Organizational Development Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 2750 words

Organizational Development - Essay Example Two definitions that more aptly represent the thrust of organization development today are: "Organization development is a system-wide application of behavioral science knowledge to the planned development and reinforcement of organizational strategies, structures, and processes for improving an organization's effectiveness." (Cummings et al, p.2) An astute organization development practitioner would carefully evaluate the working systems with set targets to identify pitfalls and suggest holistic changes for improved effectiveness. One of the key components of organization development is change management. Change management is a complex system which involves judicious and intelligent application of a range of ideas from the fields of business, engineering, sociology, and psychology. As organizations face stiff competition, changes in the organizations become imperative for survival. It becomes more and more necessary for the organization to implement a robust change management system to help the organization grow and sustain and meet the challenges that it faces from within and without. A change management system in its broad outline may be regarded as a "structured process that will cause proposed changes to be reviewed for technical and business readiness in a consistent manner that can be relaxed or tightened to adjust to business needs and experiences." (Indiana University, 2009) A robust change management practice would involve the convergence of two predominant fields of thought: the mechanical focus to change and the human focus on change. Till recently, a lot of companies had likened the different functions of their business to a mechanical clock made up of individual mechanical pieces which they could alter or change to suit a specific situation and produce the desired results. This change could be radical or gradual as was deemed necessary. The need for change management concepts was not realized till their projects faced serious hurdles to implementation or encountered stiff resistance. Change management has now come to mean "the process, tools and techniques to manage the people-side of business change to achieve the required business outcome, and to realize that business change effectively within the social infrastructure of the workplace." (Change Management Learning Center, 1996-2008) The foundation stone to the human side of change management was laid by William Bridges in his book named Transitions. (Ed Batista, 2008) Though he relates human behavior to change in a workplace only a few times in his book, this work brought a new perspective to change management and resulted in two schools of approach to business practice, measurement of success and perspectives of change: the engineer's approach or the mechanical approach and the psychologist's approach. The table below summarizes the major differences in the two approaches: Engineer Psychologist Focus Processes, systems, structure People Business practices BPR, TQM, ISO 9000, Quality Human resources, OD Starting point Business issues or opportunities Personal change, employee resistance (or potential for resistance) Measure of success Business performance, financial and statistical metrics Job satisfaction, turnover, productivity loss Perspective on change "Shoot the stragglers, carry

Currency Depreciation Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 500 words

Currency Depreciation - Essay Example Dollar would be worth less relative to other world currencies. Thus, demand for U.S. goods in the international market would increase, and demand for foreign goods in the U.S. would decrease. Thereby, benefiting the balance of payments and improving the U.S. trade imbalance. In wake of losing comparative advantage with the U.S. in terms of exchange rate, other countries can protect their local firms through protectionist policies, higher tariffs, and duties etc. This would make U.S. goods expensive for foreign consumers and equate the depreciating dollar advantage of the U.S. Furthermore, the U.S. economy can benefit a lot if depreciation in dollar helps to increase exports and decrease imports. An increase in exports could stimulate demands and push firms to hire more people. This would be a good sign for the U.S. economy which is facing an unemployment rate of around 10%. Furthermore, the U.S. companies would get more revenue from selling abroad, and thus, would be obliged to pay more taxes to the government. However, a depreciated dollar can have negative consequences both for itself and the world. Oil is traded in U.S. Dollars on the international market, and oil and dollar share an indirect relationship. That is; a rise in dollar value decreases the price of oil, whereas a fall in the U.S. Dollar increases the price of oil.

The Civil War Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 1250 words

The Civil War - Essay Example The union was, for all practical purposes, largely deceptive and pretentious. The North pretended to give in to the states laws and policies while the southerners merely tolerated them It is against this background that rising discontent due to the biggest issue that divided the country, the issue of slavery, was brought to the forefront. This laid the ground work for one of the most violent moments in the United States of America that would forever remain etched in their history (Hesseltine 44-45). Central to the civil war was the very thorny question of slavery. The Northern states were against slavery while the southern states still owned slaves. This led to rising discontent as neither side was willing to concede to the other. The admission of Missouri into the union was a clear example to the Southerners of the almost condescending nature of the Northern states. The Northerners did not respect the constitutional equality of the states in the union and insisted on the state of Missouri to abolish slavery, eventually reaching a 'compromise'; acting as though the south had no guaranteed rights in the bond of the union. This seeming lordship of the North over the south served to fuel even more, the underlying discontent (Hesseltine 46). The eventual cessation of the southern states thus marked the beginning of the war that would later unfold. South Carolina was the first state to secede adopting its declaration on 24th December 1860. Mississippi was the second state to withdraw from the union, her ordinance of cessation being adopted on the 9th of January 1861.she was followed by Florida on the 10th , Alabama on the 11th, Georgia on the 18th and Louisiana on the 26th; all in the same month of January (Hesseltine 138). Hesseltine points out that the war did not really come to head until the President Lincoln rose to power. The continued use of slave forces especially against the Union brought this issue for discussion at the thirty seventh Congress. The North attempted various measures to end this issue once and for all and reintegrate the south back to the union but this proved futile as the southern states rebelled at whatever suggestion that was put forward to address this issue. The signing of the emancipation proclamation was the straw that broke the camel's back and the stage for the civil war was set (267- 268). The confederates viewed slavery as the cornerstone of the Confederacy while the Northerners viewed it as morally wrong, as all men were created equal. The slavery issue was of great concern because it had implications on the economy of the states. The southerners were concerned with the economic loss that would come about as a result of the abolition of slavery. The slaves provided them with free labor and ensured huge economic gains. Getting rid of them would mean a need for the hiring of waged labor and this would translate to smaller profit margins for them. The southerners were also gravely concerned by the prospect of racial equality. Indeed in the Texas declaration of causes for the Secession it was asserted that the African race was successfully held and regarded as an inferior and dependent race and thus the proclamation of the blacks as equal men degraded and demoralized the southerners (Hesseltine 269- 270). On April 12th of 1861, the armies linked to the confederates attacked a U.S military

Genre Text Essay Example for Free

Genre Text Essay When you think of the term ‘genre’, what does it exactly mean to you? Well I’m sure it’s without a doubt that you all commonly believe it constitutes either a kind or category of text, but in actual fact does it really? Good morning Year 11. The prime focus of your studies during the HSC course next year, I’m going to discuss how the genre of crime fiction has extended through time, whereby a variety of notions and characteristics exhibited throughout a text may either reinforce, challenge or extend on genre parameters. So what is genre then? Although genre is quite difficult to define, there are numerous interpretations of the term since the confines between genres are constantly evolving due to changing values. As Daniel Chandler states, â€Å"defining genres may not initially seem particularly problematic but it should already be apparent that it’s a theoretical minefield. † However, Jane Feuer believes â€Å"genre is ultimately an abstract conception. † These critics therefore prove that yes, while it may be easy to classify a text to a particular genre, we must understand genre as a concept that can apply to varying applications rather than its fundamental relevance to a text. In saying this, as changing contexts and values have developed over time, resulting in new-found conventions, I’ve come to agree with Stephen Neale’s understanding; â€Å"Genres are instances of repetition and difference difference is absolutely essential to the economy of genre. † (Neale, 1980). This my friends, effectively reflects constant changing cultural values and attitudes in our social milieu, don’t you think? Hence, my aim today is to focus on the conventions of the genre of crime fiction and how they have been recreated in a number of ways to reflect the social and cultural aspects that are dynamic to their survival within the popularity of a text. As Neale further suggests, â€Å"genres exist to assist in shaping values. † Subsequently, I will discuss how and why Alfred Hitchcock’s film Rear window and Tom Stoppard’s play The Real Inspector Hound have re-worked and extended upon crime conventions prevalent in crime writing through genre, often defying audience expectations in one way or another. As a result, Rear Window highlights and expands upon the cosy conventions of its contemporary society by paralleling the post-war issues of voyeurism and women and subverting them, reflected through its social milieu. The Real Inspector Hound also utilises cosy conventions but parodies them instead, challenging the classical Golden Age’s ‘whodunit’ storyline in a satiric way, so as to query the restoration of justice and the idea of reality vs. allusion. Thus, whilst both texts seek to extend and challenge crime conventions, they also serve to explore society’s human conditions and issues at the time in order to become seminal texts of the genre. Directed in 1954, Hitchcock’s Rear Window reinforces the fact that very few works exemplify all required characteristics of a particular genre, by cleverly breaking the ideal conventions of a suspenseful circumstance in a crime fiction text. The film is rather based around the notion of both solving the crime and proving that it happened. Rear Window further revolves around the concepts of the changing roles of women and queries the morality of voyeurism. Such notions reflect the contextual concerns of the post-war era where a revolutionary social change was clearly prevalent in society, thus endangering the traditional gender restrictions marked by WW2. Through the mis-en-scene of Jeff holding his camera looking outside the window as blinds are swiftly raised to reveal vignettes of apartments, it’s evident that a didactic message outlining the unethicalness of voyeurism is contained within Rear Window. As voyeurism further exposes hidden worlds within the film, Hitchcock manages to reflect upon American society through each of these blocks acting as a microcosm. But it stops there. Quite similarly to our other text The Real Inspector Hound, Hitchcock withdraws from typical crime conventions by not showing the occurrence of the crime itself. This was due to growing conflict between the conservative American government and growing acceptance to sexuality by society at the time, as a result of censorship on films. The concept of voyeurism is cleverly employed by Hitchcock via subverting a cosy setting, a convention to reflect the concept of McCarthyism where there was a fracturing of society due to the paranoia of communism, which was most prominent during the Golden Age. This is illustrated as the camera pans across Jeff’s apartment, focusing on his photography tools and emphasising his infatuation for observing life. Thus, Jeff’s dilemma of being entrapped in his apartment persuades him to do â€Å"something drastic† to remove him â€Å"out of the swamp of boredom,† which metaphorically foreshadows his forthcoming hobby of spying on his neighbours. I’m certain you all must think he’s strange, but the aspect of social insecurity and fear at the time was what Hitchcock was seeking to embody. Where spying begins as an innocent obsession, it soon becomes a neurotic effort to prove Thorwald’s criminal actions. Therefore, after the growing tension depicted through continual panning shots, Jeff takes action which exposes clues in Thorwald’s apartment. However, the consequences of voyeurism are made apparent through the non diagetic sound and quick motion of Jeff falling out the window. Hitchcock hence questions the moral ambiguity of voyeurism due to society’s fear of maintaining social order, by focusing on the depraved aspect of society becoming â€Å"a race of peeping toms. † Despite changing perceptions of females in the workforce, how exactly did Lisa become an amateur detective and femme fatale, whilst presenting the evolving independance and roles of women? In actual fact, Hitchcock broke a key crime convention – there must only be one detective! A high angle shot first characterises Jeff as bound to his wheel chair, and the cast around his injured leg is symbolic of the identity boundary he endures. Consequently, Jeff is left helpless, a frequent motif that’s prevalent throughout the film in which Jeff is metaphorically incapable of embracing his male dominance, hoping to â€Å"emerge from his plaster cocoon. † Thus when Lisa emerges, the dark lighting and shadows surrounding her signifies Jeff’s intimidation, as men were startled by the role of women in the post-war period. By having Jeff restricted at home in a feminised position, Hitchcock underpins Lisa as the amateur sleuth, sustained through her constant dominance over Jeff within the framing. Hitchcock further challenges the authority of women in crime fiction as femme-fatales, whereby negative connotations strengthen the presence of conceited masculinity. Yet Lisa’s strong persona and sheer determination leads to her fatal participation in â€Å"the next assignment,† exhibited in the panning tracking shot of her investigating Thorwald’s apartment, underlining Lisa’s unusual role as a detective and the film’s conclusion of restoration. Subsequently, Hitchcock illustrates the development of crime conventions by challenging traditional crime conventions, via representing the shift in the growing independence and role of women in society, by maintaining both genders as main detectives. Thus, Rear Window not only reinforces and extends upon crime genre parameters, but also reflects society’s changing values, hence explaining why it’s considered a critical crime fiction text even today. Unlike Hitchcock who reinvented some crime writing rules, Stoppard completely goes against them. Whilst Stoppard experiments with the classical Golden Age crime conventions, the crime genre is seen to continuously mirror society’s changing attitude and values. In successfully challenging the audience to interpret whether the perceived distinction between what is real and an allusion in crime is essential, Stoppard also leads them to question the restoration of justice. The perceived distinction between reality and allusion is no longer relevant in today’s post-modern world as it was in the Golden Age, due to changing societal expectations, like Stoppard suggests. He breaks traditional conventions, as the margins of a play-within-a-play have been intersected, demonstrating the blurring of reality. Whilst Rear Window uses a cosy setting to depict society’s issues, Stoppard instead parodies it to demonstrate that a crime isn’t always within its confines, and hence defies crime conventions to outline the irrationality of society. The cosy method of contrivance supports this, being parodied through Mrs. Drudge’s absurd dialogue about the â€Å"somewhat isolated Muldoon Manor, which is surrounded by deadly swamps and fog. † Thus Stoppard criticises S. S Van Dine’s code where â€Å"the detective himself† â€Å"should never turn out to be the culprit,† by forwarding the murderous role onto Puckeridge, whom the audience come to learn as Inspector Hound and Magnus also. This is depicted in the final scene through an exaggerated climax of a string of revelations. For eg. â€Å"I am not the real Magnus Muldoon! It was a mere subterfuge. † Stoppard effectively emphasises the melodramatic and absurd situation of the play, by demonstrating multiple pauses and an overuse of explanation points in union with stage directions. Through a variety of dramatic devices, the distinction between reality and allusion is dissolved, as Stoppard denounces the lack of innovation and irrelevancy of crime fiction conventions. Society is further challenged by Stoppard to query the relevancy of the nature of truth and justice within the traditional crime fiction genre. So must there always be a hero within the context of the text? The authorities within the play are not central figures, just like the police aren’t in Rear Window, as justice isn’t achieved. But whilst the police in Rear Window are idiotic, Inspector Hound doesn’t even convey detective traits. Alternatively, Inspector Hound is continuously ridiculed through stage directions. For eg. He is wearing â€Å"inflatable swamp boots and carrying a foghorn,† in his entrance. Therefore, The Real Inspector Hound has eloquently challenged the conventions of crime fiction, leading the play to become a significant crime fiction text as it crucially contributes to the revolution of crime over time. In summation, it’s without a doubt that Hitchcock’s Rear Window skilfully challenges the conventions of crime fiction in such a way that classifies the film as unlike your traditional crime film, as he endeavoured to reflect the cultural values of the post-war era. Moreover, Stoppard also extended upon genre parameters in The Real Inspector Hound by satirising the classic conventions of characters and plot from the Golden Age, whereby he duplicated postmodernist beliefs at a point where it was seen as time for change. Thus, both texts have grown to become seminal crime fiction texts, by cleverly reinventing already established crime conventions in numerous ways.

Enduring Love Extract :: essays research papers

In an extract from Ian McEwan’s ‘Enduring Love’ the main character, Joe, faces many conflicts emotionally. In Joe’s mind, his emotions and rational thought pull him in two different directions when all he seeks is a common answer. In order to portray Joe’s emotional distress, ‘Enduring Love’ is told through first person narration. Joe searches for logical explanations but the more he looks, the further the truth seems to be. The day after John Logan’s death, Joe’s conscious makes the whole event ‘illumined and animated’ in his mind. He begins to relive the nightmare, trying to find the right answers. His guilty conscious accuses him of ‘kill[ing] (John Logan)’. Joe cannot deal with his new-found responsibility and tries to find what he believes to be the ‘truth’. On one hand, he wants the truth to be that he was not an accomplice in a man’s death yet on the other hand he wants to know what actually happened and who was the cause of it. However, the truth is, he will never know. He is left with questions and he who believes entirely in science, math and the nature of knowing, can’t comprehend this fact. Joe analyzes the situation using his mathematical and scientific knowledge. He believes that ‘eight hundred pounds would have kept [them] close to the ground’ and therefore, the ‘first person’ to let go is at fault. He is looking for someone to blame and so places all the responsibility on this one soul. Yet he does not want to be this person, when he knows he very well could be. The thought of this being possible is excruciating and he obsessively tells himself that it was ‘not [him]’. He only wants the truth if the person turned out to be him. Joe tries manipulating mathematics to make ‘calculations’ regarding the balloon incident and uses his analytical mind to find answers yet he never allows his feelings to consume him. He’s always analyzing his own thoughts. He wants a selected truth not reality. Joe’s conflict is also shown through a repetition of certain words. They show his feelings transition from self- blame to searching for the culprit. While trying to ease his mind, Joe no longer uses the word ‘I’. He can’t take his own accusations and so places the blame on the group as a whole. He repetitively uses the word ‘we’ when referring to what could have been done but was not.

Twilight 11. COMPLICATIONS

11. COMPLICATIONS Everyone watched us as we walked together to our lab table. I noticed that he no longer angled the chair to sit as far from me as the desk would allow. Instead, he sat quite close beside me, our arms almost touching. Mr. Banner backed into the room then – what superb timing the man had – pulling a tall metal frame on wheels that held a heavy-looking, outdated TV and VCR. A movie day – the lift in the class atmosphere was almost tangible. Mr. Banner shoved the tape into the reluctant VCR and walked to the wall to turn off the lights. And then, as the room went black, I was suddenly hyperaware that Edward was sitting less than an inch from me. I was stunned by the unexpected electricity that flowed through me, amazed that it was possible to be more aware of him than I already was. A crazy impulse to reach over and touch him, to stroke his perfect face just once in the darkness, nearly overwhelmed me. I crossed my arms tightly across my chest, my hands balling into fists. I was losing my mind. The opening credits began, lighting the room by a token amount. My eyes, of their own accord, flickered to him. I smiled sheepishly as I realized his posture was identical to mine, fists clenched under his arms, right down to the eyes, peering sideways at me. He grinned back, his eyes somehow managing to smolder, even in the dark. I looked away before I could start hyperventilating. It was absolutely ridiculous that I should feel dizzy. The hour seemed very long. I couldn't concentrate on the movie – I didn't even know what subject it was on. I tried unsuccessfully to relax, but the electric current that seemed to be originating from somewhere in his body never slackened. Occasionally I would permit myself a quick glance in his direction, but he never seemed to relax, either. The overpowering craving to touch him also refused to fade, and I crushed my fists safely against my ribs until my fingers were aching with the effort. I breathed a sigh of relief when Mr. Banner flicked the lights back on at the end of class, and stretched my arms out in front of me, flexing my stiff fingers. Edward chuckled beside me. â€Å"Well, that was interesting,† he murmured. His voice was dark and his eyes were cautious. â€Å"Umm,† was all I was able to respond. â€Å"Shall we?† he asked, rising fluidly. I almost groaned. Time for Gym. I stood with care, worried my balance might have been affected by the strange new intensity between us. He walked me to my next class in silence and paused at the door; I turned to say goodbye. His face startled me – his expression was torn, almost pained, and so fiercely beautiful that the ache to touch him flared as strong as before. My goodbye stuck in my throat. He raised his hand, hesitant, conflict raging in his eyes, and then swiftly brushed the length of my cheekbone with his fingertips. His skin was as icy as ever, but the trail his fingers left on my skin was alarmingly warm – like I'd been burned, but didn't feel the pain of it yet. He turned without a word and strode quickly away from me. I walked into the gym, lightheaded and wobbly. I drifted to the locker room, changing in a trancelike state, only vaguely aware that there were other people surrounding me. Reality didn't fully set in until I was handed a racket. It wasn't heavy, yet it felt very unsafe in my hand. I could see a few of the other kids in class eyeing me furtively. Coach Clapp ordered us to pair up into teams. Mercifully, some vestiges of Mike's chivalry still survived; he came to stand beside me. â€Å"Do you want to be a team?† â€Å"Thanks, Mike – you don't have to do this, you know.† I grimaced apologetically. â€Å"Don't worry, I'll keep out of your way.† He grinned. Sometimes it was so easy to like Mike. It didn't go smoothly. I somehow managed to hit myself in the head with my racket and clip Mike's shoulder on the same swing. I spent the rest of the hour in the back corner of the court, the racket held safely behind my back. Despite being handicapped by me, Mike was pretty good; he won three games out of four singlehandedly. He gave me an unearned high five when the coach finally blew the whistle ending class. â€Å"So,† he said as we walked off the court. â€Å"So what?† â€Å"You and Cullen, huh?† he asked, his tone rebellious. My previous feeling of affection disappeared. â€Å"That's none of your business, Mike,† I warned, internally cursing Jessica straight to the fiery pits of Hades. â€Å"I don't like it,† he muttered anyway. â€Å"You don't have to,† I snapped. â€Å"He looks at you like†¦ like you're something to eat,† he continued, ignoring me. I choked back the hysteria that threatened to explode, but a small giggle managed to get out despite my efforts. He glowered at me. I waved and fled to the locker room. I dressed quickly, something stronger than butterflies battering recklessly against the walls of my stomach, my argument with Mike already a distant memory. I was wondering if Edward would be waiting, or if I should meet him at his car. What if his family was there? I felt a wave of real terror. Did they know that I knew? Was I supposed to know that they knew that I knew, or not? By the time I walked out of the gym, I had just about decided to walk straight home without even looking toward the parking lot. But my worries were unnecessary. Edward was waiting, leaning casually against the side of the gym, his breathtaking face untroubled now. As I walked to his side, I felt a peculiar sense of release. â€Å"Hi,† I breathed, smiling hugely. â€Å"Hello.† His answering smile was brilliant. â€Å"How was Gym?† My face fell a tiny bit. â€Å"Fine,† I lied. â€Å"Really?† He was unconvinced. His eyes shifted their focus slightly, looking over my shoulder and narrowing. I glanced behind me to see Mike's back as he walked away. â€Å"What?† I demanded. His eyes slid back to mine, still tight. â€Å"Newton's getting on my nerves.† â€Å"You weren't listening again?† I was horror-struck. All traces of my sudden good humor vanished. â€Å"How's your head?† he asked innocently. â€Å"You're unbelievable!† I turned, stomping away in the general direction of the parking lot, though I hadn't ruled out walking at this point. He kept up with me easily. â€Å"You were the one who mentioned how I'd never seen you in Gym – it made me curious.† He didn't sound repentant, so I ignored him. We walked in silence – a furious, embarrassed silence on my part – to his car. But I had to stop a few steps away – a crowd of people, all boys, were surrounding it. Then I realized they weren't surrounding the Volvo, they were actually circled around Rosalie's red convertible, unmistakable lust in their eyes. None of them even looked up as Edward slid between them to open his door. I climbed quickly in the passenger side, also unnoticed. â€Å"Ostentatious,† he muttered. â€Å"What kind of car is that?† I asked. â€Å"An M3.† â€Å"I don't speak Car and Driver.† â€Å"It's a BMW.† He rolled his eyes, not looking at me, trying to back out without running over the car enthusiasts. I nodded – I'd heard of that one. â€Å"Are you still angry?† he asked as he carefully maneuvered his way out. â€Å"Definitely.† He sighed. â€Å"Will you forgive me if I apologize?† â€Å"Maybe†¦ if you mean it. And if you promise not to do it again,† I insisted. His eyes were suddenly shrewd. â€Å"How about if I mean it, and I agree to let you drive Saturday?† he countered my conditions. I considered, and decided it was probably the best offer I would get. â€Å"Deal,† I agreed. â€Å"Then I'm very sorry I upset you.† His eyes burned with sincerity for a protracted moment – playing havoc with the rhythm of my heart – and then turned playful. â€Å"And I'll be on your doorstep bright and early Saturday morning.† â€Å"Um, it doesn't help with the Charlie situation if an unexplained Volvo is left in the driveway.† His smile was condescending now. â€Å"I wasn't intending to bring a car.† â€Å"How -â€Å" He cut me off. â€Å"Don't worry about it. I'll be there, no car.† I let it go. I had a more pressing question. â€Å"Is it later yet?† I asked significantly. He frowned. â€Å"I supposed it is later.† I kept my expression polite as I waited. He stopped the car. I looked up, surprised – of course we were already at Charlie's house, parked behind the truck. It was easier to ride with him if I only looked when it was over. When I looked back at him, he was staring at me, measuring with his eyes. â€Å"And you still want to know why you can't see me hunt?† He seemed solemn, but I thought I saw a trace of humor deep in his eyes. â€Å"Well,† I clarified, â€Å"I was mostly wondering about your reaction.† â€Å"Did I frighten you?† Yes, there was definitely humor there. â€Å"No,† I lied. He didn't buy it. â€Å"I apologize for scaring you,† he persisted with a slight smile, but then all evidence of teasing disappeared. â€Å"It was just the very thought of you being there†¦ while we hunted.† His jaw tightened. â€Å"That would be bad?† He spoke from between clenched teeth. â€Å"Extremely.† â€Å"Because†¦ ?† He took a deep breath and stared through the windshield at the thick, rolling clouds that seemed to press down, almost within reach. â€Å"When we hunt,† he spoke slowly, unwillingly, â€Å"we give ourselves over to our senses†¦ govern less with our minds. Especially our sense of smell. If you were anywhere near me when I lost control that way†¦Ã¢â‚¬  He shook his head, still gazing morosely at the heavy clouds. I kept my expression firmly under control, expecting the swift flash of his eyes to judge my reaction that soon followed. My face gave nothing away. But our eyes held, and the silence deepened – and changed. Flickers of the electricity I'd felt this afternoon began to charge the atmosphere as he gazed unrelentingly into my eyes. It wasn't until my head started to swim that I realized I wasn't breathing. When I drew in a jagged breath, breaking the stillness, he closed his eyes. â€Å"Bella, I think you should go inside now.† His low voice was rough, his eyes on the clouds again. I opened the door, and the arctic draft that burst into the car helped clear my head. Afraid I might stumble in my woozy state, I stepped carefully out of the car and shut the door behind me without looking back. The whir of the automatic window unrolling made me turn. â€Å"Oh, Bella?† he called after me, his voice more even. He leaned toward the open window with a faint smile on his lips. â€Å"Yes?† â€Å"Tomorrow it's my turn.† â€Å"Your turn to what?† He smiled wider, flashing his gleaming teeth. â€Å"Ask the questions.† And then he was gone, the car speeding down the street and disappearing around the corner before I could even collect my thoughts. I smiled as I walked to the house. It was clear he was planning to see me tomorrow, if nothing else. That night Edward starred in my dreams, as usual. However, the climate of my unconsciousness had changed. It thrilled with the same electricity that had charged the afternoon, and I tossed and turned restlessly, waking often. It was only in the early hours of the morning that I finally sank into an exhausted, dreamless sleep. When I woke I was still tired, but edgy as well. I pulled on my brown turtleneck and the inescapable jeans, sighing as I daydreamed of spaghetti straps and shorts. Breakfast was the usual, quiet event I expected. Charlie fried eggs for himself; I had my bowl of cereal. I wondered if he had forgotten about this Saturday. He answered my unspoken question as he stood up to take his plate to the sink. â€Å"About this Saturday†¦Ã¢â‚¬  he began, walking across the kitchen and turning on the faucet. I cringed. â€Å"Yes, Dad?† â€Å"Are you still set on going to Seattle?† he asked. â€Å"That was the plan.† I grimaced, wishing he hadn't brought it up so I wouldn't have to compose careful half-truths. He squeezed some dish soap onto his plate and swirled it around with the brush. â€Å"And you're sure you can't make it back in time for the dance?† â€Å"I'm not going to the dance, Dad.† I glared. â€Å"Didn't anyone ask you?† he asked, trying to hide his concern by focusing on rinsing the plate. I sidestepped the minefield. â€Å"It's a girl's choice.† â€Å"Oh.† He frowned as he dried his plate. I sympathized with him. It must be a hard thing, to be a father; living in fear that your daughter would meet a boy she liked, but also having to worry if she didn't. How ghastly it would be, I thought, shuddering, if Charlie had even the slightest inkling of exactly what I did like. Charlie left then, with a goodbye wave, and I went upstairs to brush my teeth and gather my books. When I heard the cruiser pull away, I could only wait a few seconds before I had to peek out of my window. The silver car was already there, waiting in Charlie's spot on the driveway. I bounded down the stairs and out the front door, wondering how long this bizarre routine would continue. I never wanted it to end. He waited in the car, not appearing to watch as I shut the door behind me without bothering to lock the dead-bolt. I walked to the car, pausing shyly before opening the door and stepping in. He was smiling, relaxed – and, as usual, perfect and beautiful to an excruciating degree. â€Å"Good morning.† His voice was silky. â€Å"How are you today?† His eyes roamed over my face, as if his question was something more than simple courtesy. â€Å"Good, thank you.† I was always good – much more than good – when I was near him. His gaze lingered on the circles under my eyes. â€Å"You look tired.† â€Å"I couldn't sleep,† I confessed, automatically swinging my hair around my shoulder to provide some measure of cover. â€Å"Neither could I,† he teased as he started the engine. I was becoming used to the quiet purr. I was sure the roar of my truck would scare me, whenever I got to drive it again. I laughed. â€Å"I guess that's right. I suppose I slept just a little bit more than you did.† â€Å"I'd wager you did.† â€Å"So what did you do last night?† I asked. He chuckled. â€Å"Not a chance. It's my day to ask questions.† â€Å"Oh, that's right. What do you want to know?† My forehead creased. I couldn't imagine anything about me that could be in any way interesting to him. â€Å"What's your favorite color?† he asked, his face grave. I rolled my eyes. â€Å"It changes from day to day.† â€Å"What's your favorite color today?† He was still solemn. â€Å"Probably brown.† I tended to dress according to my mood. He snorted, dropping his serious expression. â€Å"Brown?† he asked skeptically. â€Å"Sure. Brown is warm. I miss brown. Everything that's supposed to be brown – tree trunks, rocks, dirt – is all covered up with squashy green stuff here,† I complained. He seemed fascinated by my little rant. He considered for a moment, staring into my eyes. â€Å"You're right,† he decided, serious again. â€Å"Brown is warm.† He reached over, swiftly, but somehow still hesitantly, to sweep my hair back behind my shoulder. We were at the school by now. He turned back to me as he pulled into a parking space. â€Å"What music is in your CD player right now?† he asked, his face as somber as if he'd asked for a murder confession. I realized I'd never removed the CD Phil had given me. When I said the name of the band, he smiled crookedly, a peculiar expression in his eyes. He flipped open a compartment under his car's CD player, pulled out one of thirty or so CDs that were jammed into the small space, and handed it to me, â€Å"Debussy to this?† He raised an eyebrow. It was the same CD. I examined the familiar cover art, keeping my eyes down. It continued like that for the rest of the day. While he walked me to English, when he met me after Spanish, all through the lunch hour, he questioned me relentlessly about every insignificant detail of my existence. Movies I'd liked and hated, the few places I'd been and the many places I wanted to go, and books – endlessly books. I couldn't remember the last time I'd talked so much. More often than not, I felt self-conscious, certain I must be boring him. But the absolute absorption of his face, and his never-ending stream of questions, compelled me to continue. Mostly his questions were easy, only a very few triggering my easy blushes. But when I did flush, it brought on a whole new round of questions. Such as the time he asked my favorite gemstone, and I blurted out topaz before thinking. He'd been flinging questions at me with such speed that I felt like I was taking one of those psychiatric tests where you answer with the first word that comes to mind. I was sure he would have continued down whatever mental list he was following, except for the blush. My face reddened because, until very recently, my favorite gemstone was garnet. It was impossible, while staring back into his topaz eyes, not to remember the reason for the switch. And, naturally, he wouldn't rest until I'd admitted why I was embarrassed. â€Å"Tell me,† he finally commanded after persuasion failed – failed only because I kept my eyes safely away from his face. â€Å"It's the color of your eyes today,† I sighed, surrendering, staring down at my hands as I fiddled with a piece of my hair. â€Å"I suppose if you asked me in two weeks I'd say onyx.† I'd given more information than necessary in my unwilling honesty, and I worried it would provoke the strange anger that flared whenever I slipped and revealed too clearly how obsessed I was. But his pause was very short. â€Å"What kinds of flowers do you prefer?† he fired off. I sighed in relief, and continued with the psychoanalysis. Biology was a complication again. Edward had continued with his quizzing up until Mr. Banner entered the room, dragging the audiovisual frame again. As the teacher approached the light switch, I noticed Edward slide his chair slightly farther away from mine. It didn't help. As soon as the room was dark, there was the same electric spark, the same restless craving to stretch my hand across the short space and touch his cold skin, as yesterday. I leaned forward on the table, resting my chin on my folded arms, my hidden fingers gripping the table's edge as I fought to ignore the irrational longing that unsettled me. I didn't look at him, afraid that if he was looking at me, it would only make self-control that much harder. I sincerely tried to watch the movie, but at the end of the hour I had no idea what I'd just seen. I sighed in relief again when Mr. Banner turned the lights on, finally glancing at Edward; he was looking at me, his eyes ambivalent. He rose in silence and then stood still, waiting for me. We walked toward the gym in silence, like yesterday. And, also like yesterday, he touched my face wordlessly – this time with the back of his cool hand, stroking once from my temple to my jaw – before he turned and walked away. Gym passed quickly as I watched Mike's one-man badminton show. He didn't speak to me today, either in response to my vacant expression or because he was still angry about our squabble yesterday. Somewhere, in a corner of my mind, I felt bad about that. But I couldn't concentrate on him. I hurried to change afterward, ill at ease, knowing the faster I moved, the sooner I would be with Edward. The pressure made me more clumsy than usual, but eventually I made it out the door, feeling the same release when I saw him standing there, a wide smile automatically spreading across my face. He smiled in reaction before launching into more cross-examination. His questions were different now, though, not as easily answered. He wanted to know what I missed about home, insisting on descriptions of anything he wasn't familiar with. We sat in front of Charlie's house for hours, as the sky darkened and rain plummeted around us in a sudden deluge. I tried to describe impossible things like the scent of creosote – bitter, slightly resinous, but still pleasant – the high, keening sound of the cicadas in July, the feathery barrenness of the trees, the very size of the sky, extending white-blue from horizon to horizon, barely interrupted by the low mountains covered with purple volcanic rock. The hardest thing to explain was why it was so beautiful to me – to justify a beauty that didn't depend on the sparse, spiny vegetation that often looked half dead, a beauty that had more to do with the exposed shape of the land, with the shallow bowls of valleys between the craggy hills, and the way they held on to the sun. I found myself using my hands as I tried to describe it to him. His quiet, probing questions kept me talking freely, forgetting, in the dim light of the storm, to be embarrassed for monopolizing the conversation. Finally, when I had finished detailing my cluttered room at home, he paused instead of responding with another question. â€Å"Are you finished?† I asked in relief. â€Å"Not even close – but your father will be home soon.† â€Å"Charlie!† I suddenly recalled his existence, and sighed. I looked out at the rain-darkened sky, but it gave nothing away. â€Å"How late is it?† I wondered out loud as I glanced at the clock. I was surprised by the time – Charlie would be driving home now. â€Å"It's twilight,† Edward murmured, looking at the western horizon, obscured as it was with clouds. His voice was thoughtful, as if his mind were somewhere far away. I stared at him as he gazed unseeingly out the windshield. I was still staring when his eyes suddenly shifted back to mine. â€Å"It's the safest time of day for us,† he said, answering the unspoken question in my eyes. â€Å"The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way†¦ the end of another day, the return of the night. Darkness is so predictable, don't you think?† He smiled wistfully. â€Å"I like the night. Without the dark, we'd never see the stars.† I frowned. â€Å"Not that you see them here much.† He laughed, and the mood abruptly lightened. â€Å"Charlie will be here in a few minutes. So, unless you want to tell him that you'll be with me Saturday†¦Ã¢â‚¬  He raised one eyebrow. â€Å"Thanks, but no thanks.† I gathered my books, realizing I was stiff from sitting still so long. â€Å"So is it my turn tomorrow, then?† â€Å"Certainly not!† His face was teasingly outraged. â€Å"I told you I wasn't done, didn't I?† â€Å"What more is there?† â€Å"You'll find out tomorrow.† He reached across to open my door for me, and his sudden proximity sent my heart into frenzied palpitations. But his hand froze on the handle. â€Å"Not good,† he muttered. â€Å"What is it?† I was surprised to see that his jaw was clenched, his eyes disturbed. He glanced at me for a brief second. â€Å"Another complication,† he said glumly. He flung the door open in one swift movement, and then moved, almost cringed, swiftly away from me. The flash of headlights through the rain caught my attention as a dark car pulled up to the curb just a few feet away, facing us. â€Å"Charlie's around the corner,† he warned, staring through the downpour at the other vehicle. I hopped out at once, despite my confusion and curiosity. The rain was louder as it glanced off my jacket. I tried to make out the shapes in the front seat of the other car, but it was too dark. I could see Edward illuminated in the glare of the new car's headlights; he was still staring ahead, his gaze locked on something or someone I couldn't see. His expression was a strange mix of frustration and defiance. Then he revved the engine, and the tires squealed against the wet pavement. The Volvo was out of sight in seconds. â€Å"Hey, Bella,† called a familiar, husky voice from the driver's side of the little black car. â€Å"Jacob?† I asked, squinting through the rain. Just then, Charlie's cruiser swung around the corner, his lights shining on the occupants of the car in front of me. Jacob was already climbing out, his wide grin visible even through the darkness. In the passenger seat was a much older man, a heavyset man with a memorable face – a face that overflowed, the cheeks resting against his shoulders, with creases running through the russet skin like an old leather jacket. And the surprisingly familiar eyes, black eyes that seemed at the same time both too young and too ancient for the broad face they were set in. Jacob's father, Billy Black. I knew him immediately, though in the more than five years since I'd seen him last I'd managed to forget his name when Charlie had spoken of him my first day here. He was staring at me, scrutinizing my face, so I smiled tentatively at him. His eyes were wide, as if in shock or fear, his nostrils flared. My smile faded. Another complication, Edward had said. Billy still stared at me with intense, anxious eyes. I groaned internally. Had Billy recognized Edward so easily? Could he really believe the impossible legends his son had scoffed at? The answer was clear in Billy's eyes. Yes. Yes, he could.

In what ways are Gatsby and George Wilson similar or dissimilar, to whom is Nick more sympathetic towards? Essay

In what ways are Gatsby and George Wilson similar or dissimilar, to whom is Nick more sympathetic towards? Fitzgerald purposefully contrasts his characters throughout the novel, in order to compare contrasting worlds that were present in American society. Although there are some clear differences between Gatsby and George, there are also superficial similarities between them that each man has to experience and put up with. Drawing upon the more apparent differences between these two characters, it is evident that they have differing wealth. Gatsby is depicted as being rich through the means of the ‘Hotel de Ville’ or ‘mansion'(11) that he owns, and also by the way he holds lavish parties where ‘champagne was served in glasses bigger than finger-bowls'(48). Considering that Gatsby lives in West Egg not only reveals the true extent of his wealth, but additionally it shows that he is ‘noveau riche’ rather than ‘old’ rich like those who inhabit East Egg. Gatsby has only recently acquired his wealth after migrating from the Midwest whilst following the ‘New’ American Dream. The original dream consisted of any American citizen having the right to pursue their goals and dreams through hard work and free choice. It was the opportunity to make individual choices without the underlying restrictions of class, caste, religion, race, or ethnic group, that once overshadowed people. Often, people followed the common saying, ‘Go West young man!’ where the land was uninhabited and extremely fertile. In the case of the ‘New’ dream, it was simply how the dream had become interpreted by the 1920s. It was a distortion from the original dream to the idea of ‘Get rich quick’. Being of ‘New’ wealth, Gatsby tries to flaunt his wealth about. When Nick asks Gatsby whether he is going to go home that night following the vehicular manslaughter of Myrtle by Daisy, Nick describes Gatsby in chapter eight, as wearing a ‘pink rag of a suit'(147).This description suggests how Gatsby wears these expensive, gaudy and colourful items of clothing in order to display his wealth ostentatiously. The idea behind this pretentious displayal of the opulence that he has acquired, may be a method used by Gatsby in order to stand out from the crowd and to break away from periphery and into East Egg high society. This is a means to an end that he requires so that he can get even closer to retrieving Daisy and thus accomplishing his distorted version of the American Dream. In comparison, George lives in the rubbish tip that is the ‘Valley of the Ashes’. All that ‘grows’ on it is dead and the words ‘Ash’ and ‘grey’ that Fitzgerald uses to describe it with in chapter two, not only emphasise the literally dull and unfulfilling nature of the landscape here, but also the dull and unfulfilling lives of those like George Wilson who inhabit this valley. In chapter two it becomes apparent how little respect George’s wife has for her husband, when she says ‘He burrowed somebody’s best suit to get married in.’ This shows how poor he is because he cannot even afford a wedding suit of his own to get married in. In comparison to Gatsby, he has little material wealth. Gatsby appears to have originated from a poor background in the West which is similar to George’s background. However, the effects of this poor background influence both men differently. Originating in the West, rural North Dakota, he followed the ‘New’ American Dream in order to ‘Get rich quick’ and this pushed him towards organized crime, such as bootlegging. During the 1920s, there was a prohibition which imposed the law that alcohol was to be banned. Gangsters like Gatsby, were able to make a fortune out of this time through the illegal distribution of alcohol and trading in stolen securities. This was all a means though of achieving his distorted version of the American Dream, which was to retrieve Daisy. Importantly, he does not abide by the ‘protestant work ethic’ which states that a man should work hard and earn a comfortable living by which he and his family can live a peaceful, enjoyable life off. He also participated in a bit of bond fraud on the side as Fitzgerald notifies the reader in chapter nine (158). A strange caller says to Nick (thinking him Gatsby), ‘Young Parke’s in trouble. They picked him up when he handed the bonds over the counter.’ The way he commits himself to such illegalities is irresponsible on his behalf and it reveals how the American Dream has become revolved around money. Human greediness to obtain money, have corrupted the dream that once was so much more innocent. Comparatively, George does not involve himself in such a tainted world and instead follows a morally acceptable path in life by owning a legal garage. To some extent though, Fitzgerald uses this character to emphasise how such a traditional stance like the one George takes up (where one follows the ‘Protestant work ethic’), is unable to survive in such a morally decayed world that was the Jazz Age. Fitzgerald describes him in chapter two, as ‘mingling immediately with the cement colour of the walls’ of his garage. In some way it shows how the years he has been following this legitimate path, have caused him to effectively fade away into the dull environment that he inhabits. Kathleen Parkinson described Gatsby as ‘a mysterious and ambivalent figure’. This is a true interpretation of Gatsby in the sense that, unlike George, there is a build up prior to his introduction into the novel. At Gatsby’s first party in chapter three, various rumours of Gatsby’s past circulate the party. One guest exclaims that Gatsby is a ‘nephew of Kaiser Wilhelm’ and others go on to say how they heard that he had ‘killed a man’ or ‘been a German spy’ or ‘been in the American army.’ All this mystery serves to stimulate Nick’s curiosity, which possibly leads to his more lenient and sympathetic stance when it comes to Gatsby. It also creates a sense of suspense in the reader that heightened Gatsby’s entrance into the novel. Rumour plays an integral role in the novel as Fitzgerald uses it to provide the reader with the option of deciding whether or not they believe it and this technique evo kes more interest in certain characters like Gatsby. Evidently, Gatsby embodies the idea of the American Dream as is suggested in chapter three where Nick reports on how Gatsby would look across the golf at ‘that green light’ every night. This ‘green light’ would have symbolised various things for Gatsby. It would have been a symbol of generally the American Dream, but also more specifically for Gatsby, the prospect of the ‘green’ colour of money and achieving Daisy. Gatsby appears to have achieved the American Dream to some extent as he has risen from an impoverished child to a young man with great material wealth. He is the main dreamer in the novel; however, it appears that he is following two dreams. His initial dream becomes apparent in chapter nine where Gatsby’s father talks of Gatsby’s ‘SCHEDULE’ that he wrote when he was seventeen. In the ‘GENERAL RESOLVES’ (164) Gatsby wrote ‘Read one improving book or magazine per week’ which reveals straightaway how his dream of becoming rich and fitting into the world of high society, originates from when he was a teenager. Additionally, it uncovers the immaturity of Gatsby and his dream, as he has never allowed his dream to develop and grow up like he has. His other dream was a distorted version of the American dream, (which in some way used the wealth he had gained from achieving the American Dream), which was to retrieve his childhood love – Daisy. This dream was established in the past, and therefore fixates on the past. Gatsby’s naà ¯Ã‚ ¿Ã‚ ½ve personality and his ruthlessness to achieve this dream ignore what Daisy has become and he appears to pursue the ‘old’ Daisy which remains vividly in his dreams. The way in which Gatsby was driven by his undying love for a woman is a reflection of Fitzgerald’s own life and dreams too. He too joined the army (1917) and eventually fell in love with a seventeen year old girl called ‘Zelda Sayre’. Zelda finally agreed to marry him, but her overpowering desire for wealth, fun, and leisure led her to delay their wedding until he could prove a success. Their relationship appears to be like Gatsby and Daisy’s. The following quote reveals the point in the novel at which all of Daisy’s charm and beauty is stripped away, leaving nothing but money to be admired underneath: ‘That was it. I’d never understood before. It was full of money- that was the inexhaustible charm that rose and fell in it, the jingle of it, the cymbals’ song of it.’ (Chapter seven) Gatsby realizes late into the novel, how his dream has been ripped apart into dollar bills as he discovers that for years he has been in pursuit of not love, but cold, harsh money which is hidden behind the disguise of a human face. Following the death of Gatsby and the suicide of George, it becomes apparent that Fitzgerald is using the deaths of a rich man and a poor man who both set out to achieve their unattainable goals, to symbolise the death of the original dream on which America was founded. With consideration given to George, he too shares the American Dream with Gatsby; however he seems to be pursuing the ‘old’ American Dream and not the ‘New’ one like Gatsby. George reveals his dream in chapter seven, where he says: I’ve been here too long. I want to get away. My wife and I want to go West. She’s been talking about it for ten years.’ Clearly his dream is the opposite of Gatsby’s. He wants to migrate West like the original settlers and wants to follow the idea to ‘Go West young man!’ This idea was commonly followed by many families who would migrate out to the West and set up a basis to gather wealth. This is the case for the characters, Tom and Daisy, whose families formed their wealth out in the West through hard labour, so that their children could have better lives than they did. Undoubtedly, George wants his share of this; however, the way in which he says that his wife has ‘been talking about it for ten years’ is possibly a suggestion that it is more her dream than his and that he has been bullied into dreaming of it by her domineering nature. Whatever the case, he almost definitely dreams of a more comfortable life than what he already suffers. Gatsby and George are similar in the ways they both resort to deception in order to attain their originally unattainable dreams. They both resort to this in their relationships. Gatsby is found to do this in chapters four and five. When Nick is informed of the history between Gatsby and Daisy, by Jordan, it appears that she believed him to have wealthy roots when he did not. In chapter five he tells Daisy how ‘it only took him three years to earn the money that bought’ his mansion. He initially created the false perception of himself that fooled Daisy into false hope. Daisy probably saw in Gatsby a future of material possessions and comfort, which she adored. But he did not have this and when he comes round to having this in the latter, he lies about how he came to earn the money. He shields her from his true identity as a criminal, so that once again he can relight the false perception she had of him. George follows suit and lies to Myrtle early on in their relationship. When Myrtle reveals her hatred towards her husband in chapter two, she says ‘I married him because I thought he was a gentleman. I thought he knew something about breeding, but he wasn’t fit to lick my shoe.’ As it appears through the use of the word ‘gentleman’, Myrtle wanted to marry someone of higher social status and of wealth, and George apparently gave her the false hope of this. He creates a false persona that fools her into thinking that her dream is coming true. In some way, the relationship between George and his wife is possibly what may have occurred in the relationship between Gatsby and Daisy, if they had run away together in their youth. There is a mirror image or reflection between Gatsby’s relationship and George’s, and Fitzgerald parallels the consequences of both. Comparing both men, they both seem to be solitary figures who are overly involved in their work. For instance, when looking at Gatsby he is clearly a type of ‘loner’ and this may be down to the fact that he is too set upon retrieving Daisy to have anytime for others. The only circumstance that he has friends is when they are a means to an end with Gatsby, as he only manipulates them to get something out of them. For instance, he befriends Jordan and Nick especially as means of getting closer to Daisy. In chapter four, it is clear that Gatsby has manipulated Jordan into sorting out a meeting between him and Daisy, when she says to Nick: ‘You’re supposed to invite her to tea’ (78). The inclusion of the word ‘supposed’, suggests how Gatsby plans what he wants to get out of people. At Gatsby’s first party ‘the girls swoon back into the men’s encircling arms, but no one swooned backward on Gatsby.’ This example shows how Gatsby never socialised with people unless he required something from them, and as Nick shows in chapter three where he says that he ‘hasn’t even seen the host’ (49), hardly anyone really knows who Gatsby is. Also, he constantly thinks of his work. Even at his parties, he rudely has to excuse himself to take calls from places like ‘Philadelphia’ and ‘Chicago’ which are renowned cities for their corrupt environments where gangsters based themselves. This work is funding his dream in a way, as if he had not been gathering money like this, then he would still be poor and he would not have had the money to buy such been close to Daisy. George similarly is a man of solitude due to his wife and work; he is portrayed as having no real friends. He is a sick failure who is reduced to the status of a ‘ghost’. This ‘ghost-like’ appearance or presence is highlighted in chapter two when Tom and Nick visit George at the garage and his wife Myrtle is said to have ‘smiled slowly and, walking through her husband as if he were a ghost.’ This emphasises the lack of presence and authority he has, as his wife walks through him not noticing or caring that he is standing there. She is far more interested in Tom to care about where her husband is. The way he is referred to as a ‘ghost’ – the disembodied spirit or soul of a deceased person – is a link to not only death but more specifically, the death of the land he lives in. Fitzgerald is therefore linking George to the failure of the ‘Valley of ashes’ and it is noticeable that he never does this sort of thing with Gatsby. Gatsby is never linked to the riches of the land of the Eggs, which in a way shows how he does not fit in with the high society of the Eggs and this crucially establishes his isolation within such an environment. George is similar to Gatsby also, in the sense that he always thinks about his work too. This becomes clear in chapter two where he pesters Tom with the question: ‘When are you going to sell me that car?’ This highlights his desperation to make a sale and also suggests that he feels he has to jump on every customer who enters his garage, due to the lack of business he receives. Further, it shows his solitude as he scarcely has any customers and thus does not have any interactions with other people. Nick as narrator, appears to be far more lenient towards Gatsby. Following the deaths of both men, Nick only makes it his duty to sort out Gatsby’s funeral and does not think of George’s. In addition, when Tom wants Nick to meet his mistress in chapter two, Nick says how he had ‘no desire to meet her.’ This statement suggests how Nick feels he is being disloyal to Daisy. He does not think to consider how George would feel knowing about the affair his wife is having with one of his own acquaintances (Tom). Additionally, Nick seems to overlook Gatsby’s criminal behaviours even though he has been given enough evidence to suggest that Gatsby is a gangster. Fitzgerald’s portrayal of both men differs greatly, so much so that they appear to be direct opposites of one another. Gatsby is rich and has a more fulfilling life than George, who suffers the dullness of living in a dump (Valley of Ashes) and the lack of respect from his wife. The relationship between George and his wife is peculiar and goes against the historical view of a married couple. In the Victorian era, women would have had to stay at home in order to attend to maternal duties, whilst the husband would have had to provide the income. Usually the man had the authority over the woman, and in the case of the Wilson’s, there has been a role reversal. However, these two men are linked superficially by their failure to achieve their unattainable dreams which they had been pursuing throughout life. Considering that Gatsby was originally a working class poor man in previous years, and that he and George both die in honour of their failed dreams, suggests that when a poor man tries to enter into a higher social status like Gatsby, their efforts are rendered useless. Not only does this circumstance reveal the divide in society but additionally it emphasises the moral decay of American society amidst the superficial impressiveness of upper-class profligacy.