This week has been the week of Gatsby.
I don't think it's a secret that I'm a bit obsessed with the book, and this week my honor's class finished reading it and I transferred the Gatsby love to a lot of them.
Tonight my husband and I watched Midnight in Paris (it is awesome btw), which seems only fitting because today is the anniversary of Fitzgerald's death.
He died in 1940 and was only 44. Crazy, right? It's so tragic to think about what else could have been written if he had lived longer.
His grave is inscribed with one of my favorite quotes from Gatsby, and someday I want to go and visit it in Maryland (I guess it's right by a major highway and apartments. How weird what it be to have Fitzgerald's grave in your back yard?).
You death was a loss, Old Sport.