
We are used to the unreliable narrator. From Lolita’s Humbert Humbert to Maisie in What Masie Knew, reading in the gap between the voice we hear and the author’s promptings, is, for most students of literature, a necessary skill. The beauty and subtlety of meaning builds up in the words not said, the judgement of the reader being so central a part of the creation of the novel. Or so I thought until I started teaching literature and re-examined my own reactions to certain novels in doing so.
A good writer draws you into their world until you forget that it is not real, even forget there is another world besides that one. The better the writer, the more ‘real’ the world they create. When the world is spoken into being by the narrator, is it not natural that we should take him or her seriously as the creator? I am liable to be fooled by people’s rhetoric, their description or presentation of themselves, even in the real world. I look back on times when I have accepted a friend’s version of themselves rather than using the facts about them, their actions, their history, to be a guide. I have often stumbled, hurt and bewildered, on suddenly discovering that there is a gap between the picture they present and the reality of their lives. In theory, this ought to be easier to spot in fiction, but I still get drawn in!
This error, however, when it regards literature, is not just gullibility. It is the mistake, that so many students make, which is to forget for an instant that all of the world they are reading is a deliberate creation of its author. Analysing the role of the unreliable narrator is to acknowledge that there is a voice outside the novel which speaks to the reader.

Nick Carraway is such a smooth talker that it is easy to fall for his charm. He is educated, reasonable, quietly critical, melancholy and cynical. Scratch beneath the surface and we see a very different man, however. He appears to be a gentleman, but his roots are as nefarious as Gatsby’s. They have a tradition that they are descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, ‘but the actual founder of my line was my grandfather’s brother, who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the civil war, and started the wholesale hardware business that my father carries on today.’ (Ch 1 p. 8) In effect the family represent themselves as aristocratic, when in fact they started as war profiteers.
Nick’s treatment of women also sounds a warning bell. He says in chapter one, ‘I came east, permanently I thought’. Then later, pinned down by Daisy’s questions, admits that he left a girl behind: ‘The fact that gossip had published the banns was one of the reasons I came east’. (p.24) He continues to write to the girl, however: ‘I’d been writing letters once a week and signing them ‘love Nick’’(p.59). That doesn’t stop him dating Jordan Baker. He doesn’t quite fool himself into thinking he loves her: ‘I wasn’t actually in love, but I felt a sort of tender curiosity’, but I think he fools her. To underline his point, Fitzgerald has Nick say, just after all this tangle of deceit and betrayal: ‘I am one of the few honest people I have ever known’. (p59)
How much clearer can it be? Fitzgerald is leaning over to us and telling us not to trust his narrator. Nick falls for his own line, and only periodically sees beneath it to his true motivations. It is not surprising if the reader, especially a young inexperienced one, falls for his line as well.
Does this mean that his view of the world he narrates is flawed? Well, yes, I think it does. That does not mean that all his judgements of his fellow men and women are wrong, only that they are seen through the lens of his own upbringing, his own marriage to deceit and superficiality. This is in fact how we all see the world, I think, – through the dirty lens of our own flaws. We still see Gatsby’s tragedy and ache on seeing his downfall because of Nick’s judgement of him. The lack of snobbishness in his regard for Gatsby’s authenticity, ironically portrayed through his fabrication of his whole life story, immediately endears him to the reader. Nick loves Daisy, though she is a vacuous, superficial, thoughtless woman, and through his love we can appreciate Gatsby’s. Nick is horrified by the corruption in his society, while being part of it. But in the end, though he is sickened by it all, he does not make judgements. Or at least they do not lead to action. Except to remove himself from the scene.
The beautiful complexity of the interplay between theme, action and narrator is one of the elements to savour and to treasure in The Great Gatsby. Nick’s poetic charm is what we read the book for. We are left, however, with some unpalatable truths, pointed out, glossed over, ignored or inadvertently highlighted by the elegant, self-deceiving Nick Carraway.

































