CityGov is proud to partner with Datawheel, the creators of Data USA, to provide our community with powerful access to public U.S. government data. Explore Data USA

Skip to main content
"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past”

"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past”

This final sentence from F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby captures the ineffable essence of tension between aspiration and reality, between progress and memory. It is a voice that reaches out across time, as if to say, "I have felt this too." Classic literary moments are not only profound; they are deeply personal. They attach to the reader's own memories, shaping how we see ourselves and each other. The power of language here lies not in its structure or syntax, but in its capacity to reflect the soul of its creator. That line feels like a mirror held up to the current of my own life, a reminder that no matter how far I row forward, there is always a tide pulling me back into reflection.

This is the paradox we now face in the age of AI-assisted communication. As technology grows more sophisticated, there is increasing pressure for AI-generated writing to emulate human depth, emotion, and voice. Yet, the very foundation of this artificial fluency is built upon the cumulative labor of human authors who have poured their lived experiences into their work. The irony is stark: machines are expected to sound more human by absorbing, dissecting, and replicating the work of our most human storytellers. The question arises: can that replication ever truly capture the essence of what it means to be human?

The Human Voice in an Automated Age

When we speak or write, we are not simply conveying information. We are revealing ourselves - our doubts, our hopes, our scars, and our triumphs. Communication, at its most powerful, is not transactional. It is transformational. It asks not only to be understood but to be felt. When Holden Caulfield wonders aloud, “It’s funny. Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody,” he is not just voicing teenage angst. He is confronting the ache of vulnerability, the loneliness of honesty, and the desire to protect oneself from the pain of connection1.

Teenagers have clung to Holden for decades not because he is polished or wise, but because he is raw and fumbling through the same questions they are. His rebellion against “phoniness” is less about arrogance and more about a hunger for authenticity. Through him, readers begin to question their own voices: are they brave or just loud, independent or simply adrift? This is the kind of emotional terrain that only literature can map. AI can suggest synonyms, adjust tone, or summarize themes, but it cannot feel the pit in your stomach when Holden walks away from Mr. Antolini, unsure of who to trust.

Literature as Memory and Mirror

Literature that has endured across generations does more than entertain or inform. It invites readers into a world of shared vulnerability, pain, triumph, and introspection. Consider Janie Crawford, the protagonist in Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God (one of my all-time favorites). Hurston’s use of poetic dialect, layered narrative, and cultural specificity creates a protagonist who is both fiercely independent and achingly introspective. Janie’s journey through love, loss, and self-discovery is not conveyed through exposition alone but through the rhythm of her vulnerable yet fiercely determined voice and the unspoken weight of her silence. This is not something a formula can replicate. It is lived, not generated.

I remember sitting alone on a quiet morning, Hurston's book in my lap, feeling as though Janie was sitting beside me, whispering her secrets and truths the world was not yet prepared to understand. Her voice was not just a character's - it was ancestral, defiant, and intimately human. Hurston didn’t write about identity - she sang it into being. Her ability to weave beauty into hardship, and to present identity not as a fixed trait but as a tapestry of experiences, left a lasting imprint. Janie's language is not merely dialogue - it is resistance, heritage, and soul. AI may be able to mimic dialect, but it cannot adequately capture the generational trauma, joy, and resilience embedded in those words. The literary tradition is not just about language structure; it is about the human hands and hearts that crafted it. Without that lived context, emotional authenticity becomes hollow.

Hurston wrote with a profound precision that tattooed emotion into each page. When Janie says, “There are years that ask questions and years that answer”2 this resonates, lingering long after the book is returned to its shelf, reminding us that time is not just measured by clocks but by the weight of our becoming. For those who have endured loss, silence, or rebirth, Janie’s voice is not a character’s - it is their own, echoing off Hurston's pages.

The Ongoing Call to Speak with Meaning


Powerful messages come not from templates but from experience, from conversation, from the courage to pause and seek understanding before we speak. AI can scaffold our thinking, but it cannot stand in for the ache, the awe, or the wonder that shape the words we choose. The heart and soul of language remain human: imperfect, searching, vulnerable, alive.

When we return to voices like Holden’s, Janie’s, or Gatsby’s, we are not escaping into the past; we are connecting with how to feel. Their stories remind us that the purpose of language is not just to describe life but to translate its weight- to give voice to our contradictions, to our silence, to our becoming.

Classic literature endures because it holds what algorithms cannot: the fingerprints of its makers. Each sentence is evidence of thought wrestled into being, of emotion given form through the fragile alchemy of words. In an era where fluency can be synthesized, authenticity will become our rarest art.

Bibliography

  • Salinger, J.D. 1951. The Catcher in the Rye. Boston: Little, Brown and Company.

  • Hurston, Zora Neale. 1937. Their Eyes Were Watching God. Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott & Co.

  • Poe, Edgar Allan. Various works. Library of America editions.

  • Fitzgerald, F. Scott. 1925. The Great Gatsby. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons.

  • Pew Research Center. 2023. “Public Perceptions of Artificial Intelligence and Its Impact on Society.” Pew Research Center. https://www.pewresearch.org/internet/2023/08/28/public-perceptions-of-artificial-intelligence-and-its-impact-on-society/.

More from Communication and Speech

Explore related articles on similar topics