It took me way too long to finish this book. It was interesting at first when Scott and Zelda first met, but then things started to drag once their patterns of self-destruction took over. It finally picked up for me around the last 100 pages or so. With that said, I am glad to have read it.
I knew very little about F. Scott Fitzgerald before reading this book, and even though it is a work of fiction much of the important details are based on some truth. I absolutely adored Zelda in this book. I felt she was honest with her feelings most of the time and she held her own against Scott, who was an absolutely despicable husband, but I'll get to that later. Zelda fell in love with the dream with which Scott blinded her. She'd wanted more than Alabama, but was hesitant in following Scott to NYC. Hindsight is always 20/20, but she should have stayed in Alabama. Scott was ambitious, which can be a good thing, but he thrived off the opinions of others. I think that's an occupational hazard in the world of artists, and it certainly was for Scott. Like Hemingway, his good buddy and an equally despicable husband to Hadley (read The Paris Wife), he was the cause of his own destruction. He relied heavily on the reviews of his stories and novels and allowed those to sway his moods. He was a terrible alcoholic, as was Hemingway, and dragged Zelda down with him. I admired Zelda for her determination to pursue her own interests - ballet, painting, drawing, and even writing - and I was so angry with Scott for not encouraging her. He called her pursuits an amateur's hobbies, while his endeavors were of the "professional" nature. All of Zelda's stories, and even her novel, were published, albeit under Scott's name. He never gave her due credit for anything that she did. And I absolutely despised that he allowed Hemingway to alter his feelings for Zelda, telling her that she was the reason he couldn't write anything decent. He was a man with a million excuses. Then, when he had her put into mental facilities for long periods of time in an effort to fix her thinking so that she would return to him only interested in being a "supportive" wife and mother, I wanted to scream! He wanted a cheerleader, someone to accompany him out on the town, looking pretty and smiling and stroking his ego. But Zelda wanted more than that. She wanted to express herself and her own talents, and I admire her for that. She died an untimely death, but I found myself breathing a sigh of relief when she got news that Scott had died. I thought, finally, she can be who she really is without Scott lording over her and trying to manipulate her into his own little "muse".
I did not feel good when I finished reading this one. It was exhausting following this couple on their crazy wheel of self-destruction. The 20's has always fascinated me, and recently I became very interested in learning more about 1920s Paris and the American writers that planted themselves there, but after reading this book and The Paris Wife I think my fascination has waned. For years I have placed writers like Hemingway and Fitzgerald on a pedestal, but now I have come to believe that though they were fine writers their potential was never reached. Their obsessive reliance on alcohol, narcissism, and immoral practices led them astray from what they could have been. And that is so sad.
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