Scott Fitzgerald

Andrew Turnbull's well-written biography brings F. Scott Fitzgerald to life. While the book is well researched and organized, ultimately it is Turnbull's wonderful language that makes this book shine. He carefully and lyrically describes, not just people's physical characteristics, but also their personalities and personal energy. And Turnbull focuses his book's attention on his subjects' most lively and engaging interactions, quoting letters and discussions at length only when they are truly fascinating. Turnbull, who knew Fitzgerald personally and considered him a friend, obviously loved the subject of this book - and that love helped to bring its subject to life. It helps, of course, that Fitzgerald led a wild, legendary existence. The best I can do, to give a sense of this book, I think, is to quote a few passages, half-randomly, directly from Turnbull's prose: In describing Fitzgerald's school headmaster: "He was almost pure albino with thin flaxen hair, white eyebrows and lashes, and pink watery eyes that jiggled behind thick lenses. His soft bulk, his round face with a button nose surmounting several rolls of chin -anyone could see that Fay liked to eat" (Turnbull 1962, 39). In describing Fitzgerald's final years: "Now was the time of hospitals, nurses, night sweats, sedatives, and despair. Fitzgerald seemed to be slipping back into the morass of 1935-6. Half-crazed with worry and isolation, he was also blocked in his work and 'a writer not writing,' he once remarked, 'is practically a maniac within himself'" (Turnbull 1962, 298). In describing Zelda, Fitzgerald's wife: "Zelda, too, was acting strangely. With her angry sidelong glances and barbed remarks there was something crouching and inimical in her posture. She was a wily antagonist who lay in wait for you conversationally and gave compliments that turned out to be brickbats. 'Did you ever see a woman's face with so many fine, large teeth in it?' she might say of some one she didn't like - after which she would retreat into herself. But the Murphy's remained fond of her and she of them" (Turnbull 1962, 165-166) . . . "Her willfulness had modulated into a bizarre petishness. Out with a group of friends, she would suddenly want fresh strawberries or watercress sandwiches and make everyone thoroughly uncomfortable until she got them" (Turnbull 1962, 177).