The very rich are not like you and me.
«Andrew’s sister, Anne, refused royal titles for her children, as she was determined to bring them up outside the royal bubble. Andrew did not: His daughters are princesses. At her wedding last year, the younger one, Eugenie, chose a reading from The Great Gatsby, which she said reminded her of her future husband. “He smiled understandingly—much more than understandingly,” observes the novel’s narrator, Nick Carraway, in the section of the novel read out by her sister, Beatrice. “It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life.”
How delightful—except that the man Carraway is describing is Jay Gatsby, a con man who weasels his way into high society through flattery and charm. “They were careless people,” writes F. Scott Fitzgerald of two of The Great Gatsby’s other characters, Tom and Daisy. “They smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made.”»