Gatsby’s Green Light: Why The Great Gatsby Still Holds Up

by Sophia Caneira ’29 on February 12, 2026

A&E - Literature

April 2025 marked the 100th anniversary of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby. The novel, which is still a must-read in high schools, has been adapted into a handful of movies, a Broadway musical, and, more recently, a ballet. Fitzgerald’s most famous work is often remembered for its vivid imagery, poignant dialogue, convoluted characters, and captivating story. 100 years later, it is still considered one of the greatest literary works ever written.

The Great Gatsby follows Nick Carraway, an unreliable narrator who recounts a summer spent on Long Island. During his time in the nouveau-riche West Egg, he meets the mysterious figure Jay Gatsby, who seems more like an idea than a real man. Gatsby is famous for the vibrant parties he holds at his mansion, yet he rarely appears among the throngs of uninvited guests who spread rumors about their host and his hidden past. Nick eventually learns of Gatsby’s obsession with his lost love, Daisy, who is now married to the arrogant Tom Buchanan and lives across the bay in the untouchable old-money East Egg. As the events of the story unfold, Nick begins to realize the true natures of those around him. Ultimately, he finds that Gatsby is the only genuine man among a whole host of shallow, careless people.

At face value, Gatsby’s world in 1922 seems far out of reach, but his story continues to be immensely accessible in the modern day. The Great Gatsby confronts the idea of social mobility, and comments on the American Dream, questioning its validity. Does it exist? Can it really be achieved? Is there something more important? The tragic romance of Gatsby and Daisy remains an element modern audiences can empathize with.

Fitzgerald’s style of writing is itself something worth exploring. One of his greatest strengths is his constant use of subtle symbolism—from the eyes of Doctor T.J. Eckleburg, to the green light at the end of Daisy’s dock, to even the distinct colors of clothing. Every word is intentional with Fitzgerald.

There is something undeniably enchanting about Gatsby’s world; the extravagant culture of the Roaring ’20s, the reunited lovers, and the mystery surrounding the persona of Gatsby. Baz Luhrmann’s 2013 film rendition captured the pomp and circumstance readers imagine. Every shot, every costume, every set piece is glamorous—almost to the point of overstimulation in a few cases. And who better to play the romantic icon than Leonardo DiCaprio?

In its simplest form, The Great Gatsby is a story of hope. Gatsby lived on hope. He died with hope. Perhaps this answers why Gatsby is so beloved, and why the story still holds up today. Hope is something we’ve all encountered. It’s one of those universal human experiences—one that even Gatsby shares. Everyone has their own green light, their own source of hope, blinking through the darkness. It’s easy to put ourselves in Gatsby’s shoes, as readers love to do. His dream is so pure. Innocent, in a way. His preoccupation with the past is a trait many people can relate to.

“Can’t repeat the past?” Gatsby tells Nick. “Why, of course you can.”

The Great Gatsby is terribly sad, and in revisiting Luhrmann’s film, every scene carries the weight of tragedy. But there is something real within that; something very human. There’s a beautiful truth in Gatsby, one that continues to attract new generations of readers.

Every hopeless romantic loves Gatsby. But it’s ironic, isn’t it? Gatsby wasn’t a hopeless romantic at all. In fact, he was quite the opposite: he was hopeful.

A Review of The Long Walk

by Sydney King ’26 on October 9, 2025

A&E - Film & TV

An Adaptation Done Right

Stephen King—or the deemed “father of horror”—wrote his novel, The Long Walk (1979), at age 19 as a freshman in college. While most college freshmen are dreading their assigned reading and writing assignments, King managed to craft a complexly horrific and emotional allegory for the draft during the Vietnam War that I have yet to see any other modern allegorical novel match. When I heard that they were making a film and that it was to be released this fall, I excitedly called my mom, who was a fan of the book in her youth and has claimed that the book has stuck with her despite having read it decades ago. So, when I sat down in theaters last Sunday and watched the film, I went in expecting to be scared and tense. I left, however, having cried twice, and feeling as though the events of the film were real and that I was involved in them firsthand.

The concept of The Long Walk is simple—50 boys (100 in the novel) selected from each state voluntarily put their names in a lottery to be selected for the annual Long Walk, a contest that starts in Maine and has no official endpoint. The walk is based on one essential rule: you must keep a pace of three miles per hour. If you drop below this, you get one warning, if you stay under for 10 seconds, you get a second warning, and if you stay under for another 10 seconds, you get your ticket. If you go off the road, you get your ticket with no warning. The usage of “warning” is intentional to minimize the actual punishment of the walk, the ticket, which means being shot to death by the soldiers that accompany the boys in tanks beside them.

There is something so uniquely straightforward yet sinister about making 50 young men, from ages 18 through their early 20s (13–18 in the novel), walk themselves to death. While the walk is presented as entirely optional to the participants, even giving them until the day before to back out, they are driven by the reward of an endless amount of money and to have one wish granted. Not only that, but the boys are motivated to participate because of the affirmations and reassurance given to them about their strength and bravery. The tragic beauty of this story is that it is a doomed narrative—as the boys walk, they form intense friendships with each other that are bound to end in suffering and trauma. As the days go on, the boys’ expressions seem to shift from fear and panic to relief whenever they are approaching their deaths. For the sake of not wanting to spoil the relatively new film, I will leave out the specifics of the deaths, but just know before starting the film that the deaths all result from complications that are completely human.

The Vietnam War metaphor is not to be forgotten while watching the film. The frustrations and grief that come with signing up for something presented as rewarding and masculine, only to be left with internal emptiness and external abandonment, are directly reflected in the boys on the walk. The saddest aspect about this film, however, is that despite it being written in the 1960s, it holds just as much relevance today, given the current climate of our country.