Whereas Chapter 1 ended with the mysterious Gatsby reaching out to his dream in the night, Chapter 2 opens with a striking contrast. Nick tells us about a stretch of land lying “about half way between West Egg and New York” which is so desolate that it is merely a “valley of ashes—a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat into the ridges and hills and grotesque gardens; where ashes take the forms of houses . . . [and] with a transcendent effort, of men who move dimly and already crumbling through the powdery air.” As the geographic midpoint between what is in effect the suburbs and the city, the valley of ashes, a dreamless, colorless place bound on one side by a putrid river, is home to the sorts of people that the wealthy citizens of the Eggs and the sophisticated people of the city are content to overlook.
The ashen quality of the community is reflected in every element—including the dilapidated billboard of Doctor T.J. Eckleburg, perhaps the second most memorable image in The Great Gatsby (following closely behind the green light at the end of the dock). In many regards, the mysterious eyes hovering above the valley of ashes serve as spiritual force. They are, as George Wilson says, the eyes of God. The faceless eyes hover over all that goes on in the book—a book decidedly void of traditional spirituality. The eyes, in this sense, represent the lack of Godliness in the lives of the characters, and by extension, the society on which Fitzgerald comments. The 1920s, for a certain sect of society, were characterized by an increasing freedom and recklessness—Gatsby’s parties are perfect testament to the growing debauchery of the upper class. Through Doctor Eckleburg’s sign, Fitzgerald indicates that although people are turning away from traditional (established) morality and rules of socially acceptable behavior, neglecting to tend to their spiritual side, the eyes of God continue to watch all that passes. Even though God’s image may become increasingly removed from daily life (just as the face surrounding Eckleburg’s enormous eyes has faded and disappeared), His eyes continue to witness all that passes. Through the eyes the reader has an implicit call to action, reconnecting with a lost spiritual connection.
After Nick and Tom get off the train (notice how Tom orders Nick around and announces what it is they are going to do; these are clear indicators of Tom’s nature and continue to mark him as the story continues), they proceed to George Wilson’s repair garage. Much can be learned about Wilson, as well as everyone trapped in the valley of ashes, through the brief exchange. There is little about Wilson to indicate he will ever be anywhere but the desolate wasteland of the valley. He is common, “blond,” “spiritless,” “anæmic” and only faintly handsome. His business totters on the brink of failure, and he seems ignorant of what goes on around him. It is unlikely that he is, in Tom’s elitist words, “so dumb he doesn’t know he’s alive,” but he does seem trapped by an unnamable force.
Myrtle Wilson appears in striking contrast to her husband. Although she does not possess the ethereal qualities of Daisy, in fact, she appears very much of the earth, she does possess a decided sensuality, as well a degree of ambition and drive that is conspicuously absent in her husband. After a few attempts at social niceties (showing that Myrtle, despite being trapped in a dead-end lifestyle, aspires in some sense to refinement and propriety), Nick and Tom leave, with the understanding that Myrtle will soon join them to travel into the city to the apartment that Tom keeps for just such purposes. It is worth noting, however, that Myrtle rides in a different train car from Tom and Nick, in accordance with Tom’s desire to pander, in this small way, to the “sensibilities of those East Eggers who might be on the train.” The irony runs deep, giving a greater sense of Tom’s character. He is bold about his affair, not worrying that Daisy knows, but he sees the need to put up a pretense on the train, as if that one small gesture of discretion makes up for all the other ways in which he flaunts his affairs.
As soon as the group arrives in New York, Myrtle shows herself to be not nearly as nondescript as is her husband. She is, however, far from refined, despite how she may try. Her purchases at a newsstand (two tabloid-like publications), as well as the way she painstakingly selects just the right taxicab (lavender with gray upholstery) suggests that she is concerned with appearance and fashion, aspiring to be part of the jet-set that she reads about in her magazines and which, she thinks, she can gain entrée to through her wealthy lover.
At the apartment in New York, after “throwing a regal homecoming glance around the neighborhood,” Myrtle undergoes a transformation. By changing her clothes she leaves behind her lower-class trappings, and in with donning new clothes she adopts a new personality. She invites her sister and some friends to join the afternoon’s party, but her motivation for doing so goes beyond simply wanting to enjoy their company. Her intent is largely to show off what she has gained for herself through her arrangement. It is irrelevant to Myrtle that what she has gained comes through questionable means; clearly, for her (and Tom, too), the morality of infidelity is not an issue. Her affair with Tom allows her to gain something she wants—money and power—and therefore it can be justified.
As Nick describes, when Myrtle changes her clothes, she exchanges her earlier “intense vitality” (clearly a positive and refreshing attribute) for “impressive hauteur” (a decidedly unappealing quality invoking Nick’s respect and disgust simultaneously). While entertaining, Myrtle comes across as perceiving herself to be superior, although that isn’t hard to do, given the people with whom she surrounds herself. The McKees, for instance, are trying desperately to be accepted by the upper class, but are really shallow, dull people. Mr. McKee, despite his attempts to be seen as an artist, is conventional (even boring) in his photography. He skill is technical, at best, rather than artistic, as he would have people believe, as evidenced by the completely unoriginal titles he gives his photos—‘Montauk Point—the Gulls’ and ‘Montauk Point—the Sea.’
