OK - I have no business writing reviews or longish reviews about novels - I don't read criticism and know nothing anyway… -- but WTF… of all the books I've re-read from my youth of late -- this one… not only held up best, but I realize I had no frikkin' clue whatsoever what this book was about when I was 16 or 17 and when I read it with my buddy X., the most tragic kid I ever knew… along with a lot of other Hemingway books and all the Scott Fitzgerald we could find -- even the The Crack-Up at 17… with Mr. McCaffrey, who was all of 22 and straight out of Harvard and very cool and whose father had been one of the editors on the publisher's side of The Moveable Feast, we were told…, and X., who at the age of 6, looked (and still looked a decade later) EXACTLY like Opie Taylor (Ron Howard), and who had had to watch his father shoot his mother dead in the kitchen, slipping on the blood holding his teddy bear…, and then watch him (the father) shoot the older brother who survived and is now a well known or well enough known writer…. and who looked like Opie but with an awesome intensity… and this, of course… all in New York… during the days of the Revolution… at the very prep school where J.D. Salinger got kicked out of… but anyways…, I digress.



So Jake Barnes… Jake's had an accident. But apart from a somewhat ironic look in the mirror and a few crappy days and some tears on the top of his bed thinking of Brett…, seems basically OK, no…? in fact, the picture of health…, the very PICTURE of it… walking and drinking and staying up all night and hopping up and down from the tops of buses and up mountains and fishing and stripping down and bathing and floating and diving and soaking in the sun and the sand and taking off his suit and bathing and drying down and drinking and looking and being basically happy -- showing no ill effects, really -- certainly no obvious PHYSICAL wounds of any mutilation -- and even… psychologically… is more happy and clear and sober than anything else, having "paid" he says for everything and for more good than bad…



And so it appears, frankly, that the "accident" is more metaphor than bruise. And that what Jake lost in the war… were simply his illusions. And that the source and goad of those illusions… is love. Which Brett is in the grip of…. Brett, who can only love the man she can't have… but that Jake, at least… is basically free of -- free enough, at least… to allow him to see and note and breath the air….



Obviously fame and alcohol and depression and electric shocks and god-knows-what-else fucked up Papa Hemingway eventually -- but oh… what a book he wrote at the tender age of 26….!



The end.

I am firmly in the belief that I don't have the proper literary capacity or knowledge to properly enjoy nor analyze this novel. Hemingway is considered one of the best authors in the recent past and one of the revolutionary ones in American literature. So my mediocre opinion of the novel should not be taken at face value only. It is like a pin in a haystack, easy to forget too. I am sorry to say that none of the characters struck a chord with me. Jake, our narrator himself fell flat for me and Brett annoyed me immensely. It got me thinking, is this how women were always written by male authors back then? Maybe I have not read enough of novel by male authors. But one thing I truly appreciated in the novel (and what aactually compelled to buy this book itself) was the vivid descriptions of Spain and the fiesta. It was the one thing I love about the book. I re-read the parts that involved the bull fighting over and over again. Personally I belong to the generation that thoroughly dislike things such as bullfighting and look down upon it but still I cannot hide the fact that I was highly facinated in the 1920s Spain and the culture of bullfighting.

I do not want to dwell too much in the novel as (I mentioned before too) I did not have a positive experience with it. At least I can say now that I've read Hemingway. I am sure this novel would be phenomenal for those who have more literary knowledge than me but as for me..... I shall just leave it at this point before I incur the wrath of Hemingway fans

n  "'The Sun Also Rises' is about bullfighting, bullslinging and bullshit."n
Zelda Fitzgerald

[[3.4 stars]]

2d from left is British socialite Duff Twysden (on whom "Lady Brett Ashley" was based), and next to her is Hadley Richardson, Hemingway's 1st wife

On my mission over the past 8 years to read all "classics," this one strikes me the least.

The novel is apparently held in high esteem now for Hemingway's style than for the story's substance, which is a bit dated by its reliance on the people, places and things of the mid-1920s. As to the style, it's his short sentences with little punctuation that create a collage of visuals, and his mastery in the quasi-cinematic techniques of cutting quickly from one scene to the next in a seamless blend. The story is known for drawing the most vivid picture of American and British expatriates living in Paris during the 20s, and played a huge part in Americans' romanticization of the place and era. As a side note, its portrayal of Lady Brett Ashley (a twice-divorced, liberated lady) created a fad for short hairdos for 1920s American females. And, Hemingway was applauded for creating such a feminist leading lady.



The novel, a roman à clef based on the lives of Hemingway and a few of his friends, follows protagonist Jake, a vet rendered impotent by a war injury, and his writer/artiste/riche set of pals, one of whom is female, Lady Brett Ashley. They hang out in open Parisian nightclubs, Jake and a buddy go fishing, and then all head to Pamplona, attend the bullfights, drink and generally make merry. Jake is in love with Brett Ashley; yet, he cannot fulfill her needs due to his impotence. Robert Cohn, a former boxer turned writer, is also in love with Lady Brett, yet all in their group detest Cohn, who is Jewish (the novel could be considered anti-Semitic).* Lady Brett (a new feminist of the 1920s) is attracted to and seduces the young stud bullfighter, who is half her age.



I was unaffected by this novel, except to feel empathy for Jake for his impotence and inability to consummate his love and a bit of anger for the general mistreatment of Cohn.


Streets of Pamplona prior to Annual Running of the Bulls

Hemingway, a real man's man, expressed angst about writing Jake's character as "less than a man," that is, because of his impotence he was unable to have consummate his love for Lady Brett. Some have speculated that one reason Hemingway killed himself was because he was severely depressed due to his age-related impotence. Obviously, this speculation discounts any other sources, such as alcohol, of Hemingway's depression which he had apparently suffered for years.



I like Hemingway's clear, concise writing style. Twenty years ago, I would have argued with you that Hemingway was the best writer of all time. That was the me who romanticized the life of a writer living in Paris, covering the Spanish Civil War, going to Africa and settling in his later years in Key West, the writer who wrote so the common man could understand what he was saying without constantly stopping to go to the dictionary (compare, e.g., Wm. Faulkner and Absalom, Absalom!; Cormac McCarthy and Suttree). This, the revered writer who, in response to Faulkner's criticism that he's "never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary," cooly declared:

Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words? He thinks I don't know the ten-dollar words. I know them all right. But there are older and simpler and better words, and those are the ones I use.

*Hemingway was criticized as anti-Semitic for portraying the only Jewish character in such a negative light.

Like one of those disappointing stories a friend tells and then ends with a shrug and a "I guess you had to be there."

3 stars. Sure, it's a significant milestone in American fiction. But I fear I came upon it too late in my reading career to be fully impressed by its accomplishments, having seen what's since been borne along in its wake. For all its strengths, I don't much enjoy the lackadaisical plot (non-plot) of ambling around town from cafe to cafe and having chats over drinks. Impressive style, interesting counterpoint to the literature that came before, but still in my opinion pretty dull.

Much Ado about Nothing.

‘The Sun Also Rises’ by Ernest Hemingway is a novel that looks to capture the disillusionment and aimlessness of the ‘Lost Generation’ in the aftermath of World War I. It is about a group of American and British expatriates travelling from Paris to Spain during the 1920s. The protagonist, journalist Jake Barnes was left impotent by the war, but is in love with Lady Brett Ashley, a beautiful but emotionally troubled woman who cannot be with him because of his injury. This is typical Hemingway writing, focusing around drinking, fishing and bull fighting. The characters end up sitting around in an unfulfilling life, as Hemingway paints a picture of a world where love is painful, masculinity is fragile, and meaning is elusive. The novel climaxes at a bull run where the strain and complexities of their relationships come to a head.

Hemingway’s writing style is his greatest strength, he is famous for his minimalism and this is on full display, making the prose feel raw and immediate. His ability to convey deep emotions through understatement is masterful, and the dialogue is sharp, realistic, and often laced with unspoken tension. His influence on other writers such as Charles Bukowski is clear. The novel also excels in its vivid descriptions of both Paris and Spain, particularly Pamplona during the running of the bulls. The bullfighting sequences, while controversial, are some of the most striking passages in the book.

However, the book is not without its flaws. The characters, particularly Lady Brett Ashley and Robert Cohn, can be frustrating, for example Brett’s destructive relationships and Cohn’s insecurity often make them difficult to sympathise with, but is this on purpose? The novel is also slow at times, with long stretches of drinking and aimless conversation that, while thematically fitting, may test the patience of some readers. I did loose the sense of where the novel was going at times with this. Additionally, its portrayal of Jewish characters, especially Cohn, reflects the prejudices of its time, which can be jarring to modern audiences.

Overall, ‘The Sun Also Rises’ is a beautifully written and deeply evocative novel that captures the emptiness of a post-war generation. While its characters may not be likable, they feel painfully real, and Hemingway’s prose ensures that their struggles linger long after the final page. It’s not a book for everyone, but for those who appreciate subtlety, atmosphere, and a meditation on lost love and lost purpose, it’s a rewarding read. I have read a few Hemingway novels now and this is typical of what to expect from his work. I’m not sure if you would ‘love or hate’ Hemingway, but you know what you are getting yourself into.

Meh. I think I would have liked this book a lot more if something had actually happened. The plot doesn't really flow; it's just a bunch of events strung together that go like this: work a bit at a newspaper agency, waffle around Paris for ages, travel around France, argue, pine for some woman who I thought was a man for several pages because her name is "Brett", go to Spain, go trout fishing, take a nap, go to some bullfights, pine and complain some more, go back to Paris.
In between every single one of those actions, add "go to a cafe and get drunk" and then you have the entire plot of The Sun Also Rises. I'm not even exaggerating.
Don't get me wrong, I like Ernest Hemingway (see The Old Man and the Sea and A Moveable Feast), but he's definitely an acquired taste, and I can only read his books once in a while. Otherwise his style really starts to bug me. He writes very, very simply. Not a single word gets wasted, but this also means that his books have a pace that can best be described as "plodding."
For example: "In the morning it was bright, and they were sprinkling the streets of the town, and we all had breakfast in a cafe. Bayonne is a nice town. It is like a very clean Spanish town and it is on a big river. Already, so early in the morning, it was very hot on the bridge across the river. We walked out on the bridge and then took a walk through the town."
Show this excerpt to an unsuspecting reader, and they would probably think it was the opening of one of those What I Did On My Summer Vacation essays written by a third grader. The fact that it was not is probably what makes Hemingway a great writer, but come on. Would it kill the man to be a little more descriptive every now and then?

This is essentially a 200+ page drinking game which features a group of people who don't need to work for a living getting tipsy and talkative. It's not awful, but compared to the other two Hemingway novels I've listened to - (The Old Man and the Sea, and A Farewell to Arms) - this one seems rather dull and pointless.

Indeed, the only real pleasure I got out of this audio version was the fact that it was read by William Hurt. He does a fantastic drunken Irishman, PLUS, it was a joy picturing him as Jake Barnes.

To put it bluntly, The Sun Also Rises (aka Fiesta) is probably the most overrated little novel in the history of 20th-century American literature. It reads like an alcoholic’s travelogue set in France and Spain, jazzed up with some shallow ménage à trois plotline. But — it is not as bad as it sounds. Let me explain.

About the first half of the book is set in mid-1920s Paris. Jake Barnes, the narrator, goes from one bar to the next restaurant to the next café, eats and drinks heavily with a group of Anglo-American bohemians, provides all sorts of insignificant details about what they’ve gulped down and how much was on the bill, and then catches yet another taxi and goes on boozing away into the night. All the while doing some silly Parisian place-name dropping, to the extent that it sometimes feels as though you are reading a Paris tour pamphlet. And you could almost — as I’m sure some readers have — trace back all the places Jake & Co have been to in this book.

The second half of the novel, thankfully, goes somewhat uphill. The merry bunch of drunkards travel south to the Basque region, first to a short fishing trip in the Pyrenees — it all ends up with a few bottles of wine and a nap on the turf... and, later, at the Fiesta de San Fermín in Pamplona. Just as he does for Paris, Hemingway describes the places and local habits in the manner of a tour guide. I suspect he significantly contributed to the international renown of the Pamplona festival too. To this day, people from all over the world come running (literally) to feel the adrenaline burst, when some half-a-ton black bull charges down a narrow street into the hysterical crowd.

The high point of the novel is, doubtless, the description of the bullfight toward the end. Of course, it is not very different from what a sports commentator would do regarding a football match. But in this occasion, Hemingway’s terse, crisp, lean, hard-boiled, journalistic style does wonders to convey the atmosphere on the plaza de toros, the brutality and sometimes the beauty of the matador’s performance. So much so that, when he describes Pedro Romero’s movements when fighting the bull, it is as though Hemingways is talking about an art form — perhaps implicitly, his own craft as a writer: “Romero’s bullfighting gave real emotion, because he kept the absolute purity of line in his movements and always quietly and calmly let the horns pass him close each time.” In this case, I have to take my hat off and declare that both J.K. Rowling and David Foster Wallace can eat their heart out with their games of Quidditch and Eschaton!

The little plot regarding the group of men orbiting one beautiful woman (Brett Ashley), who ultimately is eager to sleep with all of them, is possibly autobiographical, but quite frankly vapid — Fitzgerald does a much better job at describing similar interactions. The only aspect that is quite remarkable is that these characters are all WWI veterans and, in a way, still suffer from the wounds and traumas of war. Hence, we suppose, their decadent, numbing and self-destructive behaviour with booze, sex, fistfighting and intoxicating forms of entertainment. In a way, underneath all their tough machismo, Hemingway’s characters are quite vulnerable, wretched, and even a bit pathetic.

Since Hemingway’s time, the afición for Spanish traditions and bullfighting in particular — which he shared with Bizet, Ravel, Picasso, Eisenstein, John Huston and many others — has dwindled considerably. To the point where most people now take a dim view of the corridas de toros, and on the whole, have turned to football or other sports instead. Still, the influence of Hemingway’s style has become so prevalent in our time that it has become something of a cliché. For instance, in the SF genre alone, the laddish attitude in Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land; the detailed and stripped-down descriptions in Cormac McCarthy’s The Road; the constant wine drinking in G.R.R. Martin’s A Game of Thrones... all these are tropes stolen from Hemingway.

There I was, thinking Twain and Steinbeck were my least favorite American authors, little knowing Hemingway was just waiting in the wings to rush forward and tower mountains about the rest - Mt. Everest style mountains.

I hated this book. Everything about it was trash. I realize this is an unpopular opinion when it comes to the massively venerated Hemingway, but there it is. My favorite part in the book was a fishing trip. A. Fishing. Trip. That's the material I'm working with.

I read a LOT of articles about this book and Hemingway as I was listening to this novel, positive and negative, and I get what they're saying about why this book is famous (or infamous), I just don't care. I thought it was a terrible story that was horribly written.

It's said that this book is one of the greatest representations of "the lost generation." So, you're telling me that after World War One, the majority of serviceman boozed around Paris and pined after women they couldn't have? Because in my mind, the majority of servicemen were like my great-grandparents. They came home and worked their butts off to provide for their families. In my case, on a farm. They raised the generation that would survive through the Great Depression and serve in World War Two. They worked hard their entire lives and saw the world blasted to smithereens twice. They were heroes.

I didn't get any of that from this book. I got spoiled people that feel sorry for themselves. Sorry your life is so hard, too bad most of us don't have the money to drink our way through Europe. (Not that I would want to.) From what I've read of Hemingway, even in the positive articles, he thought very highly of himself. That definitely came through in the book.

I think of this book in three sections.

1. Boozing around Paris and saying "tight."
2. A fishing trip.
3. Boozing around Spain and bull fights.

I thought it was easier to listen to after they left Paris. I had an easier time keeping the people straight. In the beginning it felt like the MC was just jumping from one drunk person to the next and I couldn't keep any of them straight.

I kept listening because it was so short and I figured I might as well just finish it out. I knew I'd never want to return to it. This wasn't my first Hemingway, I actually read For Whom the Bell Tolls in high school. I don't remember any strong feelings about that one, if anything I remembered it more positively. This book may have turned me off completely from Hemingway, though. It was pretty painful for me to get through.

I'm happy that other people find lots of deep, personal meaning in this novel. I am not one of them.

I was sitting on the patio of a bar in Key West Florida. It was August, it was hot. The bar was on the beach where there was lots of sand and water. In the water I saw dolphins and waves. The dolphins jumped and the waves waved.

My glass was empty. The waiter walked up to my table. “More absinthe miss?” He asked. “No, I better not. *burp*” I put my hand over my glass “I read somewhere that it can cause hallucinations and nightmares. Just some ice water please.” I said. He put an empty glass in front of me, tipped his picture of water over my glass until it was full, at that time he stopped pouring.

A man I did not know walked up to my table and said to the waiter “No one in Key West is to stop drinking alcohol while they are conscious, you know the rules Manuel! Don’t make me repeat myself; did you hear me? Don’t make me repeat myself, it’s annoying.” Manuel rolled his eyes.

“I’ll drink to that.” I said and held up my glass of ice water to the stranger, then put it to my lips and drank. It was cold. I set it back down on the table. “I just finished a book where everyone repeated themselves……drove me to drink!”

“Sorry Mr. Hemingway” said Manuel “she said she wanted ice water, so that’s what I gave her”. A cat ran by, it was fast. “Meow” it said. It was orange. “But you know the rules Manuel, you know the rules.” Repeated Mr. Hemingway “I know the rules Mr. Hemingway, how could I not? You tend to repeat yourself constantly, it must be all the absinthe…..” muttered Manuel.

“What did you say Manuel?” Asked Mr. Hemingway “Nothing” said Manuel. “Bring the lady some Champagne right away!” said Mr. Hemingway. Manuel walked away towards the kitchen.

“Who are you?” I asked the man I did not know. “Hemingway, you wouldn't happen to be related to the writer would you? His book The Sun Also Rises was the book I was just referring to; I don’t remember ever being quite so bored. On the bright side, I think it did wonders for my blood pressure.” I said.

Dressed in worn khaki shorts and a Hawaiian shirt with one too many colors, he stood there at my table and squinted at me, sweat rolling down the sides of his red face and into his gray beard. It was hot. He set his drink down on the table, hard, and pulled out a chair and sat down. “May I sit?” he asked as he put his dirty bare feet up on the table and tipped the chair back. “Sure, you’re already in the chair. Besides I don’t think it will be long before you fall on your ass.” I said, I drank some water, it was cold. “Language! I’m Ernest Hemingway the guy who wrote that boring book” he put his feet on the ground and the chair dropped down with a bang. He put his right hand out to shake mine. I stared at it for a while then took it.

“Stephanie. Hey, I don’t want to come across as insensitive but aren't you dead?” I asked “Really? I don’t feel dead….at least I don’t think I am.” Said the not dead Ernest “Damn! Absinthe lives up to it's reputation." I said and smacked the left side of my head with my left hand. My head was hard.

“Manuel!! Where’s that champagne?" I shouted in a panic. “So” Ernest picked up his drink and drank the whole thing in one gulp. “I am one of the greatest American writers, if not the greatest, everybody says so. And you…..” he paused and pointed his finger at me using the same hand that still held the glass, the melting ice clinked “you didn't like the Sun Also Rises?” he asked and set his glass down.

“I know, I heard the same thing, that you were one of the greatest American writers, so imagine my surprise when I didn't love it like the rest of the human race. In fact, I really didn't like it AT ALL! Please don’t hurt me.”

Manuel walked back to the table caring the bottle of Champagne and two glasses. He sat the glasses in front of us and went about the task of opening the bottle. “Thank god your back Manuel, I think I’m hallucinating. I hope champagne helps things normalize.” I said, the bottle said “pop.” “It won’t help because you are not hallucinating.” He said and poured the Champagne, he turned and walked off. I picked up the glass and drank. It was bubbly and cold.

“What else didn't you like about my book?” Asked Ernest “I’m really not comfortable telling you to your face, but, alright” I said “I found all the characters to be aimless, unlikable, drunkards that didn't have any idea what to with their lives but travel about the world constantly drunk….which doesn't sound all that bad on the surface, but it was not interesting.” I said “They were excruciatingly boring that I couldn't care enough about them to remember who was who.” I said “It felt like it would never end, but when it did end the only thing that I liked about it was the fact that it was finally over. No big payoff to make the boring book worth my time.” I sighed and finished off my Champagne, I poured myself and Ernest another glass.

“Wow. Sorry you hated it. I suppose you can’t please everyone.” He said. “I’ll buy you dinner to repay you for putting you through that.”

“That’s not necessary, but I could eat. I must bathe first.” I said. “Well sure, it is hot after all.” He said “Yes, I must bathe you understand? One cannot dine without bathing first, as you know, so you will have to wait until I bathe.”

“I must bathe. I must bathe. I. must. Bathe.” I said.

“Now you’re just making fun of me.” he said.

“Yup……I will make you suffer the way you made me suffer.” I smiled.

“Great. I’m looking forward to it.” Said not dead Ernest. We swayed to our feet, Ernest took my arm, we steadied ourselves and stumbled off into the sunset.

Also reviewed on shelfinflicted

Oceniam z wielkim bólem w sercu

"One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth for ever. The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to his place where he arose."
- Ecclesiastes

Based on real people and real events in Hemingway's life in Paris and his travel to Spain for the Pamplona festival, The Sun Also Rises is a study of concepts such as love, longing, lust and dissipation; of nature, strength and perseverance.

It's a lot of fun to be in love.

The story which is about a group of American and British expatriates in the post World War I Paris smells of a sense of wistfulness and nostalgia; things that might have been.

I can't stand it to think my life is going so fast and i'm not really living it.

Can this 'Lost Generation', these disoriented, adrift rudderless individuals find a safe harbor or are they destined to remain unanchored for eternity?

You can't get away from yourself by moving from one place to another.

This book is another example of Hemingway's simple and concise prose style which makes his characters real and natural.

Some people have God...quite a lot.