As much as I wanted to, I could not bring myself to like most of the stories in this book. Fitzgerald has a way with turns of phrases and can set a story better than most, but I cannot get over the fact that all he writes about is, money, alcohol, parties and women. There were a couple of stories that stood out: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (the reason I read the collection) and “O Russet Witch!” It is interesting to note that both of these are in the section of short stories Fitzgerald calls ‘Fantasies.’ The Lees of Happiness was also a good story, but it is under ‘Unclassified Masterpieces,’ and The Jelly-Bean in the ‘My Last Flappers’ portion. Four out of eleven isn’t too bad, but some of them were just odd.
Aside from the subject matter, the only thing that bothered me about his stories was the way he wrote about the South. It was similar to the way he wrote about cities. It was almost as if he’d not been there, but had this idea of what they were like. His dialogue and colloquialisms seemed real enough, but everything just seemed too caricatured and maybe it was a conscious effort on his part.
