ŷ������

She Aches Just like a Woman

I’ll start off with something that I thought was interesting (hint: it borders on being annoying). For the first 75 pages, characters move in and out of this book with such swiftness and with no mention of physical description or notable characteristics, it mimics the effect of being at a really crowded party where you meet face after face, name after name and you have no time to process who is who, why they are significant and if you should even bother to remember them; so at the very least, the book is able to imitate the “big-party-greeting�� that seems to permeate throughout the lives of the characters, but this only goes so far; that section is one long boring party that requires the minimum amount of your attention to understand what all these vapid, vacuous people are doing and what their current life drama is all about. Sure, there might be a great deal of interesting people moving in and out of your living room, but everyone is so focused on getting plastered drunk (on absinthe mind you), that no one cares about anything but what the most superficial impression of a person can yield.

Whoo, my attempt at a complement turns into a nasty criticism and my struggle to appreciate Hemingway continues.

The Iceberg Theory. Ya’ll know it. It doesn’t bear repeating but I will anyway. The gist of it is, is that in order to involve the reader as the author should, he must properly convey the depth of human emotion by giving the most minute of details, so that the full depth of a scene is communicated implicitly not explicitly. The theory revolves around the idea that feelings unspoken, are more profound than feelings spoken. And up until this point, I couldn’t agree with Hemingway more. How many times can you read a story that gives it all away? What’s the point of feeling the emotion of a story, if we have to be reminded that “John is feeling sad. John cried��. It freezes the drama; the characters go stiff. Yet, I couldn’t disagree more with Hemingway’s execution of the iceberg theory. If words are to allude to a much deeper reservoir of meaning, then shouldn’t each word be dense, double-entendréd and deeply consequential? I am reminded time and time again, that there is a wrong way to take this theory. Plus I am overcome with the feeling that all of poetry operates on this same principle, yet Hemingway writes the most dull and framework prose I’ve ever read. How could someone fully embrace the Iceberg Theory and then write a line like:

“It seemed like a nice cathedral, nice and dim, like Spanish churches��?

A few lines earlier we were told that they are in Spain. So Hemingway writes that the nice churches located in Spain are like nice Spanish churches. Ugh.

Then there are literal chunks of this book that scream look at me! Look how much I researched for this novel!, that contain descriptions making an american tourist of France's handbook seem like a high-octane thrill ride:

“We came unto the Rue du Pot de Fer and followed it along until it brought us to the rigid north and south of the Rue Saint Jacques and then walked south, past Val de Grâce, set back behind the courtyard and the iron fence, to the Boulevard du Port Royal. . . We walked along Port Royal until it became Mountparnasse, and then on past the Lilas, Lavigne’s, and all the little cafés, Damoy’s, crossed the street to the Rotonde, past its lights and tables to the Select.��

This is not what I read fiction for.

There could be a lot of emotional depth coursing underneath all this banal prose, but it is all lost on me. I know that many people find this book to be their favorite of Hemingway, but without much action, where is the pleasure? Which I posit to be Hemingway’s biggest strength. All the bull-fights and the corriendo de los torros were quite strong; they were the only things worthwhile, (view spoiler)[but there is still something that bothered me; why wasn’t the heroic and idealized Pedro Romero killed? Wouldn’t that have been so much more interesting/tragic/thematically significant in light of Hemingway’s oft used “failed masculinity��, if Pedro Romero had been killed? He is the ultimate symbol of macho libido; wouldn’t that have played so well into a book about an impotent man? But instead we’re told that a Vicente Girones died; who the fuck is that? Why do I even care? It’s all this meaningless minutia of names and places, that fall completely flat and hardly engage me as a reader. (hide spoiler)] I could learn a lot from Hemingway about how to properly write brutal violence or any scene where men face tough adversity. Heck, even the fishing trip is one of the more exciting parts of this book. Hemingway’s strengths are on beautiful display in For Whom the Bell Tolls. This is because the book is set during the Spanish Civil War. I even enjoyed the imitation Castilian Spanish, and needlessly translated dialogue; I felt that Hemingway had achieved a tone that befit the old-time feel of its characters and story, but without much of anything happening in The Sun Also Rises, I can’t say that this would be worth your time.

One last thing, to tie in the review’s title. I couldn’t stand the main female character. Like not even for a few pages. I started to loath her so much, that I started to wonder is this the point?. Now, enough ink has been spilled over Papa Hemingway’s possible sexist leanings, but this is one despicable cock-tease of a female protagonist. Whoever inspired him to feature such a lady to be the only female character in the entire book must have given Hemingway’s heart quite the roller coaster ride. That being said, this book was written in the 20’s. And I have to maintain my rule of thumb that anything written before 1975 containing flagrant sexism or racism must be given a cultural pass. It’s messed up, I know. But I must take the fact that there is a racial slur on every other page of this book with a grain of salt.

As I read this review over, it really seems like I hated this book. Well I did. But there were parts that were great.

So here’s the thing.

I will admit that I’m not one who takes to plot very often. I tend to err on the side of beautiful writing, even if it’s for the sake of beautiful writing. I am willing to admit, at any time, that Hemingway is just not for me. But I’m struggling to understand how Hemingway could be for anyone.

I am always open to having my mind changed. That is what I love about this site. So please, make your case for the Papa! I want to hear why I’m wrong. Bring it on!

Because I want to love Hemingway. I really do.

p.s. ŷ������ wouldn't let me post my real recommendation.
It should say "I would recommend to: Men who enjoy their women like their bull-fights, wild, violent and leaving a gaping hole where your heart used to be"