I like reading books about war dogs, shipwrecks, and lady aviators.
I'm surprised this story rocketed Fitzgerald to success, because there's nothing in it to like. Sorry, was I meant to care about lazy and cruel Amory Blaine?? Nope.
Given that this is a semi-autobiographical novel, it's not surprising that the whole thing sounded just like the selfish, empty blatherings I heard from MFA guys in bars.
Mostly, I'm disappointed that such a beautiful title was slapped on such a trial of a story.