F. Scott Fitzgerald

Last evening I was in the library for a board meeting. They are replacing all the computers in the library and doing some minor remodeling to the Teen Zone. Anyway while the board were standing around and talking about the improvements I decided to take a look at what was available in DVDs. Not much; they are very popular. But there was a copy of F. Scott Fitzgerald: Winter Dreams which apparently was an American Masters presentation on PBS in 2001. I thought I’d watch a bit each evening during the week. But the first fifteen minutes fascinated me so much that except for a couple of pauses for coffee I watched the entire ninety minutes. I must have heard Fitzgerald discussed in some literature class fifty-five years ago, but I know that I have never read any of his works. I probably won’t at my late age since I want to read Steinbeck and Hemingway and Somerset Maugham again before I die. But the film was quite fascinating. Fitzgerald was never as wealthy as he hoped, and when he did achieve fame as a writer, he and Zelda were having too much fun partying. Then the manic energy she displayed as a high school girl with whom Scott fell in love began to display the schizophrenia which it really was. In the end Scott went to Hollywood to write screen plays because that was where the money was. The last year of his life, and he died of a heart malady at age 44, he earned $13.31 in royalties on his books. Today they have sold in the millions but Scott wasn’t around to reap the benefits. A sad and tragic life. Perhaps I should read one or two of his novels to see just how great a writer he was.