WEEKEND OPEN BAR: Nick Carra-Gay?

[WEEKEND OPEN BAR: The one-stop ramble-about-anything weekend post at OL. Comment on the topic at hand. Tell us how drunk you are. Describe a comic you bought. This is your chance to bring the party.]

When it comes to the pantheon of classic American literature, it’s hard to argue against the inclusion of The Great Gatsby. Fitzgerald’s seminal novel is an uncompromising examination of class divisions, the promise of the American dream, constructed identity, and the power of love. Who among us can’t sympathize with Gatsby’s yearning, his desire to become something greater than what he is? Is there anyone who hasn’t at least contemplated throwing caution to the wind, casting off the shackles clamped on at birth, and chasing the unattainable?

I fucking hope not.

Every time that I read The Great Gatsby, I feel as though I have a firm grasp on the title character — poor kid dreams of a life beyond his means, seizes the rare opportunity to move beyond his station, falls in love with a girl beyond his means, stops at nothing to fine tune a new persona, gets tangled up in crime, can’t acknowledge that his aspiration has been reduced to mere nostalgia, and is murdered for his inability to forfeit impossible ambitions. And while I’m absolutely enthralled by the transformative journey of James Gatz, I can’t say that he is the character most capable of piquing my interest.

It is Nick Carraway that I see as the most fascinating figure. And maybe the most enigmatic.

As the narrator, Carraway is responsible for taking us through The Great Gatsby’s alternately glamorous and sordid adventures. Between his actions and exposition, it would at first seem as though Carraway can be trusted as an objective, reliable narrator. In fact, the novel opens with a declaration of just this sort:

“In consequence I’m inclined to reserve all judgements, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores.” (5)

Right from the get-go the reader is led to believe that Nick will be presenting his story without bias, prejudice, or exaggeration. Which is sweet, I suppose, as these misdirections can lead one astray when traveling on the path of Truth. When a story is recounted, isn’t it of the utmost importance that all the facts and figures be in order, quotes presented verbatim, images recreated without blemish?

So if we want to, it’s easy to let Nick Carraway mollify our skepticisms — this is exactly what I did when I first read the book. After all, it’s both comforting and easy to take words at face value, never rousing suspicions that there may be an element of deception abound. But when one keeps a keen eye turned to the page, it’s a bit more difficult to invest complete faith in the absolute veracity of the narrator’s yarn.

For me, a turning point comes at the end of Chapter III. While recounting how he has been sending weekly love letters to a girl back home, Nick also expresses his physical attraction to Jordan Baker. He then states,

“Everyone suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues, and this is mine: I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known.” (63)

As I read that line for the first time, I saw all sorts of flags go up. My knee-jerk reaction, off-the-cuff thought was, “What type of person feels compelled to constantly assert their honesty?” The answer I settled on?

A liar.

So what is it that Carraway lies about? Well, I’m of the belief that Carraway tells both little white lies as well as tall tales. For instance,   Nick makes a statement early on about having limited experience with alcohol:

“I have been drunk just twice in my life and the second time was that afternoon, so everything that happened has a dim hazy cast over it…” (33)

Okay, so from that statement we’re to believe that Carraway’s only gotten crunk two times, and that was the last time, right? However, when Nick later describes his first experience at one of Gatsby’s parties, he states,

“I had taken two finger bowls of champagne and the scene had changed before my eyes into something significant, elemental, and profound.” (51)

Significant? Elemental? Profound? Dude, you’re drunk! I should know, I feel the same way right now and it’s only because I’m drinking beer as I write. Unless Nick is arguing semantics, discerning that unquantifiable difference between drunk and buzzed, it seems as though he’s just told a little fib.

But whatevs. Everyone’s entitled to some fabrication now and then, either to pass the time or mythologize the mundane reality of daily existence. But I think that Nick Carraway is also harboring a deeper secret, a facet of his life that he denies not only to the reader, but to himself.

Nick Carraway is gay.

So let me address the anticipated rejoinders. I know that Carraway bangs Jordan Baker (daps, brah, babe is smokin’!). And I know that he has a fiancé back home. I’m not suggesting that Nick has never had sex with a woman, or can’t maintain a relationship with one. But sexuality is confusing, and it must’ve been even more confusing in the 1920s, when being gay wasn’t as cool as it is now.

But I’d like you to ask yourself the following questions: Why doesn’t Nick stay with Jordan Baker? Why has Nick broken off an engagement with one fiancé just to take on another? As a relatively well-off man of thirty, why does he only having fleeting trysts with women? The answer is simple:

Nick Carraway is gay.

Don’t believe me? Fine, keep being homophobic. But just consider some of following textual excerpts, operating under the “wild assumption” that our narrative voice is, in fact, homosexual:

“The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought — frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate reservation was quivering on the horizon — for the intimate revelations of young men or at least the terms in which they express them are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions.” (5-6)

Try to tell me that Carraway isn’t talking about sleeping with guys in college. I dare you. Nick entertained the attractions of other men, despite the fact that these men couldn’t admit the nature of their sexual orientations.

Still don’t think that Carraway is gay? Well, perhaps you should consider the scene in which Nick leaves the party at Myrtle’s apartment with the “pale, feminine man” known as Chester McKee:

“Come to lunch some day,” he suggested as we groaned down in the elevator.

“Where?”

“Anywhere.”

“Keep your hands off the lever,” snapped the elevator boy.

“I beg your pardon,” said Mr. McKee with dignity. “I didn’t know I was touching it.”

“All right,” I agreed, “I’ll be glad to.”

… I was standing beside his bed and he was sitting up between the sheets, clad in his underwear, with a great portfolio in his hands.       (42)

Don’t understand that scene? Let me break it down for you. Nick leaves the party with Chester, and they get on an elevator together. On the elevator, McKee and Nick hook up. McKee feels up the elevator operator, and feigns ignorance when called out on it. Carraway then conveniently leaves out a deal of time, and picks back up at the point in which he’s standing next to the bed while Chester lays in it, wearing only his undies.

Yes, now you’ve got it — they banged.

I don’t think Nick Carraway is attracted to Gatsby, and I don’t think that he should be expected to be a completely reliable narrator. But it is my belief that Nick lies about some situations and completely omits other bits of information — such as the fact that he’s gay.

So what d’ya think? Does my argument carry some weight? Is it drunken 3AM blathering? Both? Neither?