The grand old families of Long Island — the Buchanans of ‘East Egg’ — and their disdain for the flamboyant nouveau riche of ‘West Egg’ are the kingpin of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby. As you’ll know if you’ve read the book, or if you see the Baz Luhrmann adaptation — for which he wrote the screenplay in a loft suite at Ace Hotel New York — premiering today, West Egg’s prince of thieves is represented by the Prohibition-era rumrunner with an inferiority complex and a broken heart of gold, Jay Gatsby. Why would generations of Americans below tycoon-status be so drawn to a story in some ways so remote from their own lives, dealing as it does with an obtuse schism between rival factions of the over-privileged? Likely, it’s due to Jay Gatsby’s humble origins, and the shame he felt about them, coupled with his unrequited love — both of which make him universally relatable. He’s a prototype for the conflicted American social climber, most eloquently expressed today in hip hop. We don’t begrudge him his excess because he feels like one of our own. And none of it — the fancy cars, the lavish parties, the jazz orchestras imported from Harlem — can salve the wounded soul of this striver anyway. His hopeless inner struggle humanizes him. Even after the robber barons of the Jazz Age drove the country off a cliff there was still a place in America’s heart for Jay Gatsby.

The Gatsbys and Buchanans of today’s West and East Egg are less nuanced. The rumrunner tycoons are all gone. They’ve been replaced by investment banks that bundle predatory loans and sell them to your grandparents’ pension funds, then short sell against those same loans, to make a killing when families get foreclosed on in Jamaica, Queens or Cleveland, Ohio, and your grandparents lose their life savings. You know the story well — its choose-your-own-misadventure variations are nearly endless.

In our Gilded Age, if you’re more than a few rungs up, there’s little or no social consequence for ethically dubious schemes, as there was for poor Gatsby’s rumrunning. When a Gatsby of 2013 gets busted, he settles for pennies on the dollar and celebrates by treating himself to a Picasso. Our East and West Eggers’ soirées still depend upon the fruits of creative labor. Without artists, the party would be a drag. Even acute protestations end up on the penthouse walls.

As Luhrmann’s film adaptation of The Great Gatsby hits screens today, we’ll face an invitation to inquire into how history repeats itself — how are tensions between landed gentry and lottery winners, between philanthropists and studio-squatters, between the desire to be an object of envy and the deep human need to struggle toward our fantasies, ideals and visions — how are these the sheer force by which a developed and developing world orbits? We’re human, imperfect, compassionate, greedy, and full of yearning. It looks good on the big screen — it’s fucking beautiful. Good sugar with a bit of vinegar between the lines of the great American novel.

from Mary Szybist’s Incarnadine released in early February of this year from Greywolf Press.

Szybist is a Portland poet who reads tonight at the Brooklyn Public Library with other Greywolf poets Catherine Barnett and Dobby Gibson at 7pm on the Plaza at the Central branch.

Our longtime friend and collaborator Michael Bullock recently published his first book, Roman Catholic Jacuzzi, to much acclaim. Michael is the American publisher of BUTT Magazine — a community resource for international homosexuals — as well as features editor for Apartamento, contributor and publisher for PIN-UP, and works on the publishing side of Fantastic Man and The Gentlewoman.

Style Guy Glenn O’Brien deems Roman Catholic Jacuzzi “a must read for Catholics and those who love one,” and Bruce Benderson, author of Catching Salinger, calls it “the first honest look at sexuality in the Catholic Church.” The book’s publisher Karma hosts a book launch this evening in New York at Artists Space’s new TriBeCa bookstore with music by Honey Dijon and a special performance by the Harlem-based gay and lesbian gospel choir Lavender Light, tonight from 7 to 9pm at 55 Walker Street.

Photos by Paul Barbera of Where They Create

Prehistoric Googling.

Our friend and comrade Michael Bullock, a contributing editor and head of special projects at BUTT Magazine, has released a new book with Karma, one of our favorite haunts in New York State. If you’re not sure what the book is about, you can get a sliver of light from Francesco Vezzoli’s assessment that “it reminded me why to this day I still don’t regret having refused holy communion when I was six years old.” Nab a copy on Karma’s shop.

This is Eddie Huang, a young Jedi of the world of comestibles (see Fig. 1). He’ll be reading from his new memoir, Fresh Off the Boat, Wednesday February 6 at Powell’s City of Books in Portland. We’ll see you there.

A stained and sun-damaged treasure from The Art of Google Books — The Tale of Reddy Woodpecker by Arthur Scott Bailey kept in original at the New York Public Library.

Tantric paintings collected by French poet Franck Andre Jamme’s in Tantra Song — one of the many beautiful books available at Monograph Bookwerks in Portland, Oregon. They were part of the Publication Fair with Publication Studio at Ace Hotel Portland today — you’ll be hearing more about Monograph here in the near future.