Tom Always Lands on Top
“I never loved you,” Daisy whispered.
Bewildered and betrayed, the embers of Tom’s growing wrath towards Gatsby were fanned
into a blazing furnace. Thus enflamed, his mind was drawn to the humiliation of an event many
years before.
***
On that day the sun burned as a relentless enemy, scorching through the futile defences offered
to deflect its unyielding suffocating presence. Umbrellas, drinking fountains and fans all failed
to bring relief. The sacrifice of attendance however was demanded of all in bondage to the
compulsory fashions and liturgies of the university’s grand final.
Into this furnace Tom Buchanan entered and strutted across the field with priestly confidence.
This was his temple. This was where he called the shots. This was not like the abode of his
worshippers, the labyrinth of twisting science rooms and English classes. He could see it now,
the roar of the crowd, a banner reading ‘Tom always lands on top’, talent scouts standing up in
their seats slack jawed…he increased his step.
On that day something out of order caught his eye. He remembered the surge of anger that
infused his body and tightened his fists. Jen and Pete sitting together holding hands. Memories
flash, Pete’s shirt in Tom’s hand, Jen’s horrified face, the crunch of a broken nose.
That day Tom vowed never again let someone beat him.
***
Tom’s mind returned. Scurrying servants endlessly ferrying symphonies of ice and scotch and
citrus desperately attempting to stave off the incessant August heat. Inflamed by his memory,
Tom determined that things today would be different. He glanced around at the stained-glass
windows as they painted the room with a mosaic of colours that came to rest on Daisy. Her
blond hair cascaded around her petite face. He knew it very well. He knew the soft lilt in her
voice when she was amused. He knew the way her lips parted when she was offended. He had
travelled every depth in the ocean of her eyes. He knew how they could brew into a maelstrom
when she was angry. He knew Daisy. He knew her ever since that one day many years ago
when he was first captured.
After three years, he knew how to get her back.
He lowered his voice, to let the tenderness seep through.
“Daisy?”
She turned as he knew she would. Tom smiled then glanced across the room at Gatsby. Tom
eyes were met by Gatsby’s, whose gaze was nightmarish, an invitation to the abyss that only
Charon could cross. Tom faltered and glanced away, there was obviously much more at stake
here than he had originally thought. What person could evoke such yearning, such…hunger?
He was startled back into reality by Gatsby’s peremptory proclamation.
“Daisy’s leaving you”
His voice cut through the room, rebounding across the walls but the sweet scent of desperation
was in his manner. He knew that tides had begun to change.
“No, she’s not”
Tom poured himself a scotch. He watched how the golden elixir swirled around before
subsiding into a pool at the bottom of the glass. As it settled, he saw his face grinning back up
at him.
Oh yes, it was all coming together.
“I am though”
Daisy’s words struck with the force of locomotive. Tom’s trembling hand broke his reflection
in the glass. Slowly his hand steadied. With meticulous care he placed the whisky back on the
bench. Waiting for it to settle, he slowly turned and returned Gatsby’s glare. Confronted again
with the threat of the Styx, Tom held firm. He relished the challenge. This time, it was not Tom
who broke the gaze.
“You’re a bootlegger” Tom whispered.
Gatsby flinched.
Tom said it again, but louder.
Daisy let out a small utterance before sinking into her chair. Gatsby raced to her side,
whispering urgently in her unresponsive ear.
“Please Tom, I can’t stand this anymore!”
Daisy got up and walked to the windowsill. She watched the rolling acres of city in front of
her, watched the cacophony of electric lights and cars and bikes and stores with men boasting
their wares across the street, an endless battle against the hundred other men who did the same.
She watched it all and it wasn’t long before her lips became wet and salty.
Daisy was broken, and Tom would be the one to fix her. Condescending, he looked towards
Gatsby who seemed to have lost touch with reality and had the look of someone defeated. Tom
triumphantly picked up the scotch and downed it in a gulp.
Tom always ended up on top.
My imaginative text ‘Tom always lands on top’ seeks to expand upon the malevolent
characterisation of Tom. The purpose of my piece is to elucidate the patterns of hedonistic
conspicuous consumption prevalent in the 1920s. Furthermore, my appropriation of
Fitzgerald’s style places emphasis on the hollowness of high social status focalised through my
use of non-linear analepsis, polysyndeton, metaphor, mimetic rhythm and allusion.
‘Tom always lands on top’ reinforces Fitzgerald’s notion about the wealthy’s hedonistic
conspicuous consumption. Using non-linear analepsis my text reveals to the 1920’s audience
the all-consuming prodigality of the rich, by giving them insight into Tom’s past. In the original
novel, Tom’s history is only momentarily explored. Thus, this recreation is critical as it
explores the depth of his arrogance and enlightens the audience as to why he is so driven. I
employ mimetic rhythm and short sentence structure to highlight Tom’s short temper and the
intensity of the situation. Foreshadowing the eventual conflict of Tom and Gatsby, my use of
pathetic fallacy in the flashback illustrates Tom’s hot temper and how powerfully his emotions
run. The use of allusion and metaphor proficiently describes Gatsby’s eyes as “nightmarish, an
abyss that only Charon could cross” successfully twisting Gatsby’s status as a ‘dreamer’ and
exposing his ruthlessness masked as desperation.
Later in the piece I mention Tom pouring himself some scotch, a fiery liquid that perfectly
resembles his abrasive personality. Through this I convey how his emotional state is as
ephemeral as his reflection in the drink. Putting down the drink later signifies how he is trying
to disconnect himself from his emotions to achieve his goal. Additionally, throughout the
denouement of my story I use polysyndeton to describe the city as a “cacophony of electric
lights and cars and bikes and stores with men boasting their wares” to convey to the audience
how overwhelmed Daisy feels. This exemplifies the hollowness of high social status by
highlighting how insignificant her troubles are to the rest of the world. This notion is proven
further with her obvious tears of despair masterfully alluded by how her “lips became wet and
salty”. This illustrates how even the rich cannot avoid arduous and anguish filled situations.
Thus, my piece is masterfully written to illuminate the reader about the intensity of Tom’s allconsuming prodigality. Aligning with Fitzgerald’s views it successfully provides a window to
the 1920’s audience, exposing the hollowness of high social status.