Fiesta: The Sun Also Rises could be read like it's some kind of evil social experiment. You take a room and you put in three elephants. (You may also choose to build the room around the elephants for practical reasons.) You give the elephants names, and paint these names on their flanks in letters big, bright and red. You call them Impotence, Jealousy and Loneliness. Then you have a group of people enter that same room, a couple of guys and a gorgeous girl. They can do anything they like, they get the freedom to do anything they want. The only rule: They are not allowed to address the elephants in the room. To make things more interesting there's an open bar and all the liquor in the world.

Sounds like a party alright. Except, it didn't read like a social experiment to me. It didn't on my first reading, and it didn't on my second. So yeah, time for some creative writing and dramatisation!

__________

First Reading - Vienna

The academy hallways were full of sound. The sun blasted through my window, the room was hot. I got off the bed, splashed some water on my face and headed out the door. The hallway was white and cool. Familiar faces were smiling at me and at each other. Bags and suitcases were strewn all over and I made my way to the big stairway. I hugged some people. Students were returning from the summer holiday, they were in good spirits. I had stayed over summer. An internship had kept me in Vienna and in the academy for the hot season full of tourists. I saw David. He was talking to some people and I headed over to his group. He had come from Canada and looked pretty tired. His checkered shirt was wet under his arms.
"Hey man! You had a good flight?"
"Yeah, pretty beat. Going for a quick nap."
"You're up for drinks later?"
"Sure."
He went up two flights of stairs. The other students had started up their own excited conversation about their summer holidays so I decided to head down, into the garden. It was surrounded by the white architecture of the academy. Some trees stood huddled up in one corner, a bench overlooking a green lawn sat in their shade. Lucian was reading a book.
"Hey."
"Hey, old sport. Had a good summer?"
"Yeah, Vienna is swell in summer. A lot happened."
"Nice. Weren't feeling too lonely then?"
"No, not too much. She's been really nice, you know."
"Who?"
"Are you up for drinks later?"
"Of course."
"You see Andrew yet?"
"No and I haven't heard him all summer."
"Me neither. Doesn't surprise me."
"Yeah."
"Will be good seeing him again."
"Yes."
He continued to read and I went back up my room. It started to cool off a bit outside so I opened my window to let in the fresh air. I tried to read a bit but my stomach hurt. I hadn't eaten well in the morning, just a biscuit and some yogurt. I lay face down on my pillow and sighed. The breeze coming from outside stroked the back of my neck and my hair. Voices and laughter came from outside. My stomach ached.

I woke up a couple of hours later. The Gymnasium next to the academy had blocked off the rays of the low-hanging sun from our garden. It was thrown in grey shades and a fresh silence. I took a sip of water and got changed. As I headed out I saw David on the stairs.
"Let's go?"
"Yes sir, I was just on my way."
"Not too tired?"
"A bit, I got me a bit of the old desynchronosis."
"I see you're still sleeping with your thesaurus."
"What? It's a normal word."
We went through the big wooden door of the academy, out in the street in the evening sun. We turned away from it walking eastward towards Karlsplatz. A small, white church lay at the end of the street. It was closed. It had been all summer, as far as I could tell. We passed by it, crossed a busy street with a tramcar and saw a red bus parked in the street ahead. The owner of the bar had bought a British double-decker. Signs were put on its windows advertising book readings for children. The "Lesebus", Johnny chose to call it. The pub's terrace sitting in the double-decker's shade was full of people. We went in and saw Lucian sitting at one of the tables. He was writing something down in a notebook before he looked up and saw us coming.
"Good evening, old chaps!"
"Good to see you again, Luke. What are you having?"
"Kilkenny."
My stomach ached.
"What about you, Matt?"
"Yeah, same thing."
David went to the bar to order. A line of people had formed, their places were being reserved outside on the terrace. Nobody seemed to anxious, it was still early. Most of the noise came from outside, some of it drowned out by the rock music coming from within.
"Did you see her yet?"
"Didn't see anyone I know since I got here, just Jake behind the bar. Asshole."
"Yeah, he's an asshole."
"So, how are you?"
"Alright, you know, a bit rusty on the drinking. I don't drink as well as you guys."
"You're a poor drinker."
"Give me tequila or vodka and I'll handle it. Did you see Andrew yet?"
"You're a poor drinker."
"I don't drink beer very well, that's all. Must be the fermentation stuff or whatever. Did you see Andrew around?"
"No. Probably didn't get back from England yet or he'd be here. Man loves a drink more than a momma loves her babies."
"What are you writing?"
"The usual. I've been reading a great book. Hemingway. Fiesta. You know it?"
"I can't say that I do. Just started reading you know. I'm now in the middle of "A Confederacy of Dunces"."
"Now there's a funny book. You should try Fiesta."
David came back with three glasses.
"Cheers, guys."
"Hey David, did you read Fiesta?"
"Hemingway? Sure! Great book."
"She's such a bitch, right?"
"Yeah."
"What a bitch."
"Yeah. And such poor sods too."
"Hey, don't spoil the book guys, I haven't read it yet."
"Don't worry, it's not a spoiler. It's pretty obvious from the get-go. She's a bitch."
"Yeah. Poor devils. I've never been to Spain. Maybe next summer."
"It's nice. I'm not too crazy about their bullfights, but their food is excellent. They got these big, dried hams everywhere."
"Bull ham?"
"Ham doesn't come from bovine creatures Matt."
"I know. I was in Barcelona a couple of times, good place. The sea, the city, it's got it all. Good place."
"We should go to Barcelona together, have a party. We'll have a blast."
"Isn't it pretty to think so?"
"Yeah. You guys want another beer?"
"You didn't finish yours yet."
"You know I can't keep up."
"Keep up."
"I can't."
"Keep up, you bastard."
"I'll finish it on the way."
I stood up, picked up my jug. Lucian gave me a dirty look. David rubbed his face and looked at the wall. I went to the bar and stood in line. People were pushing against me as I was finishing my beer. It was hot. Sweat was running from my forehead, irritating my eyes. Things were getting blurry.
"What will it be?"
"Hey Jake. Three Kilkenny please."
"Big ones?"
"Big ones."
He handed over the beers. I handed over the money and told him to keep the change. It was a big tip.
"Have you seen her?"
Jake didn't hear me. He was already looking over my head towards the next customer.
I returned to the table. David had pulled out a game of cards.
"Why aren't they here?"
"Who?"
"Andrew."
"I told you, he's probably still in England."
"Everyone returned today. I'm pretty sure he's in Vienna. Why isn't he here?"
"Maybe he's tired? I know I am. Wanna play?"
"And why isn't she here? She's normally always here on Tuesday nights."
"Wanna play?"
"No."
"Play."
"I don't feel like it."
"What's up, Matt? You can't handle beer, you don't want to play. Had a rough summer?"
"I had an excellent summer."
"Great to hear it! Cheers!"
"Cheers guys."
"Cheers!"
"Now let's fucking play."

She hadn't come. I had heard a noise from Andrew's room before going back to mine. I didn't turn on the lights but walked to my bed and fell face down on my pillow. I punched my mattress. My knuckles were burning. My stomach ached.
__________

Second Reading - Brussels

We're lying in bed. It's getting dark outside but the street is still alive with sounds of children playing. It's a hot summer night, holidays are almost over. She's playing with her phone. I'm reading the last pages of Fiesta.
"Isn't it pretty to think so?"
I close the book and put it on my night table. I turn off my lamp and get ready to sleep.
"Going to sleep already?"
"Yeah, pretty tired."
"Did you finish your book?"
"Yeah."
"Was it any good?"
"It was excellent."
"Nice. Good night, my love."
"I love you."
"Me too."
I closed my eyes. I felt myself slipping into a deep sleep. I felt strange dreams lying in wait for me behind a cold veil of darkness. She stirred, turned her back to me. I turned on my side and opened my eyes. She glanced sideways, looking up. I took her by the shoulder and gave her a kiss. I lay back down and drifted off.

It must be me. Ernest Hemingway is an esteemed author and The Sun Also Rises is one of his many books that gets very high ratings.

I decided to read this book because I will be hiking the 500 mile Camino de Santiago in Spain. Many pilgrims on the Camino refer to The Sun Also Rises in their memoirs due to the reference of the running of the bulls in Pamplona. I will be spending time in Pamplona and thought this book would give me insight into Spain and Pamplona.

The book seemed to meander and the use of the "n" word was jarring. It wasn't my cup of tea.

I encourage readers to read the many varied reviews about this book.

Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises: "Robert Cohn was once middleweight boxing champion of Princeton".

This phrase sums up the relationship between the narrator and his subject, Mr. Cohn quite perfectly. He shows the Robert's glory was pretty mediocre ("middleweight") and a long time ago ("once") and not actual. It also shows the pretentiousness of the character through the association with Princeton. It is almost the prototypical Hemmingway prose as well being dry and direct and to the point. The reference to boxing which is a violent, masculine sport, gives us an inkling of the bull fighting that will become the center of this early 20th century masterpiece.

The relationship between Jake and Brett is an old one of disappointment and resignation, Brett always doomed to make poor decisions and Jake always doomed to clean up the messes she leaves behind.

The great irony I find in Hemingway is that he uses a very direct language with a limited vocabulary and repetition, and yet there is an incredible subtlety here. Jake’s wartime injury castrated him, but we only learn this by inference: when Georgette tries to touch him there, he moves her hand away and says he’s sick, later with Brett their contact is limited to kisses and he cries when she leaves him, he observes himself naked in the mirror in his room and only then does he talk in roundabout terms about getting injured in the war and how the other officers made a joke about it. As a result of this castration, and his inbred anti-Semitism, he acts as a entremetteur in trying to tempt his erstwhile friend Robert Cohn into infidelity at the beginning of the book when he mentions the girl in Strasbourg in front of his wife, Frances. Tragically, this playing matchmaker later backfires on him when he learns that Brett has spent a weekend in Bayonne with Robert rather than coming to Spain with him.

It is admittedly upsetting to see Hemingway’s anti-Semitism in his description of how Robert had “ a hard, Jewish, stubborn streak.” (p. 10) There is also unveiled homophobia in Jake’s hostile reaction to the gay men with whom Brett shows up to the bal musette in the Latin quarter: “Somehow they always made me angry. I know they are supposed to be amusing, and you are should be tolerant, but I wanted to swing on one, any one, anything to shatter that superior, simpering composure.” (p. 20) Note the alliteration there, “ swing, shatter, superior, simpering”; that is one of the great markers of Hemingway’s writing that makes one want to forgive him for his many many faults. In that same section, the phrase “with them was Brett” is repeated twice reemphasizing how Jake’s sudden feeling of violence is tied up in his own impotence - they are gay and will not make love to her either, but this just reminds him of how much he would like to making him more angry. It is a lot to unpack, but the terse prose brings out all this nervousness in the words themselves.

I had forgotten that most of the novel takes place in Paris entre-guerres and recall that the first time I read this 3 decades ago or more, I had never seen much less dreamed of living in Paris. And so it goes.

Late in the book when Jake returns briefly to France before a final return to Spain, he makes a comment about French servers not having a “my friend” attitude and that you get what you pay for - I have found this to be the case and despite my past annoyance with arrogant French service, it is true that pedantic, over-friendly service elsewhere in desperate attempts to solicit a tip is even more annoying.

I love Papa’s writing: the spartan use of language, the evocation of things in such an abbreviated, staccato manner…and I had also forgotten how much drinking goes on in this book!

One day before I am too old, I truly want to see a bullfight in Pamplona. Some day….

Don't miss my review of the Meyer biography of Hemingway: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

fulfilling book riot's 2018 read harder challenge task #24: An assigned book you hated (or never finished)

the three-star rating is from my first go-round - from my memory of reading it in high school, and seems higher than the truth. let's see how karen enjoys this tale of a busted-peen, weary expatriates and bullfighting as an adult.

**********************************************

obviously this was going to be the read harder task i saved for last. i can hold a book-grudge as well as anyone, and i don’t need to be wasting any of my precious reading-time on a book that has already displeased me once. but i approached the task in good faith - of all the books i have ever been assigned in my life, there were only two i could remember disliking* - this (AP english junior year) and The Red Pony (honors english 8th grade). since i have loved every other steinbeck i have read but as far as hemingway goes, i've only read this (and maybe a short story here or there), it seemed more magnanimous to give papa a shot with an older, wiser karen.

older, wiser karen didn’t love it, either. older wiser karen has read The Alexandria Quartet and so has very little patience for any tale of the romantic or platonic entanglements of a buncha boozy and worldweary expats that is not as beautifully written as Justine.

however, you can play a fun drinking game with this one using the endless repetition of words like ‘swell’ and ‘chap’ and ‘tight’ or a game of millennial outrage bingo for all the occurrences of ‘nigger’ and ‘faggot’ and the baked-in misogyny and anti-semitic flavor. although it’s possible that it’s not anti-semitic so much as it is characters disliking one particular jewish character who, it must be said, is pretty irritating - smug, clingy, thirsty.

on that last point, everyone in this whole damn book is thirsty in the non-slang sense. there is some truly heroic drinking going on in this book - one imagines a row of rotting livers wincing at the excess…

“This is a good place," he said.
"There's a lot of liquor," I agreed.” 

why this was/is assigned at a high school level is bewildering (unless as a cautionary tale to teen drinking). assigning books like this is what makes teens think they hate reading. there’s nothing in this that speaks to a teen audience. sure, teens can read it, understand the words, identify the themes, but that’s the work part of it without the pleasure. there just isn’t anything here to relate to, for that age. kids full to the brim with sexual sap aren’t going to appreciate the incel woes of a man with a war-wounded peen resignedly drowning his feels for a vigorous lusty woman. obsessive love, yes, but the quiet sputtering disappointment of said obsessive love? bitch, please. you give those kids what they want - you feed their need for drama and trauma - you give them Wuthering Heights, you give them The Great Gatsby, you give them everybody’s dead and ruined and glamorously broken by the end, not just some dusty guy drifting from place to place watching a woman burn (figuratively).

this book is exhausting. it is about exhaustion - emotional, moral, physical, romantic, spiritual, intellectual exhaustion. the one thing i wasn’t when i was 16 was exhausted. and while i am exhausted now, as weary and brokendown as many of the grinning-through-it characters in this book, it didn’t leave any particular impression on me this time, either. is this a book report yet? probably not, but it’s what you’re getting.

three stars because why not?


*and also Moby-Dick or, The Whale, but i already gave that asshole his second chance.

come to my blog!

While I was reading this I thought time and again about a quote from another book.

This one: Mrs. Poe

“That’s it!” I dropped the magazine.
“What Mamma?” asked Vinnie
“This silly alliteration – it’s clinkering, clattering claptrap.”
Ellen’s face was as straight as a judge’s on court day. “You mean it’s terrible, trifling trash?”
I nodded. “Jumbling, jarring junk.”
Vinnie jumped up, trailing shawls like a mummy trails bandages. “No it’s piggly, wiggly poop!”
“Don’t be rude, Vinnie,” I said.
The girls glanced at each other.
I frowned. “It’s exasperating, excruciating excrement.”

As I am sure you’ve guessed they are not discussing Hemingway.

I had just come off reading The Paris Wife If ever there was a time for Hemingway to shine for me. this was it, the pump being well primed and all.

Still only two words come to mind, while I am thinking about this book, the first is vapid and the other, drivel.

I can say that there are some scenes, during the running and fighting of the bulls, where the bare bonesness of his words, paints a very clear picture.

But seriously, how does one write a review about nothing?

شخصیت محوری این داستان زن زیبایی به نام "برت" است که می‌شود گفت همه مردان اطرافش عاشقش هستند. راوی داستان "جیک بارنز" که به دلیل مصدومیت جنگی از برقراری رابطه جنسی ناتوان شده و به همین دلیل برت با تاجری به نام "مایکل کمبل" نامزد می‌کند. در این میان "رابرت کوهن" دوست صمیمی جیک که زمانی قهرمان بوکس بوده، پس از آشنایی با برت عاشقش می‌شود و به دنبال آن‌ها راهی اسپانیا می‌شود. اما در اسپانیا برت عاشق جوانی گاوباز می‌شود و ...
خوشحال شدم که در این داستان خبری از جنگ و مرگ نبود (مثل دو اثر قبلی که از همینگوی خوندم: وداع با اسلحه و زنگ‌ها برای که به صدا درمی‌آیند) اما چیزی که برام درک‌نشدنیه این سبعیت انسان‌ها نسبت به حیواناته. چطور به بازی گرفتن و تحریک کردن یک گاو وحشی و در نهایت کشتنش براشون لذت‌بخشه؟؟؟

The Sun Also Rises, Ernest Hemingway’s brilliant 1926 novel about the Lost Generation is a must read for Twentieth Century literature.

I was assigned this as a junior in college, our English professor told us to read it and to be prepared to talk next week. The next class was spent on students describing their thoughts about the novel and what we thought it meant. With a smug smile and somewhat of a condescending air, the instructor stepped form his podium and said something to the effect that readers had been missing the point for decades.

This was my first experience with an unreliable narrator. Literature would never be the same again.

Complex and told on many levels, this also contains some of the most archetypal characters in all of modern literature, highlighted by the inimitable Lady Brett. Dangerous and contrary to Hemingway’s ideals of masculine superiority, Lady Brett Ashley would be recreated somewhat in his later story “The Short Happy Life of Frances Macomber."

2023 reread -

Imagine being invited to a rich person’s home. The residence is immaculate, the serving staff are gracious and hospitable, the hosts are kind and formally accepting. Everyone is very nice and the setting is genteel and pleasant. And then you realize that there are no chairs, none at all; unless you choose to sit on the floor, there is no where to sit. There are also no refreshments. When asked, the host replies that unfortunately there are no public restrooms. Everyone is standing and you then realize everyone is waiting for you to leave. With smiles and courteous platitudes you are escorted out and you hear the lock click behind you as you depart.

Hemingway serves us up a subtle invitation to a fiesta, but it is for a club of which we do not belong. We are invited guests, but we are not truly welcome, and though our host is polite and observes all of the requisite etiquette, we never feel comfortable here and that is by design. Our guide describes for us a tension, an unsettling and inhospitable crisis between friends and lovers and we are voyeurs, being a spectator to a bloody bullfight that we are ill equipped to witness.

A masterpiece certainly, a book in the high atmosphere of literary greatness and yet one that can easily deceive the reader and leave its audience with an uncertainty, like receiving a firm handshake and a winning smile, only in passing realizing that the one smiling and warmly shaking your hand had been crying and was only just holding it all together.

This was my first experience with an unreliable narrator. In most books, the narrator is on our side, they are a guide for us to the action of the story. Frequently they are also the protagonist and the tale is of and / or about them. Hemingway was too good to leave it at that and our narrator mostly tells the truth, sometimes with fastidious accuracy. But an observant reader will see the signs and will question which statements are correct and which have been tainted with bias and jealousy. More than that, we are allowed to see not just the fine tapestries and expensive settings, but also a glimpse into the back rooms where hypocrisy, cruelty and inhumanity dwell and lurk.

This is filled with colorful, memorable characters. The most obvious standouts are Jake and Lady Brett, but Robert Cohn, Bill Gorton, Mike Campbell, Frances Clyne and Romero and Belmonte are also mesmerizing and from these oblique vantages we see Hemingway’s genius demonstrated.

First published in 1926, when Ernest was 27, this is the story of the Lost Generation and its convoluted presentation has been fascinating and confusing readers for almost a hundred years and will likely continue for time unknown ahead. This is a fairly timeless story about love and loss and war and heartbreak and class distinctions and being involved in something that you can nonetheless never truly be a part.

This is after all Hemingway and there are also excellent outdoor scenes and fine descriptions of fishing and bullfights. While this aspect of the book will likely get little attention, this demonstrates Hemingway’s unique ability to convey the spirit of action and here we see some of his best sports writing.

Sex. Hemingway describes Brett as a modern woman, unfettered by conventional moralities, but the author goes further and shows how sex, not just romantic love, can also be a cruelly divisive element in this society.

We can understand the human costs of this drama, but we will never be a part of this generation and so can never truly, fully understand. We are invited to see and experience but not to stay.

The Sun Also Rises is the story of a "lost generation", a group of British and American ex-pats who were ex-servicemen of World War I. Being himself belonging to this lost generation, Hemingway digs deep into their lives subtly exposing and bringing to light the true nature of that generation. He points out that despite the irretrievable physical and emotional damages they have faced, these men have braved their lives with sheer courage and have lived as normal a life as possible under the circumstances.

The story takes you through a colorful journey with the main protagonist Jake Barnes and his friends on Paris cafes, French food; on Bayonne and fishing; and finally, on Pamplona and bullfighting, all the time bringing out in slow measures the hidden characteristics of these characters.

The character of Lady Brett is the center of the story. She is Hemingway's easel in which he paints his story with such mastery. Through her, Hemingway exhibits two important points: One is the concept of the "modern woman", who no longer lives according to social norms defining her own rules based on freedom. Second is the sexual tension and sexual frustration of men when attraction and denial are played at close proximity. Through the characters of Jake Barnes and Robert Cohn, this point is subtly exposed.

There is also another interesting feature in the story; that is the nothingness these characters feel, living day to day, trying desperately to find a solid ground to anchor their wandering lives. This point is even true today. It is not only the "lost generation" but even the modern generation find them victims of this nothingness. And to that extent, the story is timeless.

Such a boring book. I get that Hemingway captures the decadence and dissolution of the Lost Generation. I get that his writing style brings to mind adjectives like "sparse" and "blunt" and "elegiac." But I do not get how to find enjoyment from such a repetitive book that glamorizes violence, excessive drinking, outdated forms of masculinity, homophobia, and antisemitism. One could argue that Hemingway reports these toxic ideas as ideals of the time, but even then, he does nothing special with his story to rise above the trials of the 1920s. I also cannot forgive his monotonous and mind-numbing prose. As I said in another review, if an author without Hemingway's name tried to get by with this style of writing, I doubt they would succeed.

This book should be called “The Impotence of Being Ernest.” Anyway...

Thank God for Hemmingway. His particular form of insanity is so sane. It’s an insanity that at least gets strait to the point.

It’s hard to know where to begin with a book like this. On its face, it is underwhelming, almost boring. A bunch of rich Americans waste their time and money while destroying their livers. And Hemmingway’s sparse prose doesn’t even give you a good visual.

But the key to this book is what Hemmingway chooses not to say. It’s incredible really. He manages to deal with complex themes by just hinting at them. He respects the reader’s intelligence by assuming that his audience can do the work and put it together. An added bonus to this approach is that is gives readers more leeway in what they take away. He doesn’t hit them over the head with a moral.

At a time when T.S. Eliot and James Joyce were composing works that required the Encyclopedia Britanica to understand, Hemmingway gave us this. We should be grateful.

I've read this book every year since 1991, and it is never the same book. Like so many things in this world, The Sun Also Rises improves with age and attention.

Some readings I find myself in love with Lady Brett Ashley. Then I am firmly in Jake Barnes' camp, feeling his pain and wondering how he stays sane with all that happens around him. Another time I can't help but feel that Robert Cohn is getting a shitty deal and find his behavior not only understandable but restrained. Or I am with Mike and Bill and Romero on the periphery where the hurricane made by Brett and Jake and Robert destroys spirits or fun or nothing (which is decidedly something).

And then I am against them all as though they were my sworn enemies or my family. No matter what I feel while reading The Sun Also Rises, it is Hemingway's richest novel for me.

I feel it was written for me. And sometimes feel it was written by me (I surely wish it was).

Hemingway's language, his characterizations, his love for all the people he writes about (no matter how unsavory they may be), his love of women and men, his empathy with the pain people feel in life and love, his touch with locale, his integration of sport as metaphor and setting, his getting everything just right with nothing out of place and nothing superfluous, all of this makes The Sun Also Rises his most important novel.

It is the Hemingway short story writ large. It is the book he should be remembered for but isn't. I often wonder why that is, and the conclusion I come to is this: The Sun Also Rises is too real, too true, too painful for the average reader to stomach. And many who can are predisposed to hate Hemingway.

A terrible shame that so many miss something so achingly beautiful.

THIS BOOK IS ABOUT A MAN IN SPAIN HE GETS FRIENDZONED.