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198 pages

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Recently the basis for a major motion picture starring Hollywood golden boy Brad Pitt, "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" was written in 1922 by the golden boy of early twentieth-century American fiction, F. Scott Fitzgerald, author of such era-defining masterworks as The Great Gatsby and Tender is the Night. The tale follows the travails and triumphs of the title character, who is born in the body of an elderly man and becomes progressively younger over the course of his life.

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Short story

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 janvier 2009
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781877527005
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0330€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON
AND OTHER TALES OF THE JAZZ AGE
* * *
F. SCOTT FITZGERALD

*

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button And Other Tales of the Jazz Age First published in 1922.
ISBN 978-1-877527-00-5
© 2008 THE FLOATING PRESS.
While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike.
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Contents
*
The Tales The Jelly-Bean The Camel's Back May Day Porcelain and Pink The Diamond as Big as the Ritz The Curious Case of Benjamin Button Tarquin of Cheapside "O Russet Witch!" The Lees of Happiness Mr. Icky Jemina, the Mountain Girl
The Tales
*
MY LAST FLAPPERS
THE JELLY-BEAN
This is a Southern story, with the scene laid in the small Lily ofTarleton, Georgia. I have a profound affection for Tarleton, butsomehow whenever I write a story about it I receive letters from allover the South denouncing me in no uncertain terms. "The Jelly-Bean,"published in "The Metropolitan," drew its full share of theseadmonitory notes.
It was written under strange circumstances shortly after my firstnovel was published, and, moreover, it was the first story in which Ihad a collaborator. For, finding that I was unable to manage thecrap-shooting episode, I turned it over to my wife, who, as a Southerngirl, was presumably an expert on the technique and terminology ofthat great sectional pastime.
THE CAMEL'S BACK
I suppose that of all the stories I have ever written this one cost methe least travail and perhaps gave me the most amusement. As to thelabor involved, it was written during one day in the city of NewOrleans, with the express purpose of buying a platinum and diamondwrist watch which cost six hundred dollars. I began it at seven in themorning and finished it at two o'clock the same night. It waspublished in the "Saturday Evening Post" in 1920, and later includedin the O. Henry Memorial Collection for the same year. I like it leastof all the stories in this volume.
My amusement was derived from the fact that the camel part of thestory is literally true; in fact, I have a standing engagement withthe gentleman involved to attend the next fancy-dress party to whichwe are mutually invited, attired as the latter part of the camel—thisas a sort of atonement for being his historian.
MAY DAY
This somewhat unpleasant tale, published as a novelette in the "SmartSet" in July, 1920, relates a series of events which took place in thespring of the previous year. Each of the three events made a greatimpression upon me. In life they were unrelated, except by the generalhysteria of that spring which inaugurated the Age of Jazz, but in mystory I have tried, unsuccessfully I fear, to weave them into apattern—a pattern which would give the effect of those months in NewYork as they appeared to at least one member of what was then theyounger generation.
PORCELAIN AND PINK
"And do you write for any other magazines?" inquired the young lady.
"Oh, yes," I assured her. "I've had some stories and plays in the'Smart Set,' for instance——"
The young lady shivered.
"The 'Smart Set'!" she exclaimed. "How can you? Why, they publishstuff about girls in blue bathtubs, and silly things like that"
And I had the magnificent joy of telling her that she was referring to"Porcelain and Pink," which had appeared there several months before.
FANTASIES
THE DIAMOND AS BIG AS THE RITZ
These next stories are written in what, were I of imposing stature, Ishould call my "second manner." "The Diamond as Big as the Ritz,"which appeared last summer in the "Smart Set," was designed utterlyfor my own amusement. I was in that familiar mood characterized by aperfect craving for luxury, and the story began as an attempt to feedthat craving on imaginary foods.
One well-known critic has been pleased to like this extravaganzabetter than anything I have written. Personally I prefer "The OffshorePirate." But, to tamper slightly with Lincoln: If you like this sortof thing, this, possibly, is the sort of thing you'll like.
THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON
This story was inspired by a remark of Mark Twain's to the effect thatit was a pity that the best part of life came at the beginning and theworst part at the end. By trying the experiment upon only one man in aperfectly normal world I have scarcely given his idea a fair trial.Several weeks after completing it, I discovered an almost identicalplot in Samuel Butler's "Note-books."
The story was published in "Collier's" last summer and provoked thisstartling letter from an anonymous admirer in Cincinnati:
"Sir—
I have read the story Benjamin Button in Colliers and I wish to saythat as a short story writer you would make a good lunatic I have seenmany peices of cheese in my life but of all the peices of cheese Ihave ever seen you are the biggest peice. I hate to waste a peice ofstationary on you but I will."
TARQUIN OF CHEAPSIDE
Written almost six years ago, this story is a product of undergraduatedays at Princeton. Considerably revised, it was published in the"Smart Set" in 1921. At the time of its conception I had but oneidea—to be a poet—and the fact that I was interested in the ring ofevery phrase, that I dreaded the obvious in prose if not in plot,shows throughout. Probably the peculiar affection I feel for itdepends more upon its age than upon any intrinsic merit.
"O RUSSET WITCH!"
When this was written I had just completed the first draft of mysecond novel, and a natural reaction made me revel in a story whereinnone of the characters need be taken seriously. And I'm afraid that Iwas somewhat carried away by the feeling that there was no orderedscheme to which I must conform. After due consideration, however, Ihave decided to let it stand as it is, although the reader may findhimself somewhat puzzled at the time element. I had best say thathowever the years may have dealt with Merlin Grainger, I myself wasthinking always in the present. It was published in the"Metropolitan."
UNCLASSIFIED MASTERPIECES
THE LEES OF HAPPINESS
Of this story I can say that it came to me in an irresistible form,crying to be written. It will be accused perhaps of being a mere pieceof sentimentality, but, as I saw it, it was a great deal more. If,therefore, it lacks the ring of sincerity, or even, of tragedy, thefault rests not with the theme but with my handling of it.
It appeared in the "Chicago Tribune," and later obtained, I believe,the quadruple gold laurel leaf or some such encomium from one of theanthologists who at present swarm among us. The gentleman I refer toruns as a rule to stark melodramas with a volcano or the ghost of JohnPaul Jones in the role of Nemesis, melodramas carefully disguised byearly paragraphs in Jamesian manner which hint dark and subtlecomplexities to follow. On this order:
"The case of Shaw McPhee, curiously enough, had no hearing on thealmost incredible attitude of Martin Sulo. This is parenthetical and,to at least three observers, whose names for the present I mustconceal, it seems improbable, etc., etc., etc.," until the poor rat offiction is at last forced out into the open and the melodrama begins.
MR. ICKY
This has the distinction of being the only magazine piece ever writtenin a New York hotel. The business was done in a bedroom in theKnickerbocker, and shortly afterward that memorable hostelry closedits doors forever.
When a fitting period of mourning had elapsed it was published in the"Smart Set."
JEMINA
Written, like "Tarquin of Cheapside," while I was at Princeton, thissketch was published years later in "Vanity Fair." For its technique Imust apologize to Mr. Stephen Leacock.
I have laughed over it a great deal, especially when I first wrote it,but I can laugh over it no longer. Still, as other people tell me itis amusing, I include it here. It seems to me worth preserving a fewyears—at least until the ennui of changing fashions suppresses me, mybooks, and it together.
With due apologies for this impossible Table of Contents, I tenderthese tales of the Jazz Age into the hands of those who read as theyrun and run as they read.
The Jelly-Bean
*
Jim Powell was a Jelly-bean. Much as I desire to make him an appealingcharacter, I feel that it would be unscrupulous to deceive you on thatpoint. He was a bred-in-the-bone, dyed-in-the-wool, ninety-ninethree-quarters per cent Jelly-bean and he grew lazily all duringJelly-bean season, which is every season, down in the land of theJelly-beans well below the Mason-Dixon line.
Now if you call a Memphis man a Jelly-bean he will quite possibly pulla long sinewy rope from his hip pocket and hang you to a convenienttelegraph-pole. If you Call a New Orleans man a Jelly-bean he willprobably grin and ask you who is taking your girl to the Mardi Grasball. The particular Jelly-bean patch which produced the protagonistof this history lies somewhere between the two—a little city of fortythousand that has dozed sleepily for forty thousand years in southernGeorgia occasionally stirring in its slumbers and muttering somethingabout a war that took place sometime, somewhere, and that everyoneelse has forgotten long ago.
Jim was a Jelly-bean. I write that again because it has such apleasant sound—rather like the beginning of a fairy story—as if Jimwere nice. It somehow gives me a picture of him with a round,appetizing face and all sort of leaves and vegetables growing out ofhis cap. But Jim was long and thin and bent at the waist from stoopingover pool-tables, and he was what might have been known in theindiscriminating North as a corner loafer. "Jelly-bean" is the namet