mean better or happier. The rich people that populate much of this collection
may live splendid lives, but they are always on the verge of falling apart.
In “The Rich Boy,” Anson Hunter won’t settle
for anything less than love on his own terms – and winds up with no love at
all.
In “Crazy Sunday,” Miles Calman is a powerful
Hollywood director who can’t handle being married to one of the world’s most
desired women.
In “Babylon Revisited,” Charlie Wales has
gotten his life back together, but remains haunted by the shadow of his dead
wife, especially when he goes back to a familiar city to reclaim his daughter.
A danger in picking up Babylon Revisited And
Other Stories is to focus on the title story and ignore the rest. The title
story is one of the great all-time short stories, but rather unique here both
in approach and tone. It came out in 1931, during the Great Depression, whereas
all but two of the other tales in this book were produced in the 1920s, the
so-called “Jazz Age” when Fitzgerald was at his commercial and creative apogee.
The difference is stark in some ways. Not that
the older stories aren’t sad, but in “Babylon Revisited” there is a resigned
quality to the melancholy that makes it feel more earned:
“I
heard that you lost a lot in the crash.”
“I
did,” and he added grimly, “but I lost everything I wanted in the boom.”
“Selling
short.”
“Something
like that.”
Another
big difference is the economy with which Fitzgerald writes. The earlier stories
in this collection are often-sprawling in their scope, mini-novellas like “May
Day” and “The Diamond As Big As The Ritz” injected with “the something extra”
which Fitzgerald rightly prided himself on being able to produce, however
disconnected from the story:
It
is youth’s felicity as well as its insufficiency that it can never live in the
present, but must always be measuring up the day against its own radiantly
imagined future – flowers and gold, girls and stars, they are only
prefigurations and prophecies of that incomparable, unattainable young dream. [“The Diamond As
Big As The Ritz”]
By
the time you get to “Babylon Revisited,” Fitzgerald’s style seems less round,
more direct. It’s as if a bit of his famously terse rival Ernest Hemingway has
found its way into the narrative.
In
it, we follow Charlie Wales around Paris as he visits old haunts and reflects
on the mental distance he has traveled since he was younger and carefree. The
prose is elliptical, spare. A critical meeting with his wife’s clutchy sister
and her husband, who have guardianship of the daughter Charlie wants back, is
played out in short bursts of dialogue. “She had built up all her fear of life
into one wall and faced it toward him,” Fitzgerald writes about the
sister-in-law, a curt portrait that captures all you need to know about her
nature.
"Babylon Revisited" as it first appeared in a February 1931 issue of The Saturday Evening Post. Image from https://www.saturdayeveningpost.com/2013/05/great-gatsby-fitzgerald/. |
Is
Charlie Wales the same character as “Brick” Wales, a principal antagonist in
“The Freshest Boy,” published just three years before? “The Freshest Boy” is
perhaps the happiest of the stories in this collection, but even it carries a
melancholy tinge.
Our
title character here is Basil Lee, who appears in several Fitzgerald stories
about boyhood. Here Basil must live down a poor start he has made at a new
boarding school, a place which Fitzgerald paints marvelously, “muggy with the
odor of stale caramels that is so peculiar to boys’ schools.”
Told
he needs to get wise to himself, Basil does just that after witnessing a quiet
argument between a celebrated Yale athlete and a showgirl who is breaking off
their romance:
He
did not understand all he had heard, but from his clandestine glimpse into the
privacy of these two, with all the world that his short experience could
conceive of at their feet, he had gathered that life for everybody was a
struggle, sometimes magnificent from a distance, but always difficult and
surprisingly simple and a little sad.
Yet
this story closes on a happy note unusual to this collection.
More
common are downer endings, with “May Day” offering the most dramatic example. This
sprawling tale of Manhattan after the Great War plays like a novel, with
several story threads interwoven to depict a city teetering on the edge of
madness before ending on a bang.
“May
Day” impresses in the main but more so in the margins. We observe a swanky party
from several perspectives while a man home from the war impresses on his
beloved his complete disintegration.
For
him, it’s a world-ending encounter; for her, a disappointment:
Love
is fragile – she was thinking – but perhaps the pieces are saved, the things
that hovered on lips, that might have been said. The new love words, the
tendernesses learned, are treasured up for the next lover.
For
all its heaviness, “May Day” has a radiance about it, a night of raucous
partying and a glimpse of radiant dawn poking through blue windows at Columbus
Circle, which pulls you in.
Was
Fitzgerald a socialist? “May Day” introduces us to a socialist character who
seems to have a clear head while everyone around him is drunk and/or arrogant
with money. In other stories here, people are defined, for better or usually
worse, by their finances.
The
most extreme example of this is the fable “The Diamond As Big As The Ritz,” the
title of which turns out not to be hyperbole. The Washington clan lives on the
world’s biggest diamond, bedrock of a secret fortress whose security they would
do anything to protect.
For
diversion, the children invite friends from boarding school like the story’s
narrator, not bothered by the fact these friends will have to be killed later
to protect the diamond from outsiders. “We can’t let such an inevitable thing
as death stand in the way of enjoying life while we have it,” one of the
daughters blithely explains.
“The
Diamond As Big As The Ritz” goes on too long and isn’t that funny, perhaps
because Fitzgerald wasn’t trying to be. The oppressiveness of wealth is summed
up in “Ritz’s” climax where the Washington patriarch tries to bribe God,
failing because perhaps there is no One there to hear him.
An
emptiness to life is a central theme in many stories. “Absolution” depicts a
son of immigrants who is forced to go to Confession by his narrow-minded father
only to watch the priest suffer a nervous breakdown. “When a lot of people get
together in the best places things go glimmering,” the priest repeats.
Such glimmering can be deceptive, going by other stories here.
Not
everything in Babylon Revisited And Other Stories is downbeat. “The Ice
Palace” aims mostly for amusement in its depiction of a displaced Southern
belle somewhere up North, while “The Freshest Boy” is a coming-of-age comedy.
But most of the stories here are classics in a decidedly more tragic vein, even
when there is humor.
In
“Winter Dreams,” protagonist Dexter Green’s pursuit of wealth is tied up in his
obsession for a rich girl who can’t take him seriously:
“You
see, if I’d thought of him as poor – well, I’ve been mad about loads of poor
men, and fully intended to marry them all. But in this case, I hadn’t thought
of him that way, and my interest in him wasn’t strong enough to survive the
shock.”
Though
published 20 years after Fitzgerald’s death; Babylon Revisited And Other
Stories is better known than any of the four short-story collections he saw
to print, and as well-known as any of his novels bar one or two. Its stories
are taken from different points in his career, yet they coalesce around a similar
idea: the lure and deception of wealth and the attendant loss of focus of those
who covet it. The result is a feeling of thematic completeness, ten unique
takes on the human experience worth reading from cover to cover.
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