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Alterity and Tragic Sensation in Shakespeare and Fitzgerald: From
Macbeth to The Great Gatsby 1
MEHRDAD BIDGOLI, ZAHRA JANNESSARI LADANI – University of Isfahan, Iran
ABSTRACT
In this essay, we attempt to trace the themes of alterity and tragic sensation in Shakespeare’s
Macbeth and Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby. We offer a parallel study of the two works with
an emphasis on the (anti)heroes’ struggles with time and the other human as metaphors of
“alterity.” We present a thematic reading and discuss that as Macbeth is preoccupied with his
imaginatively fabricated future (time) and tries to execute anyone (the other) who jeopardizes
the totality of that ideal space, Gatsby is also preoccupied with his past (time) and tries to
retrieve Daisy (the other). Tragedy, we argue, is a result of these struggles. We suggest that
Fitzgerald’s work generally shares the similar theme of alterity with Shakespeare’s Macbeth
and somehow modernizes the similar tragic sensation we witness in the latter.
KEYWORDS: The Great Gatsby, alterity, Fitzgerald, Macbeth, the other, time, tragedy, tragic
sensation.
1
Forthcoming in Critical Survey, vol. 35, 2023 (issue & page number still not allocated) – please cite accordingly.
Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor!
Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter!
Thy letters have transported me beyond
This ignorant present, and I feel now
The future in the instant…
To beguile the time,
Look like the time, bear welcome in your eye,
Your hand, your tongue: look like th’innocent flower,
But be the serpent under’t.
—William Shakespeare, Macbeth (1.5.53-65)

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Prelude
To suggest that Jay Gatsby is a tragic character might not seem out of place, but to compare
him with a renaissance character like Macbeth might raise a few eyebrows. Yet any reader who
has in mind T. S. Eliot’s essay “Tradition and the Individual Talent” would not be moved by
this parallel study. As Eliot famously supposed, every literary artist can echo, in one way or
another, his predecessors and literary models (Eliot 14). Although Fitzgerald is said to have
been directly concerned with Shakespeare’s works—echoed significantly in a few of his short
stories, i.e. “The Third Casket” and “Tarquin of Cheapside”—his greater fictions are rarely
studied in this light. According to Harold Bloom, The Great Gatsby (1925) “may have been
compared to works by Edith Wharton, Henry James, and Joseph Conrad, but it was not felt
necessary to draw in Goethe, Milton, and Shakespeare” (Bloom 77). Yet we propose that
oblique but significant similarities to Shakespearean themes seem to be certainly revealing,
especially the possibility that the greatest work of Fitzgerald interestingly shares a highly tragic
sensation with Shakespeare’s Macbeth (ca. 1606) when looked at through a thematic lens. A
few critics have passingly referred to Macbeth in their treatments of Gatsby (see, for instance,
Wolfsdorf 243 and Edwin 52-54), but nobody has focused on this topic seriously. Centering
“You can’t repeat the past.”
“Can’t repeat the past?” he cried incredulously. “Why of
course you can!”
He looked around him wildly, as if the past were lurking
here in the shadow of his house, just out of reach of his hand.
“I’m going to fix everything just the way it was before,” he
said, nodding determinedly. “She’ll see.”
—F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (70-71)

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on a few metaphors of “alterity” (more below), we offer a thematic reading which brings the
two tragic characters together and, through highlighting certain parts of the novel, we will
evaluate the outcome of this comparative study. What is more, although this analogy might not
be built upon a strict scientific logic of intertextuality, the similar tragic sensation it tries to
study in those towering works of English literature is still tenable as what Michael Hancher has
famously discussed as the “art of interpretation” (Hancher 795-8).2
Macbeth and the Tragic Idea
In his valuable book Modern Tragedy, Raymond Williams famously suggests that “where
suffering is felt, where it is taken into the person of another, we are clearly within the possible
dimensions of tragedy” (71). This is, as Williams writes, usually much more than ordinary
lament and suffering, to the extent of a heartbreaking experience. The feelings of “pity and
fear” that Aristotle writes about while defining tragedy (Aristotle 67-69) is connected to these
encounters with suffering and disappointing finales. If we suggest that a tragic character
typically struggles with and suffers from what is (un)known as “alterity,” then many tragic
heroes—especially Shakespearean ones—turn out to be sharing similar characteristics and
tragic flaws. Usually considered as an ethical notion, alterity constitutes the quality of that
2
The point Hancher makes has got to do with “validity” (evidently following E. D. Hirsch) and “value”
of an interpretation, the former being scientific and the latter artistic in nature. Through the course of
his essay, he persuasively justifies “those interpretations of a text which, though cognitively
irresponsible—indifferent to the singular meaning intended by the author—do nonetheless represent a
meaning which can be greatly valued. The process of interpretation that formulates such an
unauthorized but nonetheless highly valued meaning will… in fact be more an art than a science…
though a science of interpretation is both possible and desirable, it is not the only such approach. An art
of interpretation is also desirable and practical: there is no reason why it cannot coexist peacefully with
its brother science” (Hancher 797).

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which eludes and slips the subject’s totality and knowledge, remains ‘other’ and unknowable
and at times goes beyond any logic of difference.
To begin with, Shakespeare’s Macbeth is said to be struggling with time (mostly his
future) as a metaphor of alterity and unknowability, and in a totalizing attempt, he creates
imaginative spaces to manipulate and shape his future and reduce it to his version of the
Witches’ predictions. This also leads him to a struggle with another such metaphor, the
other(s),3
as he tries to terminate anyone who might happen to jeopardize that future and that
ideal space. When it comes to time and the other person, the philosopher Emmanuel Levinas
can readily come to mind. Drawing upon art and, more specifically, on Shakespeare’s Macbeth
in his earlier work, he famously studies alterity and what he calls the “il y a”4
as general
qualities of being which can also be witnessed via art and its mimetic doublings (acting like
“bubbles of the earth”; see Levinas 52-55, 62; see also Macbeth 1.3.79-80).5
This general
alterity and unknowability, as Levinas argues, is also an achievement of the phenomena of art
and literature. What Levinas calls “absolute alterity” is beyond or otherwise than being, and he
attributes it to the other person. And on this scale, art and literature can arguably depict
miniature versions of absolute alterity and ethical interruptions as well, and this happens
3
For Levinas, the other constitutes a traumatic unknowability quite otherwise than being’s general
alterity; this radical, absolute alterity saves the self from the absurd and horrific alterity of what Levinas
calls il y a (the impersonal ground-zero of existence), and summons to responsibility. Although Levinas
usually uses the capitalized form (Other, or autrui in French) to refer to the other human and the “other”
(with lower-case “o” or autre in French) to refer to alterity or otherness in general, in this essay this
distinction is not necessary and we have used ‘the other’ and ‘alterity’ instead. See Emmanuel Levinas
(1987), Time and the Other (and Additional Essays) (1947), trans. Richard A. Cohen. Pittsburgh:
Duquesne UP; and Levinas (1969), Totality and Infinity (1961), trans. Alphonso Lingis. Pittsburgh:
Duquesne UP, esp. p. 24 where the distinction is indicated in a footnote.
4
The il y a, or the “there is,” in Levinas’s thought is the ground-zero of being. Levinas defines it via
imagining existence without existents or Being without beings. It is felt by the subject like a field of
forces. Cf. Time and the Other, and n. 2.
5
On this, see also Moshe Gold, Sandor Goodhart and Kent Lehnhof (eds.). Of Levinas and Shakespeare:
“To See Another Thus”. Indiana: Purdue UP, 2018, esp. pp. xi-xv. Levinas had been famously interested
in Shakespearean tragedy, mostly Macbeth, Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet.

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through the act of criticism. There are critics who have suggested that ruptures of the text can
exemplify those ethical interruptions (see, for instance, Eaglestone 1997). When we turn to
Gatsby in the next section, we will also introduce and consider the matter of overflowings and
imperfections integrated into the text. For the moment, let us see how the classic, early modern
tragedy of Macbeth elaborates the proposed tragic idea.
Following Levinas’s philosophy, Mehrdad Bidgoli and Shamsoddin Royanian have
recently studied a number of central metaphors and imageries of alterity in the tragedy of
Macbeth. In short, this ethical reading suggests that Macbeth is filled with rich depictions of
alterity and its (anti)hero mainly struggles for his future in order to save/change his fate and
this leads him to a struggle against the others as well. Precisely because ‘future’ is an
unknowability that cannot be grasped or manipulated but only imagined, the Witches’
prophesies seem to Macbeth like “imperfect” spaces which both appeal to his imagination and
evade its totality (Macbeth 1.3.70).
Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more:
By Sinel’s death I know I am thane of Glamis,
But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives
A prosperous gentleman; and to be king
Stands not within the prospect of belief,
No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence
You owe this strange intelligence, or why
Upon this blasted heath you stop our way
With such prophetic greeting. Speak, I charge you. (1.3.70-78)
This imperfection sets the ground on which Macbeth’s tragic struggles will, with his wife’s
temptations, begin. Macbeth’s attempts are thus highly tragic, also in an ethical sense because

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he defies the alterity of the other person and the responsibility it calls for; instead, he tries to
remove it by killing but what he experiences each time is his own downfall into the impersonal,
absurd il y a (Bidgoli and Royanian 14-19).
Through their prophesies, the Witches create an opaque futurity for Macbeth and
Banquo (Macbeth 1.3.48-69). While Banquo does not trust the Witches’ equivocations and
ignores the evil space they forge, Macbeth tries to fabricate the futurity the way he imagines it,
not the way the Witches have prophesied, and thereby attempts to deviate the prophesies in his
favor; to borrow from Wayne C. Booth, Macbeth “deliberately chooses from what they [the
Witches] have to say only those things which he wishes to hear” (Booth 24), and so he tries to
distort and control the world and remove any barrier in his way. As Lady Macbeth—Macbeth’s
darker side/interiority—clearly mentions, Macbeth must strive to capture what she sees as “the
future in the instant” (Macbeth 1.5.59). But not only that imagined and distorted space of
futurity comes true only coercively, artificially and temporarily, but the other—Malcolm,
Donalbain, Fleance, Macduff—also evades Macbeth’s totality and finally overthrows him. As
Bidgoli and Royanian suggest, Fleance’s escape from Macbeth’s ruffians (3.3.14-22) and
Macduff’s departure before they can lay their hands on him (4.2.78-84) can exemplify the
slippage of the other and futurity from Macbeth’s totality; recurrent images of Banquo’s ghost
(3.4.37-43, 84-94; 4.1.112-124) as well as Macduff’s final return also indicate the interruption
of the ungraspable, traumatic alterity of the other person (Bidgoli and Royanian 14-16, 19-22).
If this can be read as Shakespeare’s version of the return of the repressed, in this tragedy it
actually happens within an ethical framework and is filled with ethical meanings.
Gatsby’s Tragic Struggle

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In this section of the essay, we discuss how a similar thematic argument as discussed above,
with certain differences and limitations, can be brought to bear on Fitzgerald’s The Great
Gatsby. As some critics have mentioned, this novel is concerned with time and its inexorability,
is preoccupied with the past and what time irrevocably takes away such as youth, opportunities
and loved ones.6
In a general sense, we argue that Gatsby is concerned, among other themes,
with (absolute) alterity—with time and, we add, the other—as Macbeth and Gatsby both appear
to raise similar skirmishes against it. Gatsby, although a bit differently, more romantically and
in a more modern, decadent sense, portrays a similar tragic flaw as it narrates a war against
alterity, against the inexorability of time and the slipperiness and fluidity of the other.7
However, while Macbeth tries to remove/eliminate the other, Gatsby tries to (re)capture her,
and while Macbeth is preoccupied with his imagined future, Gatsby is mainly preoccupied with
his imagined—but lost—past.8
We also suggest that even though Gatsby and Macbeth share
the classic emphasis on the individuality, greatness and centrality of the tragic character, the
modernity of Fitzgerald’s romantic tragedy is identified in the way it tries to diminish “fear”
and intensify “pity.”
***
There are a few certain metaphors of time in the novel. Tony Magistrale and Mary Jane
Dickerson, among others, rightly refer to the image of the “defunct mantelpiece clock” as a
representative of Gatsby’s fateful attempt to struggle against time (Magistrale and Dickerson
122-23). To this can be added the metaphor of “an overwound clock” that is once attributed to
6
This is not unrelated to the Great War experience and its traumas as recent critics have tended to think.
On this, as well as Gatsby’s (fake or real) heroism, see especially, Licari 2019.
7
One might argue that to an extent, Gatsby Americanizes these sentiments as well. It is commonly
thought that as one of the cornerstones of the Jazz Age, the novel also offers a critical perspective on
the American Dream.
8
Though the reader might be readily fresh on this point, we would still here refer to the fact that the
medium of the action in Macbeth is classical, subjective and military, while in Gatsby it is typically
more social and collective (see also Moses 53).

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Gatsby’s extreme nervousness in his reunion with Daisy (Fitzgerald 59). The tragic sensations
of the novel are not unrelated to this nervousness and struggle. The problem is that the
perfectionist Gatsby, as Daisy sobbingly says at a decisive moment, wants “too much”
(Fitzgerald 84).
“Oh, you want too much!” she cried to Gatsby. “I love you now—isn’t that enough? I
can’t help what’s past” (emphasis added). She began to sob helplessly. “I did love him
once—but I loved you too.”
Gatsby’s eyes opened and closed.
“You loved me too?” he repeated.
“Even that’s a lie,” said Tom savagely. “She didn’t know you were alive. Why—
there’re things between Daisy and me that you’ll never know, things that neither of us
can ever forget.” (emphases added) (84-85)
The word “tragic” is repeated five times throughout this short novel, and at least once directly
attributed to Gatsby himself (55). There are critics who have tried to emphasize the tragic
aspects of Gatsby. Edwin Moses, as perhaps the best instance, specifically attends to this aspect
of the work and suggests that like great tragic characters (he refers in passing to Macbeth and
Lear), Gatsby also “rends the fabric of things” (52). The fact that Gatsby wants “too much”
and suffers (and enjoys and identifies himself with this suffering to an extent) to achieve and
actualize his imaginations relates to his tragic struggle with two senses of alterity: the
inexorability of time (“I can’t help what’s past” says Daisy) and the ungraspable fluidity of the
other (Daisy herself directly, Tom indirectly). Gatsby did not merely try to “repeat the past”
(70); he outrageously tried to sail his “boats against the current” and bring the past back to the
present (or be “borne back ceaselessly into the past”), to relive it, and recreate “the orgastic
future that year by year recedes before” him (115).

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Time and the past are significant elements in the novel and become, as we can see,
directly interrelated with the other (here, mainly Daisy). Gatsby himself is the key figure who
is preoccupied with time, with his past and that which has slipped his grasp:
He talked a lot about the past, and I gathered that he wanted to recover something, some
idea of himself perhaps, that had gone into loving Daisy. His life had been confused
and disordered since then, but if he could once return to a certain starting place and go
over it all slowly, he could find out what that thing was… (Fitzgerald 71)
Like Macbeth, Gatsby is determined to defy and disturb the joints of the universe, to liberate
himself from its ties, to start over once again and “invent” everything in accordance with his
“imagination” (Fitzgerald 63). He simply cannot live the present unless he recovers the past
and retrieves Daisy, but as Thomas Cousineau rightly construes, “both Tom and Daisy refuse
to play the roles that he [Gatsby] has assigned them” (Cousineau 37). The assignation to which
Cousineau refers is related to Gatsby’s imagination, which is, like that of Macbeth, temerarious
and inventive but fatally tragic.
Gatsby’s tragicality is more salient when we witness that he is, to borrow from Stephen
Matterson, a “Promethean idealist” (Matterson 37) who tries to establish his own space of truth
and contest everything that might inflict a crack in that totality from outside. Although his
greatness is rooted in his ennobling dream “which distinguishes him from other disillusioned
characters” (Matterson 38), Gatsby tries to defy what seems to him a harsh and unacceptable
reality—that he “can’t help what’s past” and “there’re things between Daisy and [Tom]” that
he will never know—but this is a trial to establish a totality, a defiance against the ties of
alterity, that which is not bound to any logic of sameness or difference, lies beyond any sense
of totality and cannot easily be known or changed. He has fallen (or receded) into an
imaginative space of ideal “gift for hope” and “romantic readiness” (Fitzgerald 4)—“I’m going

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to fix everything just the way it was before” (71; italics added)—while Daisy and Tom reiterate
the inexorable realities and the ties of alterity. Gatsby has deliberately ignored reality in favor
of ideality. Tom here symbolizes the chaining and inexorable bonds of the real and present
moment, while Gatsby symbolizes the transcendence of idealism and imagination; to them both
is Daisy helplessly tied, unable to break free from one man in favor of another. From yet
another perspective, Gatsby can also be the traumatic other and the past that recurs and returns
to Daisy and Tom, similar to the way Banquo’s ghost and Macduff acted out in Macbeth.9
As we come to know, Gatsby’s final cruise with Daisy precedes, and leads to, his tragic
fall. Eventually, Gatsby’s preoccupation with his past and its significant emblem of desire,
romanticism and hope (Daisy) would lead to his death. Daisy, who is Gatsby’s “reveries [that]
provided an outlet for his imagination” in the hopes of living “the unreality of reality”
(Fitzgerald 63), was both his actual and metaphorical driver in that incident (92). She was
behind the wheel when they ran over Myrtle Wilson, as Gatsby tells Carraway after the accident
(92), and that is what Tom could never know (114). Though Gatsby would have willingly
sacrificed himself for Daisy (92) and would have been happy that he had saved her from George
Wilson, this finale and this sensation are still heartbreakingly tragic as Tom and Daisy walked
so cruelly out of the affair and only Carraway and Mr. Gatz (Gatsby’s old father) and a couple
of others attended Gatsby’s funeral (111). It was the past he was struggling to “fix” (similar to
Macbeth who tried to feel the future “in the instant”) and the other with whom he was trying
to reunite10
that brought him to his demise. In the end, both Gatsby and Macbeth are left alone
to die by their nemeses.
9
Similarly, Moses has called this quality of Gatsby’s character “nemesis: the inevitable, convulsive
righting of a balance in nature which the tragic hero has disturbed” (52).
10
To this can Tom be added, against whom Gatsby also struggles and raises a rivalry. This struggle is
also similar to Macbeth’s struggles against the rivals and dangers of his crown. Gatsby also needs to
remove Tom to safely retrieve Daisy; in other words, his reclaiming of Daisy simultaneously
necessitates the removal of Tom. Moses calls this struggle both ironic and tragic (52).

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Epilogue: Imperfect Witness, Overflowing the Text
Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year
recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow
we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther… And one fine
morning—
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back
ceaselessly into the past.
—Fitzgerald, Gatsby, p.115
Shakespeare famously writes that imagination usually “bodies forth… things unknown” and it
is the writer’s pen that “Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing / A local habitation
and a name” (A Midsummer Night’s Dream 5.1.13-17). Fitzgerald, like many other novelists,
teaches us that it is only through “imagination” and writing down what it bodies forth that we
can possibly recapture and relive the past, which is a kind of “nothing” once it is passed and is
left behind. Carraway is there to tell Gatsby’s story and give it “a local habitation and a name”;
according to one critic, “the Nick story is inseparable from the Gatsby story” (Qtd. in Matterson
38). The whole novel thus takes after Gatsby’s tragicality. It is heir to his inheritance, his
grotesque tragedy.
Carraway was inclined to be open to alterity, to “reserve all judgements” and be “privy
to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men,” though he would come to admit that “it has a limit”
(Fitzgerald 3). Further, as Licari has pointed out, “Nick wants us to recognize that his style of
storytelling will mean more than he literally states, and that to understand him we should
engage in a more nuanced and symbolic reading of his words” (Licari 209; emphasis added)

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and this means that there is always something more in his words, an overflowing of meanings
in various layers of the textual fabric. It is the result of his exposure to Gatsby’s tragedy that
Nick comes to this conclusion (“it has a limit”) and only Gatsby was “exempt” from that
“limit”; the opening paragraphs of the novel are thus sutured to its final sentences with the
theme of a tragic struggle against alterity, a struggle which is also evident in the text itself in
the form of overflowings.
And it turns into a hierarchy of witnesses to the other as Fitzgerald assumes Carraway’s
position and tells us of Gatsby’s imaginatively hopeful struggle and tragic fall, while also
retaining a persistent trace of alterity in the narrative as an imperfect witness. The climax of
this elusiveness about Gatsby—which somehow refuses to fully come to words (it is imperfect),
apart from that sense of overflowing of meanings—perhaps comes at the close of chapter six:
Through all he said, even through his appalling sentimentality, I was reminded of
something—an elusive rhythm, a fragment of lost words, that I had heard somewhere
a long time ago. For a moment a phrase tried to take shape in my mouth and my lips
parted like a dumb man’s, as though there was more struggling upon them than a wisp
of startled air. But they made no sound, and what I had almost remembered was
uncommunicable for ever. (Fitzgerald 71; emphasis added)
Although there are such “incommunicable” things and imperfections about Gatsby, Carraway
still retains and expresses those unknowabilities and tells his story as a witness. The hierarchy
of witnesses that we mentioned also reminds us of the Shakespearean world in which Horatio
plays the part of a witness for Hamlet (see Hamamra and Abusamra 2020) or Lodovico and
others do the same for Othello, and Shakespeare for all of them, including Macbeth. Although
a significant dimension of gentleness and sublime love in Gatsby’s imaginations contrasts with
Macbeth’s darkness, bloodiness and gore, Shakespeare and Fitzgerald similarly immortalize

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these tragic (anti)heroes and their painfully tragic struggles with alterity through giving them a
“local habitation” in their artworks. Shakespeare’s early modern theme (in drama) thus
develops into Fitzgerald’s modern theme (in fiction). Pity and painfulness increases as we come
to know that Carraway is always an imperfect witness to the other and that the perfect truth
about Gatsby’s story is buried with him and overflows the text.
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1-24.
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Publishing, 2006.
Booth, Wayne C. “Macbeth as Tragic Hero.” The Journal of General Education, Vol. 6, No.
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Cousineau, T. J. “The Great Gatsby: Romance or Holocaust?” Contagion: Journal of
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Eliot, T. S. “Tradition and the Individual Talent.” In Selected Essays (2nd ed). London, 1934,
pp. 13-22.

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Fitzgerald, F. Scott. The Great Gatsby, ed. Guy Reynolds. Hertfordshire: Wordsworth Classics,
1993.
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