I've done this before, and god knows I'll probably have to do it again. You're welcome:
Foucault mourns the loss of boats and our arrival in a civilization where, without their heterotopia, “dreams dry up.” But the final scene of The Great Gatsby indicates that, despite the problems of modernism, our world still does have its boats: “we beat on, boats against the current,” Nick tells us (180). The vision of the Dutch sailors can be relived today in a car or on a train, so that we too can find some “transitory enchanted moments.” The Great Gatsby has been interpreted as alternately a criticism of the American dream of wealth, or as a complex, halting praise of a more romantic dream, that of imagination. It is the emergence of automotive vision which makes this latter reading so effective: it allows us to acknowledge that there will never be a “warm center” to the modern world, to realize that everywhere is just another “ragged edge” of suburbia; but it allows us to know, at the same time, that as we zip about through modernity, there will be some way to find, like Nick’s sailors, something commensurate with our capacity for wonder, if only so briefly. As Foucault claims, “the anxiety of our era has to do fundamentally with space”; throughout American literature, from Whitman’s “Song of Myself” to Kerouc’s On the Road to Paul Auster’s New York wanderings, writers have attempted to stake out some space within the developing behemoth that is America, and time and time again they take to motion in order to preserve this space. Through automotive vision, through space in motion, they retain some romantic “adventure” in the face of postmodern “espianoge.” By moving, they find some way to navigate their world. For, as Ronald Berman points out, the key word of Gatsby’s final sentence is “against”: “We beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” Though modernity remains, Nick keeps struggling to keep his boat afloat, finding some meaning in the process.