Jordan Baker Monologue
Year 12 English, Term 2 2017 - Character Monologue
[JORDAN BAKER gases out across the green, club in hand. The date marks a month since
Gatsby’s death and Jordan cannot help but think about the last few memories she had of him.
The incoming recollections spark many different emotions, yet, the most prominent is
realisation. She is a strong figure with an aloof and hard approach, however, she finds herself
in critical view of the nature of upper-class society. The glowing afternoon sunlight streaks
down upon her, casting a poised and jutted figure of a woman deep in thought upon the
grass.]
[looking out in reflection]: I see now, what I did not see before. Oh, the heinous obscurities
and insecurities of hyper-privileged society. The elite, Hilfiger wearing, Tiffany and Co
possessing, self-absorbed population of America. Those defined not by personality, but by the
objects of which they own. The expense of the objects of which they own.
[walks, bouncing the club in hands]: Of course, I shall exclude myself from this postulation. I
may be a woman of wealth; strong and determined, but I will not be classed amongst the
obnoxious and snobby population of society. I am no trump. Just because I played around
with attention seeking, money driven folks does not make me one myself.
[with expression]: Why they are all blind. Hungry, but blind.
Hungry for a taste of success and power, blindly chasing a falsified vision of the American
dream. No appreciation for the meaning of life, carelessly racking in the gold and distributing
it as if it were nothing.
[in judgement, club over shoulder]: Gosh, what folly Jordan. Such a waste of a society – all
bright lights and loud music. Yet, when the lights go out and the music ceases, the charming
facade crumbles away and what remains is nothing short of shallow. Day in and day out, the
picture they paint is one to hide the lack of substance doth entail them.
[in reflection, leaning up against a wall]: I don’t mean to place Daisy in such a position. But
darling Daisy, my oblivious rose of upper-class society, you are a distorted vision of beauty
and innocence. A paper-doll, with a porcelain face. Beautiful on the outside with the ability
to sting on the inside. Yes your big blue eyes framed by yellow circles of Prada gaze down
from the LED screens of Times Square, but my dear, your life is a snippet of the Bachelorette,
a constant hora of attention, glam and glitter. A lust for all that gleams, shimmers or shines.
Anything that hints at affluence - of wealth.
[exaggerating with hands]: And Gatsby, you gorgeous fool of a man. So clever, yet so short
sighted. Why you were meticulous with your planning, everything beautiful for a paper-doll
who never cared to show up. Paper may be thin, but it can cut deep.
And so with every passing day, the look of longing towards the green light across the bay
reamed of growing desperation in the direction of Daisy. To where her voice fluttered
intangibly – loosely – like money in the wind.
Year 12 English, Term 2 2017 - Character Monologue
[JORDAN BAKER gases out across the green, club in hand. The date marks a month since
Gatsby’s death and Jordan cannot help but think about the last few memories she had of him.
The incoming recollections spark many different emotions, yet, the most prominent is
realisation. She is a strong figure with an aloof and hard approach, however, she finds herself
in critical view of the nature of upper-class society. The glowing afternoon sunlight streaks
down upon her, casting a poised and jutted figure of a woman deep in thought upon the
grass.]
[looking out in reflection]: I see now, what I did not see before. Oh, the heinous obscurities
and insecurities of hyper-privileged society. The elite, Hilfiger wearing, Tiffany and Co
possessing, self-absorbed population of America. Those defined not by personality, but by the
objects of which they own. The expense of the objects of which they own.
[walks, bouncing the club in hands]: Of course, I shall exclude myself from this postulation. I
may be a woman of wealth; strong and determined, but I will not be classed amongst the
obnoxious and snobby population of society. I am no trump. Just because I played around
with attention seeking, money driven folks does not make me one myself.
[with expression]: Why they are all blind. Hungry, but blind.
Hungry for a taste of success and power, blindly chasing a falsified vision of the American
dream. No appreciation for the meaning of life, carelessly racking in the gold and distributing
it as if it were nothing.
[in judgement, club over shoulder]: Gosh, what folly Jordan. Such a waste of a society – all
bright lights and loud music. Yet, when the lights go out and the music ceases, the charming
facade crumbles away and what remains is nothing short of shallow. Day in and day out, the
picture they paint is one to hide the lack of substance doth entail them.
[in reflection, leaning up against a wall]: I don’t mean to place Daisy in such a position. But
darling Daisy, my oblivious rose of upper-class society, you are a distorted vision of beauty
and innocence. A paper-doll, with a porcelain face. Beautiful on the outside with the ability
to sting on the inside. Yes your big blue eyes framed by yellow circles of Prada gaze down
from the LED screens of Times Square, but my dear, your life is a snippet of the Bachelorette,
a constant hora of attention, glam and glitter. A lust for all that gleams, shimmers or shines.
Anything that hints at affluence - of wealth.
[exaggerating with hands]: And Gatsby, you gorgeous fool of a man. So clever, yet so short
sighted. Why you were meticulous with your planning, everything beautiful for a paper-doll
who never cared to show up. Paper may be thin, but it can cut deep.
And so with every passing day, the look of longing towards the green light across the bay
reamed of growing desperation in the direction of Daisy. To where her voice fluttered
intangibly – loosely – like money in the wind.
