Tell Me My Name Puts a Modern Spin on The Great Gatsby

Dial Books

Modern adaptations of classic literature are hit or miss, depending on the person you ask. On the one hand, I love 1995’s Clueless and will always enjoy watching it; on the other hand, I’m in the minority when it comes to 2010’s Easy A, with many of my peers loving the jokes and scenes I find myself cringing at. Regardless, the beauty of modern adaptations is the creativity and the liberties taken to retell a familiar story in an accessible and novel way, and Amy Reed has done just that with her young adult book Tell Me My Name—a book I am still mulling over and cannot decide definitively what I think of it.

Based on F. Scott Fitzgerald’s novel The Great Gatsby, Tell Me My Name is a gender-swapped reimagining that focuses on the relationship between its Nick Carraway and Jay Gatbsy equivalents: a lonely, shy girl named Fern and the infamous movie star Ivy Avila. When Ivy and her mother move to Fern’s small town, Ivy immediately takes Fern under her wing, allowing her to grow more confident and sure of herself. Things turn complicated when Ivy enlists Fern to help her reconnect with Ash, a boy Ivy met on vacation two years ago and who is currently in a toxic, abusive relationship. While Ivy is confident that Ash will choose to be with her, Fern becomes increasingly wary of her friend’s behavior and Ash’s reluctance to commit to anything other than his own interests. She can’t help but wonder why everyone begins to ignore her, almost as if she’s not there at all.

I wasn’t very familiar with Gatsby, but that isn’t a prerequisite for reading this book. While the general events of both play out similarly, Reed makes the story her own, drawing inspiration from its source material rather than making a carbon copy. All of the characters are morally ambiguous and extremely flawed, each having understandable motivations while making mistakes that have serious consequences. Strangely enough, Ash’s girlfriend, Tami, was the character I found the most interesting, given her rich-girl surface appearance and general cold demeanor. She’s cheating on her boyfriend with a married man, and she gets physically violent with both of them if they make her unhappy, followed by “love bombing” and ensuring they’ll stay with her despite the abuse. Fern notices that Tami doesn’t have any genuine friends, and there are times when Tami’s tough exterior falls away to reveal that she’s unsatisfied with her life and more lonely than she lets on. This doesn’t excuse her behavior in the slightest, but it gave an extra dimension to her character that I wasn’t expecting.

The story is set in the near future, painting a grim picture of problems from our own present—rapidly rising sea levels and uncontrollable forest fires, for example—and imagining what would happen if they became far more severe. It’s an interesting choice for Reed to choose a very real, almost preapocalyptic setting, especially when all of these issues are still so prominent and remain unresolved. This felt like a subplot of sorts, a cautionary tale that this could be our world if we don’t do something now to change the trajectory of the outcome. It’s a noble point to make, but in the context of the rest of the story, it feels a little out of place and its purpose is unclear. Is this a warning for readers of what the future could be like? It certainly feels that way, but with no solutions or efforts to resolve anything, the story ultimately gives us a very bleak outlook at what the future will hold.

The mental health and addiction struggles presented were also a bit of a mixed bag for me. Ivy has recently gotten out of rehab for her drug and alcohol abuse, and her mother berates her for falling back into her old habits, conveniently ignoring that she, the parent, is the one providing the alcohol at the parties she throws at their mansion. Tami buys an expensive illegal drug called Freedom that is supposed to take away fear and shame, but it’s never clear whether or not it actually works the way it’s supposed to—or whether or not it’s addictive. Ash is an enigma of selfishness and indecision, unable to do what he truly wants in favor of pleasing his family and playing it safe, but this is shown as a betrayal on his part and not the complicated situation that it really is. This almost comes across as a critique on the stigma surrounding addiction and mental health struggles, something that is unfortunately still a problem for many people. However, these are ultimately all loose ends that are either dropped or still very much an issue by the end of the novel, and while these are situations that cannot be easily resolved in real life, they felt like plot devices rather than a genuine analysis of modern society.

Without spoiling anything, there is a big twist near the end of the novel, one that I’m still not sure how to feel about and that will most likely cause in-depth discussions among other readers. It’s a perfect metaphor for the story as a whole, because there are many ideas to unpack and digest while reading, and not everyone will have the same opinion. Perhaps Reed purposefully left Tell Me My Name open ended for this reason: for readers to come to their own conclusions and resolutions about the characters and themes presented. On that level, it succeeds. As a satisfying narrative and a cohesive story, however, it unfortunately falls short, and while I did enjoy Reed’s writing style and appreciated her intent, this is one adaptation I won’t be revisiting anytime soon.

Tell Me My Name is out now.