The biggest strength of this book was also the biggest issue for me: Nghi Vo seems to embody Fitzgerald's writing in a way that makes it truly feel worthy of The Great Gatsby. She writes beautifully, and it doesn't feel like a poor attempt at a retelling. It feels natural and effortless.

Unfortunately, it just reminded me of how much I really, really, really, really, really fucking HATE The Great Gatsby. I was hoping that my love for Nghi Vo's writing could outweigh my hate for Gatsby, but alas. Hate wins this time.