THE GREAT GATSBY Chapter 5: Close Reading & Scene Rewrite
Closely read and annotate the following scene, during which Gatsby and Daisy are reunited for the first time in 5 years. Pay special attention to the body language and demeanor of Gatsby.
She turned her head as there was a light dignified knocking at the front door. I went out and opened it. Gatsby, pale as death, with his hands plunged like weights in his coat pockets, was standing in a puddle of water glaring tragically into my eyes.
          	With his hands still in his coat pockets he stalked by me into the hall, turned sharply as if he were on a wire, and disappeared into the living-room. It wasn’t a bit funny. Aware of the loud beating of my own heart I pulled the door to against the increasing rain.
          	For half a minute there wasn’t sound. Then from the living-room I heard a sort of choking murmur and part of a laugh, followed by Daisy’s voice on a clear artificial note:
          	“I certainly am awfully glad to see you again.”
          	A pause; it endured horribly. I had nothing to do in the hall, so I went into the room.
          	Gatsby, his hands still in his pockets, was reclining against the mantelpiece in a strained counterfeit of perfect ease, even of boredom. His head leaned back so far that it rested against the face of a defunct mantelpiece clock, and from this position his distraught eyes stared down at Daisy, who was sitting, frightened but graceful, on the edge of a stiff chair.
          	“We’ve met before,” muttered Gatsby. His eyes glanced momentarily at me, and his lips parted with an abortive attempt at a laugh. Luckily the clock took this moment to tilt dangerously at the pressure of his head, whereupon he turned and caught it with trembling fingers and set it back in place. Then he sat down, rigidly, his elbow on the arm of the sofa and his chin in his hand.
          	“I’m sorry about the clock,” he said.
          	My own face had now assumed a deep tropical burn. I couldn’t muster up a single commonplace out of the thousand in my head.
          	“It’s an old clock,” I told them idiotically.
          	I think we all believed for a moment that it had smashed in pieces on the floor.
          	“We haven’t met for many years,” said Daisy, her voice as matter-of-fact as it could ever be.
          	“Five years next November.”
          	The automatic quality of Gatsby’s answer set us all back at least another minute. I had them both on their feet with the desperate suggestion that they help me make tea in the kitchen when the demoniac Finn brought it in on a tray.
          	Amid the welcome confusion of cups and cakes a certain physical decency established itself. Gatsby got himself into a shadow and, while Daisy and I talked, looked conscientiously from one to the other of us with tense, unhappy eyes. However, as calmness wasn’t an end in itself, I made an excuse at the first possible moment, and got to my feet.
          	“Where are you going?” demanded Gatsby in immediate alarm.
          	“I’ll be back.”
          	“I’ve got to speak to you before you go.”
          	He followed me wildly into the kitchen, closed the door, and whispered: “Oh, God!” in a miserable way.
          	“What’s the matter?”
          	“This is a terrible mistake,” he said, shaking his head from side to side, “a terrible, terrible mistake.”
          	“You’re just embarrassed, that’s all,” and luckily I added: “Daisy’s embarrassed too.”
          	“She’s embarrassed?” he repeated incredulously.
          	“Just as much as you are.”
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          	It was time I went back. While the rain continued it had seemed like the murmur of their voices, rising and swelling a little now and then with gusts of emotion. But in the new silence I felt that silence had fallen within the house too.
          	I went in—after making every possible noise in the kitchen, short of pushing over the stove—but I don’t believe they heard a sound. They were sitting at either end of the couch, looking at each other as if some question had been asked, or was in the air, and every vestige of embarrassment was gone. Daisy’s face was smeared with tears, and when I came in she jumped up and began wiping at it with her handkerchief before a mirror. But there was a change in Gatsby that was simply confounding. He literally glowed; without a word or a gesture of exultation a new well-being radiated from him and filled the little room.
          	“Oh, hello old sport,” he said, as if he hadn’t seen me for years. I thought for a moment he was going to shake hands.
          	“It’s stopped raining.”
          	“Has it?” When he realized what I was talking about, that there were twinkle-bells of sunshine in the room, he smiled like a weather man, like an ecstatic patron of recurrent light, and repeated the news to Daisy. “What do you think of that? It’s stopped raining.”
          	“I’m glad, Jay.” Her throat, full of aching, grieving beauty, told only of her unexpected joy.
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WRITING TASK: Scene Rewrite
Rewrite this scene from Daisy’s or Gatsby’s point of view. Your rewritten scene must include the character’s inner thoughts, description of other characters/the setting, and dialogue between characters.
PLEASE NOTE: You may use the dialogue from the original text, but nothing else. Don’t let dialogue dominate your entire rewritten scene. Also, you may rewrite the dialogue, as long as it stays true to the scene and characters. (Example: Many versions of books change the dialogue but not in a way that changes the representation of the character or scene, ideally.) * Please type your response on the following page*

When you are finished, answer the following questions here.

1. How did the change in narration affect the story?
Type here.

2. Which narrator—Nick or Daisy/Gatsby—do you think is more effective in this scene? Explain.
Type here.


WRITING TASK: Scene Rewrite
CHARACTER’S POINT OF VIEW YOU ARE WRITING FROM: Type here.


The moment I had dreaded and anticipated for five long years was finally here. As I reached Nick’s door, my hands felt like leaden weights, plunged deep into my coat pockets. The rain soaked through my clothes, and I couldn’t stop the shudder that ran through me. There was no need to knock loudly; I tapped the door lightly, hoping that no one but Nick would hear. My heart hammered in my chest, each beat competing with the rain’s persistent patter.

Nick opened the door, his eyes searching mine for some reassurance. But how could I offer that? I felt as though the color had drained from my face; my nerves stripped away any semblance of the confident Gatsby everyone else knew. Without waiting for an invitation, I stalked past him, trying to maintain control. My movements felt mechanical, like a marionette being jerked around by invisible strings. I could feel the water pooling around my feet, my shoes squishing audibly against the hallway floor.

As I turned sharply into the living room, my eyes immediately found Daisy. She was more beautiful than I remembered, sitting on the edge of a stiff chair, graceful yet unmistakably nervous. My throat tightened, and I managed a choked murmur followed by an awkward laugh that couldn’t hide my anxiety. Daisy’s voice, as clear and artificial as it ever had been, broke the heavy silence: “I certainly am awfully glad to see you again.”

The words hung in the air, a fragile thread that seemed ready to snap. I leaned against the mantelpiece, trying to appear nonchalant, even bored, but every muscle in my body was straining. The old clock on the mantelpiece groaned under the weight of my head, and in a sudden panic, I reached up to steady it with shaky fingers. She’s right there, and my hands are shaking like a leaf. What a fool I must look like to her right now.

I made a futile attempt, trying to salvage the moment. “I’m sorry about the clock,” I muttered, my face burning with embarrassment.

The rewrite has partially been done, continue from this point.