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1920 novel by F. Scott Fitzgerald From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
This Side of Paradise is the debut novel by American writer F. Scott Fitzgerald, published in 1920. It examines the lives and morality of carefree American youth at the dawn of the Jazz Age. Its protagonist, Amory Blaine, is an attractive middle-class student at Princeton University who dabbles in literature and engages in a series of romances with flappers. Exploring the theme of love warped by greed and taking its title from a line of Rupert Brooke's poem Tiare Tahiti,[1] Fitzgerald spent years crafting the work prior to its publication.
Dust jacket cover of the first edition | |
| Author | F. Scott Fitzgerald |
|---|---|
| Cover artist | William E. Hill |
| Language | English |
| Genre | Bildungsroman |
| Published | March 26, 1920 |
| Publisher | Charles Scribner's Sons |
| Publication place | United States |
| Media type | Print (hardcover & paperback) |
| Followed by | The Beautiful and Damned (1922) |
| Text | This Side of Paradise at Wikisource |
Within months of its publication, This Side of Paradise became a sensation in the United States, and reviewers hailed the work as an outstanding debut novel.[2] The book went through twelve printings and sold 49,075 copies.[3] It became popular among college students, and the national press depicted its 23-year-old author as the standard-bearer for "youth in revolt".[4] Overnight, F. Scott Fitzgerald became a household name.[5] Although the book did not make him wealthy,[6][7] his newfound fame enabled him to earn higher rates for his short stories,[8] and his improved financial prospects persuaded his fiancée Zelda Sayre to marry him.[9]
With his debut novel, Fitzgerald became the first writer to turn the national spotlight upon the so-called Jazz Age generation.[10][11][12] In contrast to the older Lost Generation to which Gertrude Stein posited that Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway belonged,[13][14] the Jazz Age generation were young Americans who had been adolescents during World War I and were largely untouched by the conflict's psychological and material effects.[15][16] Fitzgerald's novel riveted the nation's attention on the leisure activities of this hedonistic younger generation and sparked a societal debate over their perceived immorality.[12][17]
As a result of this novel, Fitzgerald became known as "the outstanding aggressor in the little warfare which divided our middle classes in the twenties—warfare of moral emancipation against moral conceit, flaming youth against old guard".[18] When he died in 1940, social conservatives celebrated his death.[19] The New York World-Telegram critic Westbrook Pegler wrote that Fitzgerald's death recalled "memories of a queer bunch of undisciplined and self-indulgent brats.... A kick in the pants and a clout over the scalp were more like their needing."[20] Due to such widespread perceptions, Catholic authorities later denied Fitzgerald both a Catholic burial and interment at St. Mary's Church in Rockville, Maryland.[21]
I'm not sentimental—I'm as romantic as you are. The idea, you know, is that the sentimental person thinks things will last—the romantic person has a desperate confidence that they won't.
—F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise (1920)[22]
Amory Blaine, a young Midwesterner, is convinced that he has an exceptionally promising future. He attends a posh college-preparatory school and later Princeton University. He grows estranged from his eccentric mother Beatrice and becomes the protégé of Monsignor Thayer Darcy, a Catholic priest. During his sophomore year at Princeton, he returns to Minneapolis over Christmas break and encounters Isabelle Borgé, a wealthy debutante whom he first met as a boy. They embark upon a romantic relationship.
While at Princeton, he deluges Isabelle with letters and poems, but she becomes disenchanted with him due to his incessant criticism. After his prom, they break up on Long Island. Following their separation, Amory graduates from his alma mater and enlists in the United States Army amid World War I.[lower-alpha 1] He is shipped overseas to serve in the trenches of the Western front.[lower-alpha 2] While overseas, he learns his mother Beatrice has died and most of his family's wealth has been lost due to a series of failed investments.
After the armistice with Imperial Germany, Amory settles in New York City as it undergoes the birth pangs of the Jazz Age.[lower-alpha 3] He becomes infatuated with a cruel and narcissistic flapper named Rosalind Connage. Desperate for a job, Amory is hired by an advertising agency, but he detests the work.[lower-alpha 4] Due to his poverty, his relationship with Rosalind deteriorates as she prefers a rival suitor, Dawson Ryder, a man of wealth and status. A distraught Amory quits his job and goes on an alcoholic bender for three weeks until the start of prohibition in the United States.
When Amory travels to visit an uncle in Maryland, he meets Eleanor Savage, an 18-year-old atheist. Eleanor chafes under the religious conformity and gender limitations imposed on her by contemporary society in Wilsonian America. Amory and Eleanor spend a lazy summer conversing about their love. On their final night together, before Amory must return to New York City, Eleanor attempts suicide in order to prove her disbelief in any deity, and Amory realizes that he does not love her.
Returning to New York, Amory learns that the fickle Rosalind is now engaged to be married to his affluent rival Dawson Ryder. A devastated Amory is further dispirited to learn that his beloved mentor, Monsignor Darcy, has died. Homeless, Amory wanders from New York City to his alma mater Princeton. Accepting a car ride from a wealthy man driven by a resentful chauffeur, he speaks out in favor of socialism—although he admits he is still formulating his thoughts as he is talking.
Concluding his long argument about their time's political and societal problems, Amory emphasizes his disillusionment with the current era. He announces his hope to stand alongside those in the upcoming generation bringing forth a new age. The men in the car denounce his views, but upon learning that one of them was the father to one of his old friends at Princeton and that the son had died in World War I, Amory and the man reconcile, acknowledging mutual respect. It dawns on Amory that his time as a young promising Princetonian man has all been but a wasted dream, and he parts ways with his travel mates amicably.
As he approaches Princeton at midnight, Amory acknowledges his inherent selfishness and realizes that transcending—not avoiding—his selfishness is the key to achieving balance. Wandering through a graveyard at twilight, he muses on mortality and finds hope in future generations pondering his own life. He considers the new generation—a group inheriting disillusionment and a loss of faith, yet still chasing love and success. Standing alone and musing at the sight of Princeton's gothic towers, Amory feels a newfound freedom. In a moment of self-realization, he stretches out his arms to the sky and proclaims, "I know myself . . . but that is all."[28]
Most of the characters are drawn directly from Fitzgerald's own life:[29]
Since childhood, F. Scott Fitzgerald aspired to become a famous novelist.[57] "Three months before I was born," Scott later wrote, "my mother lost her other two children... I think I started then to be a writer."[57] While attending Princeton University, his passion for writing literature began to solidify into a career choice, and he wrote fiction as an undergraduate for the Princeton Triangle Club, the Princeton Tiger, and the Nassau Literary Review.[58][59]
During his sophomore year at Princeton, Fitzgerald returned home to Saint Paul, Minnesota during Christmas break where the 18-year-old aspiring writer met and fell in love with 16-year-old Chicago debutante Ginevra King.[60][61] They began a passionate romantic relationship spanning several years.[62] Although Ginevra loved him,[63] her upper-class family belittled Scott's courtship because of his lower-class status compared to her other wealthy suitors.[64] Rejected by Ginevra as a suitable match, a suicidal Fitzgerald enlisted in the United States Army amid World War I.[65][66]
Hoping to have a novel published before his deployment to Europe and his anticipated death in the muddy trenches of World War I,[66] Fitzgerald hastily wrote a 120,000-word manuscript entitled The Romantic Egotist.[67] After obtaining a brief leave from the army in February 1918, Fitzgerald continued work on his unpublished manuscript at the University Cottage Club's library in Princeton.[68] Ultimately, eighty-one pages of this revised manuscript later appeared in the final version of This Side of Paradise.[69]
In March 1918, Fitzgerald gave the revised manuscript to his acquaintance, Anglo-Irish journalist Shane Leslie, to deliver to Charles Scribner's Sons in New York City.[70] Fitzgerald had met Leslie when the journalist visited America and toured the Newman School in New Jersey.[71] After proofreading The Romantic Egotist, Leslie asked Scribner's to retain the manuscript no matter what they thought of it.[72] He proclaimed that Fitzgerald, upon his presumed death in the trenches, would become the next Rupert Brooke, a posthumously famous poet killed during World War I.[72][73] "Though Scott Fitzgerald is still alive it has a literary value," Leslie wrote to Scribner's on May 6, 1918, "Of course when he is killed, it will also have a commercial value."[73]
Upon reading Fitzgerald's first draft of The Romantic Egotist, editor Max Perkins of Scribner's was deeply impressed.[74] Although Perkins urged his superiors to publish the manuscript, his senior editors Edward L. Burlingame and William C. Brownell disagreed with him regarding its quality.[74] They instructed him to reject the work.[74] In a letter to Fitzgerald dated August 19, 1918, Perkins dutifully rejected the manuscript but praised the writer's talent. In the letter, Perkins instructed Fitzgerald in detail how to revise the manuscript, such as adding more significance and details about his "affairs with girls."[74] He encouraged Fitzgerald to resubmit the manuscript after undertaking these revisions.[74]
By June 1918, Fitzgerald was garrisoned with the 45th and 67th Infantry Regiments at Camp Sheridan near Montgomery, Alabama.[75] Attempting to rebound from his rejection by Ginevra, a lonely Fitzgerald began dating Zelda Sayre, an idle Southern belle,[42][76] who reminded him of Ginevra.[77] At their first meeting, Fitzgerald told Zelda that she reminded him of Isabelle, the free-spirited character based on Ginevra in his unpublished manuscript The Romantic Egotist.[78] He spoke of his ambition to become a novelist.[79] At the time, Zelda dismissed Fitzgerald's remarks as mere boastfulness, and she concluded that he would never become a famous writer.[80] A romance blossomed,[81] although Fitzgerald continued secretly writing to Ginevra and asking in vain if there was any chance of resuming their relationship.[82] Three days after Ginevra's arranged marriage to a wealthy Chicago polo player and businessman, a heartbroken Fitzgerald professed his affection for Zelda in September 1918.[83]
After his army discharge in February 1919, Fitzgerald moved to New York City amid what the author later described as the initial flowering of the Jazz Age.[24][84] He turned to writing advertising copy to sustain himself while seeking a breakthrough as an author of fiction.[85] Although Fitzgerald had not intended to marry Zelda,[86] he changed his mind by March 1919, and the two became engaged.[87] Living in poverty in New York City, he could not convince Zelda that he could support her affluent lifestyle, and she broke off their engagement in June.[41][88][89]
Limbs that gleam and shadowy hair,
Or floating lazy, half-asleep.
Dive and double and follow after,
Snare in flowers, and kiss, and call,
With lips that fade, and human laughter
And faces individual,
Well this side of Paradise! . . .
There's little comfort in the wise.
—Rupert Brooke, Tiare Tahiti (1914)[90]
In the wake of Fitzgerald's rejection by Ginevra two years prior, his subsequent rejection by Zelda further dispirited him.[91] Unable to earn a successful living, Fitzgerald publicly threatened to jump to his death from a window ledge of the Yale Club,[lower-alpha 5][93] and he carried a revolver daily while contemplating suicide.[92] Despite Zelda's rejection, Fitzgerald hoped that his success as an author might change her mind.[94] He told a friend, "I wouldn't care if she died, but I couldn't stand to have anybody else marry her."[94]
In July 1919, Fitzgerald quit his advertising job and returned to St. Paul.[95] Returning to his hometown as a failure, Fitzgerald became a recluse and lived on the top floor of his parents' home at 599 Summit Avenue on Cathedral Hill.[95] He decided to make one last attempt to become a novelist and to stake everything on the success or failure of a book.[95] Abstaining from alcohol,[94] he worked day and night to revise The Romantic Egotist as This Side of Paradise—an autobiographical account of his Princeton years and his romances with Ginevra King, Zelda Sayre, Elizabeth Beckwith MacKie, and other young women.[96][97] Fitzgerald chose the new title based on a line in Rupert Brooke's poem Tiare Tahiti, "Well this side of Paradise!... There's little comfort in the wise."[1]
While revising the manuscript, Fitzgerald drew upon the correspondence of friends and acquaintances.[43][98] He quoted verbatim three letters and one poem by Father Sigourney Fay,[43] a possibly gay Catholic priest with whom Fitzgerald had a close relationship.[99][100][49] He also used a quote from Zelda's letters for a soliloquy by the narrator in the final pages.[98] Zelda had written a letter eulogizing the Confederate soldiers who died during the American Civil War. "I've spent today in the graveyard," she wrote to Scott, "Isn't it funny how, out of a row of Confederate soldiers, two or three will make you think of dead lovers and dead loves—when they're exactly like the others, even to the yellowish moss."[101] In the novel's final pages, Fitzgerald altered Zelda's neo-Confederate sentiments to refer to Union soldiers instead of Confederates.[102][103][104][105]
Fitzgerald sent the revised manuscript to Scribner's on September 4, 1919.[106] Although the manuscript again impressed editor Max Perkins who wished to publish the novel immediately, senior executives at the publishing house again overruled Perkins and rejected the novel on the grounds of indecency.[107] At the monthly meeting of Scribner's editorial board, Charles Scribner—the owner of the company—further declared that Fitzgerald's work lacked "literary merit," and senior editor William C. Brownell dismissed it as "frivolous."[69]
As the lone voice supporting the publication of Fitzgerald's novel at the editorial board meeting, a frustrated Perkins threatened to resign from the company unless they published Fitzgerald's novel.[107][69] "My feeling is that a publisher's first allegiance is to talent. And if we aren't going to publish a talent like this, it is a very serious thing," Perkins stated at the meeting. "If we're going to turn down the likes of Fitzgerald, I will lose all interest in publishing books."[69] Despite the fact that Fitzgerald's manuscript appalled older employees at Scribner's, the executives relented out of fear of losing Perkins as a gifted editor and literary talent scout.[108][69]
On September 16, eight days before Fitzgerald's 23rd birthday, Scribner's accepted the novel for publication.[69][106] Now able to express their opinions, lower-ranking editors at Scribner's opined that they believed Fitzgerald's novel represented the "voice of a new age".[108] Soon after Scribner's decision, Perkins wrote a congratulatory letter to Fitzgerald: "I am very glad, personally, to be able to write to you that we are all for publishing your book This Side of Paradise... I think that you have improved it enormously... The book is so different that it is hard to prophesy how it will sell but we are all for taking a chance and supporting it with vigor."[108]
Upon receiving Perkin's letter and learning of his first novel's impending publication, Fitzgerald became euphoric.[106] "The postman rang, and that day I quit work and ran along the streets, stopping automobiles to tell friends and acquaintances about it—my novel This Side of Paradise was accepted for publication," he recalled, "I paid off my terrible small debts, bought a suit, and woke up every morning with a world of ineffable top-loftiness and promise."[106] After Scott informed Zelda of his novel's upcoming publication, a shocked Zelda replied apologetically: "I hate to say this, but I don't think I had much confidence in you at first.... It's so nice to know you really can do things".[80]
This Side of Paradise was published on March 26, 1920, with a first printing of 3,000 copies.[109] The initial printing sold out in three days. Within months of its publication, the 23-year-old author's debut novel became a cultural sensation in the United States, and F. Scott Fitzgerald became a household name.[5] The book went through twelve printings in 1920 and 1921 for a total of 49,075 copies.[3] Initially, the novel did not provide a large income for Fitzgerald.[110][7] Copies sold for $1.75 (equivalent to $27 in 2023), for which he earned 10% on the first 5,000 copies and 15% beyond that. In total, in 1920, he earned $6,200 (equivalent to $94,298 in 2023) from the book.[3]
Although Fitzgerald complained to his friend Burton Rascoe that "the book didn't make me as rich as I thought it would",[6] his new fame enabled him to earn much higher rates for his short stories,[8] and he could now convince Zelda to marry him.[9] Zelda resumed her engagement on the condition that he could now afford her privileged lifestyle.[88][111][42] By the time of their wedding in April 1920, however, Fitzgerald claimed neither he nor Zelda still loved each other,[112][113] and the early years of their marriage proved a bitter disappointment.[114][115][116] Despite the disappointment of his marriage, Fitzgerald had achieved the peak of his fame and cultural salience, and he recalled traveling in a taxi one afternoon through the streets of New York City and weeping when he realized he that he would never be as happy again.[117]
Fitzgerald's debut novel garnered much praise from literary critics.[118] Burton Rascoe of the Chicago Tribune urged readers to "make a note of the name, F. Scott Fitzgerald. It is borne by a 23 year old novelist who will, unless I am much mistaken, be much heard of hereafter."[119] Rascoe asserted that Fitzgerald's first novel bore "the impress, it seems to me, of genius. It is the only adequate study that we have had of the contemporary American in adolescence and young manhood."[120] "The prize first novel of a decade is F. Scott Fitzgerald's This Side of Paradise," Fanny Butcher raved, "a book which... will have a serious and far reaching effect on American literature."[121]
Perhaps the most influential review of the work was critic H. L. Mencken. Writing in The Smart Set, Mencken described This Side of Paradise as "an amazing first novel" and heaped praise upon the young author:[122]
"The best American novel that I have seen of late is also the product of a neophyte, to wit, F. Scott Fitzgerald... In This Side of Paradise he offers a truly amazing first novel—original in structure, extremely sophisticated in manner, and adorned with a brilliancy that is as rare in American writing as honesty is in American statecraft. The young American novelist usually reveals himself as a naive, sentimental and somewhat disgusting ignoramus—a believer in Great Causes, a snuffler and eye-roller, a spouter of stale philosophies out of Kensington drawing rooms, the doggeries of French hack-drivers, and the lower floor of the Munich Hofbräuhaus... Fitzgerald is nothing of the sort. On the contrary, he is... an artist—an apt and delicate weaver of words, a clever hand, a sound workman. The first half of the story is far better than the second half. It is not that Fitzgerald's manner runs thin, but that his hero begins to elude him. What, after such a youth, is to be done with the fellow? The author's solution is anything but felicitous. He simply drops his Amory Blaine as Mark Twain dropped Huckleberry Finn, but for a less cogent reason. But down to and including the episode of the love affair with Rosalind the thing is capital, especially the first chapters."[123]
Whereas many critics praised the novel as highly original, others criticized its structure.[124] Lillian C. Ford in the Los Angeles Times complained "the construction is odd and the book has two parts, the first with four chapters and the second with five. The chapters have unexpected topical divisions and when the author feels so inclined he throws his story into drama form and then again it jogs along as plain narrative."[125]
Similarly, many reviewers commented that Fitzgerald's structural craftsmanship left much to be desired.[126] He could write entertainingly, they conceded, but he gave scant attention to form and construction.[127] Having read these criticisms of his debut novel, Fitzgerald sought to improve on his form and construction in his next work, The Beautiful and Damned, and to venture into a new genre of fiction altogether.[128]
Despite its widespread success with critics, Princeton University's faculty and older alumni reacted with intense hostility towards This Side of Paradise.[129] Although Christian Gauss, a Professor of French Literature at Princeton, publicly lauded This Side of Paradise as "a work of art,"[130] the Princeton faculty and alumni attacked the book in the pages of the Princeton Alumni Weekly and The Daily Princetonian, much to Fitzgerald's dismay.[131]
Ralph Kent, a senior editor of the Nassau Literary Review, publicly disparaged the work as impugning Princeton's reputation due to its superficial depiction of undergraduate life.[132] A recurrent criticism by Princeton faculty and alumni was that Fitzgerald's popular novel had fostered an unfavorable impression of their beloved alma mater as populated by hedonistic degenerates solely interested in idle pleasures.[133]
In a private letter to Fitzgerald dated May 27, 1920,[134] John Grier Hibben, the president of Princeton University from 1912–1932, politely but firmly criticized Fitzgerald's depiction of the university:[134]
"It is because I appreciate so much all that is in you of artistic skill and [a] certain elemental power that I am taking the liberty of telling you very frankly that your characterization of Princeton has grieved me. I cannot bear to think that our young men are merely living for four years in a country club and spending their lives wholly in a spirit of calculation and snobbishness... From my undergraduate days I have always had a belief in Princeton and in what the place could do in the making of a strong vigorous manhood. It would be an overwhelming grief to me, in the midst of my work here and my love for Princeton's young men, should I feel that we have nothing to offer but the outgrown symbols and shells of a past whose reality has long since disappeared."[134]
These weeks in the clouds ended abruptly a week later when Princeton turned on the book—not undergraduate Princeton but the black mass of faculty and alumni. There was a kind but reproachful letter from President Hibben, and a room full of classmates who suddenly turned on me with condemnation... The Alumni Weekly got after my book and only Dean Gauss had a good word to say or me. The unctuousness and hypocrisy of the proceedings was exasperating and for seven years I didn't go to Princeton.
—F. Scott Fitzgerald, "Early Success," October 1937[129]
In response to President Hibben's chastising letter, Fitzgerald wrote a respectful but uncompromising reply that denied any attempt to disparage the university and defended his novel as largely accurate.[135][136] "I have no fault to find with Princeton that I can't find with Oxford and Cambridge. I simply wrote out of my own impressions, wrote as honestly as I could a picture of its beauty. That the picture is cynical is the fault of my temperament," Fitzgerald explained. "I must admit however that This Side of Paradise does over accentuate the gaiety and country club atmosphere of Princeton. For the sake of the readers interest that part was much over-stressed, and of course the hero, not being average, reacted rather unhealthily I suppose to many perfectly normal phenomena. To that extent the book is inaccurate."[135]
As a result of this backlash by the faculty and alumni, Fitzgerald's joy at becoming a famous novelist proved short-lived.[129] Although Princeton's undergraduates touted the novel as an accurate description of their experiences, the university faculty and alumni continued to treat the young author with hostility.[129] In one instance, Fitzgerald visited Princeton's University Cottage Club and faced a room full of alumni and former classmates who condemned him for tarnishing their school's reputation.[129][136] After informing Fitzgerald that he had been suspended from the Cottage Club due to his novel, they "symbolically" ejected him from the building via a rear window.[136] Exasperated by the hostility and sanctimoniousness of Princeton's faculty and alumni, Fitzgerald did not return to his alma mater for many years.[129]
After Fitzgerald's death in 1940, many Princeton alumni continued to publicly denounce his work.[137] According to biographer Scott Donaldson, shortly after Scott's death, an impoverished Zelda Fitzgerald attempted to sell her late husband's papers to Princeton University for $3,750 (equivalent to $81,556 in 2023), but the librarian rudely spurned the offer.[137] "The university had no obligation," the Princeton librarian commented, "to support the widow of a second-rate Midwestern hack who'd been lucky enough to attend Princeton."[137] A year later, literary critic Edmund Wilson attempted to use his influence to persuade the university to publish a book honoring F. Scott Fitzgerald but proved unsuccessful.[137] In 1956, when the Princeton University Library released a collection of Fitzgerald's writings titled Afternoon of an Author, many alumni wrote letters of complaint arguing that Princeton should neither celebrate its connection to the author nor describe him as "most Princetonian."[137]
For his first novel, Fitzgerald used as his literary templates H. G. Wells' 1909 realist work Tono-Bungay and Sir Compton Mackenzie's 1913 novel Sinister Street,[138] which chronicles a young college student's coming of age at Oxford University.[139]
Although Fitzgerald imitated the plot of these two novels, his debut work differed due to its experimental style.[140] He discarded the traditional narrative of most novels and instead unspooled the plot in the form of intermingled textual fragments, letters, and poetry,[141] including a passage written in a stream-of-consciousness style. This was a result of Fitzgerald's cobbling The Romantic Egotist, his earlier attempt at a novel, together with assorted short stories and poems that he had composed but never published.[142]
This atonal blend of different fictive elements prompted cultural elites to fête the young author as a literary trailblazer whose work modernized a staid literature that had lagged "as far behind modern habits as behind modern history."[143] Dorothy Parker recalled that "This Side of Paradise may not seem like much now, but in 1920 it was considered an experimental novel; it cut new ground."[144]
I don't want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again.
—F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise (1920)[145]
The underlying themes of narcissism in the novel have been examined in a variety of scholarly essays.[146] Scholar Saori Tanaka's argues that "Amory comes to know himself through Beatrice and his four lovers, which are like five sheets of glass. They are his reflectors... reflecting his narcissism and the inner side."[147]
The first three women in the book allow Amory to dream in a narcissistic way. After participating in the war and losing his financial foundation, the last two women he meets, Rosalind and Eleanor, "make him not dream but awake" in postwar America.[148] "With Beatrice and Isabelle, Amory activates the grandiose self," Tanaka states, "with Clara and Rosalind, he restricts narcissism, and with Eleanor, he gains a realistic conception of the self."[149]
Others have analyzed feminist themes in the work. Scholar Andrew Riccardo views several characters to be feminist templates.[150] Eleanor's character serves as a "love interest, therapeutic friend, and conversational other".[151] Highly educated in discussing poetry and philosophy, "Eleanor not only posits her desires in juxtaposition to the lingering expectations of women in her day but also serves as soothsayer to the demands which would be placed on females".[151]
More so than most contemporary writers of his era, Fitzgerald's authorial voice evolved and matured over time,[152] and each of his novels represented a discernible progression in literary quality.[153] Although he was eventually regarded as possessing "the best narrative gift of the century," this narrative gift was not perceived as immediately evident in This Side of Paradise.[154] Believing that prose had a basis in lyric verse,[155] Fitzgerald initially crafted his sentences entirely by ear and, consequently, This Side of Paradise contains numerous malapropisms and descriptive non sequiturs which irritated readers and reviewers.[156] Reflecting on these copious defects, critic Edmund Wilson later remarked that Fitzgerald's first novel exhibited nearly every possible fault and weakness a novel can possess.[157]
Here was a new generation, shouting the old cries, learning the old creeds, through a revery of long days and nights; destined finally to go out into that dirty gray turmoil to follow love and pride; a new generation dedicated more than the last to the fear of poverty and the worship of success; grown up to find all Gods dead, all wars fought, all faiths in man shaken.
—F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise (1920)[102]
Upon its publication, Fitzgerald's This Side of Paradise caused a cultural sensation that led to extensive discussions among critics and scholars.[10][17][12] With this debut novel, Fitzgerald became the first writer to turn the national spotlight upon the so-called Jazz Age generation.[12][10] In contrast to the older Lost Generation to which Gertrude Stein posited that Fitzgerald and Hemingway belonged,[13][14] the Jazz Age generation were those Americans younger than Fitzgerald who had been adolescents during World War I and were largely untouched by the conflict's psychological and material horrors.[lower-alpha 1][15][16] Fitzgerald focused on this brash younger generation which had "brusquely shouldered my contemporaries out of the way and danced into the limelight. This was the generation whose girls dramatized themselves as flappers".[159]
Fitzgerald's novel riveted the American public's attention on the promiscuous activities of their sons and daughters cavorting in the rumble seats of Bearcat roadsters and sparked a societal debate over the perceived immorality of this hedonistic younger generation.[160][161][162] Due to this thematic focus, his novel became a hit among American college students, and the national press depicted him as the standard-bearer for "youth in revolt".[4] "No generation of Americans has had a chronicler so persuasive and unmaudlin" as Fitzgerald, critic Burke Van Allen wrote, and no author was so identified with the generation recorded.[153]
Remarking upon the popular association between Fitzgerald and the flaming youth of the Jazz Age, Stein wrote in her memoir The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas that the author's fiction essentially created this new generation in the public's mind.[163] Echoing this assertion, critics John V. A. Weaver and Edmund Wilson insisted that Fitzgerald imbued the Jazz Age generation with the gift of self-consciousness while simultaneously making the public aware of them as a distinctive cohort.[10][11]
The perception of Fitzgerald as the chronicler of carefree youth and proselytizer of Jazz Age hedonism led many reactionary societal figures to denounce his writings.[164] Social conservatives such as Heywood Broun decried his use of modern slang and went so far as to claim that Fitzgerald wholly fabricated his depiction of young people engaging in drunken sprees and premarital sex.[165] Fitzgerald publicly ridiculed such allegations,[166] and he opined that many critics wished to discredit his novel in order to retain their outdated conceptions of American society.[167]
As a result of This Side of Paradise, Fitzgerald became regarded as "the outstanding aggressor in the little warfare which divided our middle classes in the twenties—warfare of moral emancipation against moral conceit, flaming youth against old guard".[18] When he died in 1940, social conservatives rejoiced over his death.[168] In a The New York World-Telegram column, Westbrook Pegler wrote that Fitzgerald's death a few weeks prior reawakened "memories of a queer bunch of undisciplined and self-indulgent brats who were determined not to pull their weight in the boat and wanted the world to drop everything and sit down and bawl with them. A kick in the pants and a clout over the scalp were more like their needing."[20] Due to this widespread perception of Fitzgerald's libertinism, the Baltimore Diocese denied him a Catholic burial and refused his family permission to bury him at St. Mary's Church in Rockville, Maryland.[21][169]
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