Demonstration KPA:
COMPLETED Format
for
Prose Passages
Focus Passage:
Most of the big shore places were closed now and there were hardly
any lights except the shadowy, moving glow of a ferryboat across the Sound.
And as the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to melt away until
gradually I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch
sailors’ eyes — a fresh, green breast of the new world. Its vanished trees, the
5
trees that had made way for Gatsby’s house, had once pandered in whispers
to the last and greatest of all human dreams; for a transitory enchanted
moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent,
compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor
desired, face to face for the last time in history with something com-
10
mensurate to his capacity for wonder.
And as I sat there brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought
of Gatsby’s wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of
Daisy’s dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream
must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not
15
know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity
beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the
night.
Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by
year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter — tomorrow
we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And one fine morning ——
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly
into the past.
20
Sample Response:
This famous passage from the last chapter of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby nicely
encapsulates an essential opposition that threads the entire text—innocent goodness vs. jaded selfinterest. In lyrical fashion, Fitzgerald uses the voice of Nick Carraway to reiterate the novel’s central
theme before bringing down the curtain on this tragic story.
While the tale that Nick has been telling certainly contains conflicts of all sorts, this passage
suspends those conflicts and removes the reader to a more comfortable, contemplative place. The
brutality—and Fitzgerald has certainly given us much of that—has suddenly settled, and the reader
feels a sort of “safety” in having come through the experience of hearing Gatsby’s story. Now, the
author seems to be saying, is the time to draw some sort of moral out of the madness. The narrative
characteristic that is at center stage now is a lyrically constructed denouement; the reader has
instinctually felt that Gatsby has been a sympathetic and admirable character, but here at the end of
the novel, the author is leaving nothing to chance. Through binary opposition Gatsby’s goodness in
confirmed, while the cruel and selfish deeds of those living in the “inessential houses” (line 3) of East
Egg reveal the jaded Tom, Daisy, and Jordan as all but reprehensible.
Repeatedly in this passage, Fitzgerald evokes an air of fond memory—a sort of sentimentality
that is both reassuring and disturbing. The reader is comforted by the lilting language and the
“safety” of distance; in other words, Gatsby is gone now, and nothing worse can happen to him. In
memory, all unpleasantness can safely fade away. Nick imagines Long Island in its pristine,
untouched state. He fancies an “old island” (4) that “flowered” (4), all the troubles of modern life
“melt[ing]” (3) away. This “motif of idealization” takes hold and persists, even when the language
becomes more energetic in the second half of the passage. How fitting, considering that Gatsby was
the quintessential optimist. Hovering over the whole of this novel is the bothersome truth that
idealism is folly. Yet Nick clearly favors Gatsby’s ever-hopeful outlook over the more jaded view of his
fellow Easterners. The binary opposition that lies at the heart of this distinction between East Egg
and West Egg permeates this novel, and here in the end Nick seems to join Gatsby in his impossible
fantasy of perfect love and life, claiming that human beings naturally gravitate to the past, where
memory can “hone rough edges,” so to speak. Life can indeed seem sweet and good when memory
filters out unpleasantness. This approach is precisely what has sustained Gatsby’s indelible charm
throughout the novel; in effect, he even seems to have won Nick over as a sort of protégé.
Perhaps the most striking element of this passage is the narrator himself. While some may
consider Nick to be the key that “unlocks” the novel, he simultaneously fades into the background.
While a first-person narrator can never be omniscient, Nick seems to know Gatsby thoroughly. Even
from the earliest moments in the novel, Fitzgerald’s narrator is a contemplative figure, seemingly lost
in thought and looking for a philosophy or belief system to “anchor” him. In fact, when the reader
first sees him, he is in a boat that seems to be moving aimlessly, not in any way governed by its
passenger. When he meets Gatsby, he is captivated. In time that air of captivation becomes a strange
sort of hero worship. In the process Nick delves more and more deeply into Gatsby’s character and
begins to share his vision. Here at the end of the novel, Gatsby is gone, but Nick is left to take his
place; lines 21-22 make the transformation complete. “That’s no matter,” he says. He sees
“tomorrow” (21) as an opportunity to capture perfection. From a narrative perspective—and, even
more interestingly, from a psychological perspective—the novel’s first-person speaker seems to have
internalized the essence of Gatsby and, thereby, attained what passes for omniscience, even if that
omniscience is entirely imaginary. This is quite a narrative feat for Fitzgerald.
The reader may find it difficult to identify a precise moment when this psychological
transformation is complete, but this passage appears to confirm that Nick has indeed changed. Any
doubts that Nick is a dynamic figure clearly dissipate here at the novel’s close. For the purposes of
explication, the passage neatly falls into two distinct segments, between which the narrator’s
transformation becomes evident. In the first eleven lines of the passage, the author’s focus essentially
is trained on the narrator. It is noteworthy that his use of words suggesting some sort of passivity is
prevalent there. Beginning with the second paragraph, the narrator’s focus moves from his own
musings to the larger-than-life Gatsby. This significant shift in connotation from passivity to action
essencially divides the passage into two tidy portions for analysis.
Paragraph one brings to mind a calmness and serenity. For instance, became (4), a linking
verb that suggests slow transformation, is naturally less forceful than a transitive one. In fact, became
is even less assertive than other linking-verb possibilities like is or was. Similarly, the reader would
probably consider compositional choices like gradually (4), vanished (5), whispers (6), and held his
breath (8) as indicative of a hazy, or perhaps dreamy, state of mind. Such descriptors as enchanted
(7) and aesthetic (9) suggest reverie—as do the nouns dreams (7) and contemplation (9). One gets
the idea that Nick has spent a great deal of time in this deeply reflective state. In fact, the “message”
that Fitzgerald seeks to deliver about the nature of innocence would emerge much less easily without
this deliberately planned approach.
Lines 12-23 stand in stark contrast to those lines that have preceded it. While lines 1-11 exude
a nebulous and speculative tone, these concluding lines assume a different attitude entirely. When
Nick begins to think specifically about Gatsby, his attitude shifts from one of inertia to one of motion
and vibrancy. Perhaps the keenest indicator of this tonal shift is Fitzgerald’s preference for lively
visual images.
Paragraph one is noteworthy for its “murkiness” of diction: hardly any lights (1-2), shadowy
(2), moon (3), and vanished (5) create an air of darkness. Conversely, the author’s word choices in
the concluding eleven lines are literally lighter. In lines 12-13 the narrator focuses on “Gatsby’s
wonder,” and instantly the text brightens. The “green light” (13), which Fitzgerald has systematically
used to symbolize innocence and impossible dreams signals the tonal shift in a more robust, animated
direction. The blue lawn (14) stands in sharp contrast to the obscurity (16), the dark fields (17), and
the night (18). A final mention of the ever-important green light (19) equates this key visual image
with the “orgastic future” (19) that could never have been Gatsby’s anyway. The final line solidifies
this air of somber reality with perhaps the most iconic closing line in all of 20th-century American
literature: “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past” (22-23). Is
Fitzgerald saying that human beings are dreamers by nature? Are they all “Gatsbys” at heart?
Most literary experts claim that “good vs. evil” is the one binary opposition that is most
prevalent in prose fiction. The Great Gatsby is no exception, but here the distinction is not a
moralistic one. The “tarnished” and “ruined” Easterners, like Tom and Daisy, are really less
reprehensible than pitiful. Gatsby’s purity of spirit, despite his deluded view of the world, makes him
a figure of perfection. If he is a tragic figure, the reader comfortably excuses him of his faults. After
all, Nick practically tells them that they should.
Sample Response:
This famous passage from the last chapter of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby nicely
encapsulates an essential opposition that threads the entire text—innocent goodness vs. jaded selfinterest. In lyrical fashion, Fitzgerald uses the voice of Nick Carraway to reiterate the novel’s central
theme before bringing down the curtain on this tragic story.
While the tale that Nick has been telling certainly contains conflicts of all sorts, this passage
suspends those conflicts and removes the reader to a more comfortable, contemplative place. The
brutality—and Fitzgerald has certainly given us much of that—has suddenly settled, and the reader
feels a sort of “safety” in having come through the experience of hearing Gatsby’s story. Now, the
author seems to be saying, is the time to draw some sort of moral out of the madness. The narrative
characteristic that is at center stage now is a lyrically constructed denouement; the reader has
instinctually felt that Gatsby has been a sympathetic and admirable character, but here at the end of
the novel, the author is leaving nothing to chance. Through binary opposition Gatsby’s goodness in
confirmed, while the cruel and selfish deeds of those living in the “inessential houses” (line 3) of East
Egg reveal the jaded Tom, Daisy, and Jordan as all but reprehensible.
Repeatedly in this passage, Fitzgerald evokes an air of fond memory—a sort of sentimentality
that is both reassuring and disturbing. The reader is comforted by the lilting language and the
“safety” of distance; in other words, Gatsby is gone now, and nothing worse can happen to him. In
memory, all unpleasantness can safely fade away. Nick imagines Long Island in its pristine,
untouched state. He fancies an “old island” (4) that “flowered” (4), all the troubles of modern life
“melt[ing]” (3) away. This “motif of idealization” takes hold and persists, even when the language
becomes more energetic in the second half of the passage. How fitting, considering that Gatsby was
the quintessential optimist. Hovering over the whole of this novel is the bothersome truth that
idealism is folly. Yet Nick clearly favors Gatsby’s ever-hopeful outlook over the more jaded view of his
fellow Easterners. The binary opposition that lies at the heart of this distinction between East Egg
and West Egg permeates this novel, and here in the end Nick seems to join Gatsby in his impossible
fantasy of perfect love and life, claiming that human beings naturally gravitate to the past, where
memory can “hone rough edges,” so to speak. Life can indeed seem sweet and good when memory
filters out unpleasantness. This approach is precisely what has sustained Gatsby’s indelible charm
throughout the novel; in effect, he even seems to have won Nick over as a sort of protégé.
Perhaps the most striking element of this passage is the narrator himself. While some may
consider Nick to be the key that “unlocks” the novel, he simultaneously fades into the background.
While a first-person narrator can never be omniscient, Nick seems to know Gatsby thoroughly. Even
from the earliest moments in the novel, Fitzgerald’s narrator is a contemplative figure, seemingly lost
in thought and looking for a philosophy or belief system to “anchor” him. In fact, when the reader
first sees him, he is in a boat that seems to be moving aimlessly, not in any way governed by its
passenger. When he meets Gatsby, he is captivated. In time that air of captivation becomes a strange
sort of hero worship. In the process Nick delves more and more deeply into Gatsby’s character and
begins to share his vision. Here at the end of the novel, Gatsby is gone, but Nick is left to take his
place; lines 21-22 make the transformation complete. “That’s no matter,” he says. He sees
“tomorrow” (21) as an opportunity to capture perfection. From a narrative perspective—and, even
more interestingly, from a psychological perspective—the novel’s first-person speaker seems to have
internalized the essence of Gatsby and, thereby, attained what passes for omniscience, even if that
omniscience is entirely imaginary. This is quite a narrative feat for Fitzgerald.
The reader may find it difficult to identify a precise moment when this psychological
transformation is complete, but this passage appears to confirm that Nick has indeed changed. Any
doubts that Nick is a dynamic figure clearly dissipate here at the novel’s close. For the purposes of
explication, the passage neatly falls into two distinct segments, between which the narrator’s
transformation becomes evident. In the first eleven lines of the passage, the author’s focus essentially
is trained on the narrator. It is noteworthy that his use of words suggesting some sort of passivity is
prevalent there. Beginning with the second paragraph, the narrator’s focus moves from his own
musings to the larger-than-life Gatsby. This significant shift in connotation from passivity to action
essencially divides the passage into two tidy portions for analysis.
Paragraph one brings to mind a calmness and serenity. For instance, became (4), a linking
verb that suggests slow transformation, is naturally less forceful than a transitive one. In fact, became
is even less assertive than other linking-verb possibilities like is or was. Similarly, the reader would
probably consider compositional choices like gradually (4), vanished (5), whispers (6), and held his
breath (8) as indicative of a hazy, or perhaps dreamy, state of mind. Such descriptors as enchanted
(7) and aesthetic (9) suggest reverie—as do the nouns dreams (7) and contemplation (9). One gets
the idea that Nick has spent a great deal of time in this deeply reflective state. In fact, the “message”
that Fitzgerald seeks to deliver about the nature of innocence would emerge much less easily without
this deliberately planned approach.
Lines 12-23 stand in stark contrast to those lines that have preceded it. While lines 1-11 exude
a nebulous and speculative tone, these concluding lines assume a different attitude entirely. When
Nick begins to think specifically about Gatsby, his attitude shifts from one of inertia to one of motion
and vibrancy. Perhaps the keenest indicator of this tonal shift is Fitzgerald’s preference for lively
visual images.
Paragraph one is noteworthy for its “murkiness” of diction: hardly any lights (1-2), shadowy
(2), moon (3), and vanished (5) create an air of darkness. Conversely, the author’s word choices in
the concluding eleven lines are literally lighter. In lines 12-13 the narrator focuses on “Gatsby’s
wonder,” and instantly the text brightens. The “green light” (13), which Fitzgerald has systematically
used to symbolize innocence and impossible dreams signals the tonal shift in a more robust, animated
direction. The blue lawn (14) stands in sharp contrast to the obscurity (16), the dark fields (17), and
the night (18). A final mention of the ever-important green light (19) equates this key visual image
with the “orgastic future” (19) that could never have been Gatsby’s anyway. The final line solidifies
this air of somber reality with perhaps the most iconic closing line in all of 20th-century American
literature: “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past” (22-23). Is
Fitzgerald saying that human beings are dreamers by nature? Are they all “Gatsbys” at heart?
Most literary experts claim that “good vs. evil” is the one binary opposition that is most
prevalent in prose fiction. The Great Gatsby is no exception, but here the distinction is not a
moralistic one. The “tarnished” and “ruined” Easterners, like Tom and Daisy, are really less
reprehensible than pitiful. Gatsby’s purity of spirit, despite his deluded view of the world, makes him
a figure of perfection. If he is a tragic figure, the reader comfortably excuses him of his faults. After
all, Nick practically tells them that they should.
Canopy Statement
Overview of Narrative Characteristics
Motifs
Point of View
Landscape of the Passage
Explication
Tonal Shifts
Explication
Duplicate of Canopy Statement