Which is why Fitzgerald was essentially a spiritual writer, and not a writer of amusements, or a chronicler of the escapades of the wealthy and the socially refined, though certainly those types could be said to have comprised his subject. For his eye, as is the case with all great artists, was always on that which imparts dignity to reality, which isn’t to say that this dignity always made itself known explicitly, for so many of his characters, in valuing that which is fleeting and insubstantial, find themselves on a trajectory of self-abasement, so that a reader who would recognize the meaning of his work must first encounter the fact that this meaning often becomes apparent only through suggestion, or through what is not there.