Nick Carraway is such an interesting narrator because he’s, well, not exactly a New Yorker through and through, is he? I mean, he steps into this whirlwind world of Gatsby and all the glitz of the Jazz Age, but at his core, you know, he’s still this Midwestern guy, shaped by a completely different moral compass.Yeah, like, he’s got the whole "wholesome heartland" vibe going on. But how do you think that frames how he sees everyone else? 'Cause he’s not just observing—he’s kind of, I don’t know, judging the whole time.Precisely. He looks at this New York decadence through, I suppose, what you could call a prism of Midwestern values... maybe even a bit of naivety, in some ways. It reminds me of when I visited Long Island a few years ago. I was looking out over this massive house, a replica of some European château, and I couldn’t help but feel a distance, you know? Like, it was stunning, sure, but it didn’t feel... authentic.Ohhh, look at you, holding onto your inner grounded Midwesterner. Very Nick Carraway of you!Well, it’s fascinating, isn’t it? Because Nick’s whole narrative hinges on this idea that he’s separate from the chaos, an outsider commenting on the absurdity of it all. But here’s the question—can we trust him to really be all that objective?I mean, no way. Like, he loves Gatsby, right? He’s got this hero-worship thing going on with him, and that totally affects how he tells the story. The Jazz Age wasn’t just about wild parties; it was also about, like, people chasing these big, almost impossible dreams. And Nick’s sitting there, smack in the middle of it all like, “Oh, look at these wild, unruly people.” But he’s kinda caught up in it himself, isn’t he?Absolutely. And it’s that complexity that makes him such a compelling narrator. He embodies this tension between admiration and disillusionment, watching Daisy and Tom indulge in their recklessness while kind of holding Gatsby on a pedestal. But the Jazz Age itself, Ruby—it really fueled that colossal gap between illusion and reality, wouldn’t you agree?Totally. People are building up these extravagant lives with all this jazz music, speakeasies, and bootleg liquor, but—But underpinning it is this hollowness that Nick hints at repeatedly, right?Exactly! Like, they were all desperate to live big but ended up feeling so... so empty. I mean, even Nick gets a little jaded by it all—not fully "Tom Buchanan" level of cynicism—but definitely not untouched.And that’s the real tragedy, isn’t it? Nick steps in as this observer, but he isn’t immune. The Jazz Age, with all its energy and excess, subtly reshapes him too.And that reshaping of Nick, his evolving view of the Jazz Age, ties directly to how he sees Gatsby, doesn’t it? He describes Gatsby with such reverence—this almost mythic figure with, what was it, an “extraordinary gift for hope,” right? But doesn’t that also raise questions about how reliable Nick really is?Yeah, he’s practically writing love poetry about the guy. Like, “worth the whole damn bunch put together”? Okay, Nick, we get it, you’re Team Gatsby.Exactly. But then what happens is—it’s almost like the scales tip. He’s so biased in Gatsby’s favor that he downplays, or outright ignores, the less glamorous parts. The illegal bootlegging, the, uh, obsession with Daisy that frankly borders on stalking...Oh, totally! And then you’ve got Tom and Daisy, right? I mean, Nick just tears into them—Tom’s a brute, Daisy’s shallow, blah, blah, blah. Do you think he’s being fair, though? Or is this just his own bitterness shining through?Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? His view of them is so saturated with judgment—Tom is this sort of caricature of old money arrogance, and yes, Daisy comes across as frivolous. But is it accurate, or is it just how Nick needs them to be to fit his narrative?Right! And then there’s how Nick tells the story of Gatsby and Daisy’s affair. Like, you read it and think, “Oh yeah, Nick’s just the fly on the wall, totally neutral.” But is he? Not really! I mean, he takes such a passive role that he acts like he’s not even involved. But wasn’t he the one setting up secret tea dates and ferrying messages between them?Exactly. Nick conveniently sketches himself as this bystander looking in, but when you actually dissect the events—He’s kind of right in the middle of it all!And that selective memory is such a classic mark of an unreliable narrator, isn’t it? By not fully owning his participation, he reshapes the story to keep himself in, well, a better light than he might deserve.Exactly. It’s like he’s trying to give us this polished version of himself, peeling back layers of honesty just enough to make us trust him but not enough to show the messy stuff. Sneaky, Nick. Very sneaky.And it gets more complex when you consider his self-perception, doesn’t it? He claims to be one of the few honest people he knows...But then he’s constantly shading people, withholding details, spinning things his way. I mean, honest? Really?Well, it forces you as a reader to take what he says with a grain of salt and start piecing together your own version of the story.So, picking up on Nick’s claim about being one of the few honest people he knows—why do you think he insists on that? Is it self-awareness, denial, or something else entirely?Pffft, well, I don’t think so. I mean, sure, he says it, but then we catch him leaving out details and spinning the whole thing. Like his involvement with Gatsby and Daisy—Exactly. It’s like he’s trying to keep his hands squeaky clean. You know, sitting on the moral high ground while everyone else is splashing around in the mud.Oh, totally. But the funny thing is, he’s there getting his boots dirty too! He’s setting up these secret meetings, ferrying their messages—you can’t tell me that’s neutral middleman behavior.Right. And what’s interesting is that, as readers, we kinda buy into his claim, don’t we? At least at first. He’s painting this picture where he’s the anchor of truth in all the chaos.But it’s such a sneaky illusion! Like, he’s guiding this whole story through his perspective, and we don’t even realize how much he’s nudging us to see things his way.It comes back to that whole idea of the unreliable narrator, doesn’t it? He’s building his own version of events, and in doing so, shaping how we, as readers, interpret everything. It makes you wonder... how often does that happen when we’re storytelling today?Oh, heaps. I know I’ve done it—like, not on purpose—but I definitely remember times where I told a story or wrote a piece, and looking back later, I could see how much my perspective influenced it. What about you?Oh, absolutely. I mean, I had this time years ago when I was reporting on a local political campaign. And looking back, my own, let’s say, reservations about one candidate definitely shaped how I framed certain, uh, elements of the story.It’s wild though, right? Like, how much perspective changes everything. It’s a reminder that every storyteller—including Nick—is showing you their version. A truth, not the truth.Exactly. And that’s such a fascinating takeaway—whether it’s Nick or any of us as storytellers, it’s always worth asking whose truth we’re hearing and what might be lurking beneath it.Or what’s left out altogether! Honestly, it’s made me look at narrators in a whole new light. Like, “What’s your real angle here, buddy?”And on that note, I think that’s a great place to leave it. Looking at Nick has been a fascinating lens, and it’s a reminder for all of us to question the stories we’re told—and the ones we tell ourselves.Absolutely. Well, thanks for joining us to dig into the unreliable yet oh-so-interesting Nick Carraway. This has been so much fun!It really has. And that’s all for today. See you next time!

Episodes

The Unreliable Lens of Nick Carraway