Tender Is the Night

Everybody knows The Great Gatsby (1925). Tender Is the Night is not.  F. Scott Fitzgerald thought it was the best he'd written. That was in 1934. In 1998, the Modern Library ranked it the 28th of 100 best English novels in the 20th century.

From a distance to look at rich and famous' life, all are great and splendid. But at a close look, they are so ragged and hollow. It was part of Fitzgerald's own life, and he lived a rather short life. Maybe his ideal was to live an ordinary boring life with an ordinary wife just as what happened in the end in the novel, but he never had the chance.

Night, full of mysteries, is tender and fragile. It is tempting though. Many great works were born during that time. 

But I fear night. 

Behind the flicking neon lights, it is the gradual closure of doors; hopes are fading into the void.

On the contrary, morning twilight gives hope, promising a brand new day with endless possibilities.

I was born during that singular time.