It is with somewhat mixed feelings that I reflect upon my recent reading of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Tender Is the Night. If I were to weigh its merits entirely, I would judge it a fair and solid endeavor—neither a masterpiece without flaw, nor a work to be easily dismissed.
The novel transports us to the glittering coasts of Europe in the years following the Great War, introducing us to a tight-knit circle of wealthy expatriates. At the center of this society are a gifted doctor and his beautiful, fragile wife. I will readily concede that the author has populated this sun-drenched world with a genuinely fascinating cast of characters, each drawn with an intricate and sometimes tragic complexity.
Yet, I must admit to a lingering perplexity regarding the protagonist himself. Throughout the unspooling of his career and his marriage, there remains a pervasive ambiguity concerning his inner motives. As a reader, one is never entirely certain if we are meant to observe a man grappling honestly with his inevitable decline, or if we are merely the audience to his own elaborate attempts to justify his questionable actions. The line between sincere tragedy and self-deception is kept quite thoroughly, and perhaps intentionally, obscured.
In the end, it is an engaging, if somewhat confounding, novel. Though it does not secure my absolute highest praises, it offers a deeply interesting study of human character and moral frailty that leaves one with much to ponder.