"I unpacked my bags and stacked my books on the table beside the head of the bed,put out my shaving things,hung up some clothes in the big armoire,and made up a bundle for the laundry."

The above is just one example of the type of prose which fills this book.Nothing much happens.My eyes kept sliding from the top of the pages to the bottom,but I couldn't find much to interest me.

Where is the story ? A bunch of Americans are in Paris,they drink a good deal and they have a lot of inconsequential conversations.Supposedly,they represent the "lost generation."

Then,they go to Spain and watch the bull run and bull fights.Maybe that idea had novelty,when the book was published.But even the descriptions of bull-fights in the book aren't all that exciting.

First I watched the movie.I literally fell asleep while watching it.I don't blame the movie makers,not much could be done with this story.
They did a pretty good job with the bull run and bull-fights scenes,however.

I never was a Hemingway fan,I never will be,particularly after reading this book.Bored the daylights out of me.

1.5 stars,rounded down

It’s odd how my memory works, or rather, doesn't work. I first read this novel in about 1976. The only thing I remember about that first reading was that I didn’t like the book very much. I assumed that a rereading, albeit many years later, would trigger some memory of what I’d read before. But no, that file had been completely deleted from my memory bank.

A second reading was prompted by my fascination with the life and times of the Lost Generation. This, Hemingway’s first novel, is iconic of that period, focusing on the lives of American expatriates in Europe in the aftermath of World War I. The work prompted Lost Generation tourism, as young Americans flocked to the bars and restaurants in Paris frequented by Hemingway, his friends and the characters in his novel. The novel also romanticised the Running of the Bulls festival in Pamplona and Spanish bullfighting generally.

The Sun also Rises is in part a roman à clef, with the characters based on real people and the events in the novel based on what happened during a trip to Pamplona in 1925. In the central character, Jake Barnes, Hemingway portrayed himself, albeit with a quite different war injury. Robert Cohn is the fictional equivalent of writer Harold Loeb, whose affair with Lady Duff Twysden – the novel’s Lady Brett Ashley - enraged Hemingway, who fancied her himself. Hemingway set out to humiliate Loeb when the group was in Pamplona. In the manner in which Hemingway portrayed Robert Cohn in the novel, he humiliated Loeb all over again. According to Hemingway’s biographer Kenneth S Lynn, this affected Loeb for the rest of his life.



Ernest Hemingway (left), with Harold Loeb, Lady Duff Twysden (in hat), Hadley Hemingway, Donald Ogden Stewart (obscured), and Pat Guthrie (far right - Lady Duff Twysden's lover, who is Mike Campbell in the novel) at a café in Pamplona in July 1925.

I find the autobiographical aspects of the novel particularly interesting, although they don’t show Hemingway the man in a good light. Hemingway the writer is much more impressive. I love the fragmented Cubist narrative style of the work. As with a Cubist painting, the novel’s themes and meaning emerge through the putting together of its individual pieces. Each of the characters is in effect dealing with the horrors of World War I, although this is not overtly what the novel is about. In describing the post-war generation, Hemingway explores issues of sexual identity, masculinity, communication and authenticity. The complex simplicity of the prose is also astounding: the short, simple sentences and the repeated words and phrases give it a musical, poetic quality. I also love the interlude in the mountains between the Paris and the Pamplona scenes. This part of the novel demonstrates Hemingway’s ability to describe landscape in a way which makes a reader feel and not just see the scenes he paints. And I love Hemingway’s ability to evoke the Paris I know and the Pamplona I don’t know with such precision and economy.

On a second reading there are still things I don’t like about the novel. A significant proportion of it consists of somewhat tedious action and conversations, both of which follow a particular pattern. The characters drink a lot, then they bicker, then they’re hung over. Afterwards they talk about how much they drank, what they bickered about and how bad their hangovers are. Repeat ad infinitum. The anti-Semitic comments about Robert Cohn and the anti-homosexual comments are annoying, although they reflect common attitudes in the 1920s. What I dislike most about the novel is the bull fighting. I know that Hemingway was passionate about bull fighting. I understand that in the novel bull fighting operates as a symbol of authenticity and nobility and reflects and anticipates some of the actions of the characters. However, I can’t get past the fact that bull fighting is about killing animals for entertainment. Maybe I would react differently if I were Spanish, but I’m not Spanish and Hemingway’s glorification of the activity repels me.

I listened to an audiobook edition of the novel narrated by William Hurt. In general terms I like Hurt as an actor. However, his performance narrating this novel is only good in parts. He is great with the male American characters, particularly Jake Barnes. In addition, Hurt clearly speaks good French and his pronunciation of French words and phrases is excellent. Otherwise, accents are not Hurt’s strong suit. His English accent for Brett Ashley is awful, his Scottish accent for Mike Campbell is all over the place and his Greek, German and Spanish accents all sound pretty much the same. Although I’m glad that I listened to an audiobook – listening rather than re-reading often helps me to like books I haven’t liked first time around – I can only recommend this particular audiobook to very tolerant listeners.

It’s hard for me to rate this novel. Hemingway’s prose and the innovative narrative style impress me and the autobiographical aspects of the novel interest me. Other aspects of the novel I find significantly less compelling. In addition, while I was intellectually engaged by Hemingway’s writing, I was not particularly moved by it. As important as the novel is as an example of modernist literature, I would’ve liked it better if I’d been able to respond to it on an emotional level. Consequently, the rating fits in at somewhere between 3 and 4 stars. My lovely friend Jemidar read this novel as I listened to it and I am, as always, glad to have shared the experience with her.

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.

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?

I read about 30 pages and then asked my wife "Why do so many people like this book?" ... I am not one of them, and I have put it aside.

نمیدونم مشکل ازمنه یا مترجم یا خود داستان
اما اصلا نتونستم بااین کتاب ارتباط برقرار کنم و شخصیت‌ها از نظرم خیلی ضعیفن

Hemingway has never been a close friend of mine. We've had some dalliances, to be sure, but he's never been the sort of author that I call long distance on a rainy night just to be reassured by the sound of their voice. It's not that we don't get along. It is just that our relationship has always been more like that of friends-of-a-friend. We just hadn't had the opportunity to get falling down drunk with one another and confess the trials and tribulations of life to each other. Fortunately The Sun Also Rises has more than enough libations to break down those interpersonal barriers and allow for some serious bonding.

Alternating between 1920s Paris and Pamplona, The Sun Also Rises strikes me as nothing so much as a novel suffering from extreme amounts of post-traumatic stress. For the world-weary 21st century reader, it may be difficult to wrap our minds around the sheer historic enormity of the so-called Great War that Europe was still recovering from in the 1920s. It's an understandable alienation. Since the Treaty of Versailles we have seen villainy and barbarism on a scale that would be unthinkable to the genteel soldiers of WWI: Auschwitz, Hiroshima, My Lai, the Contras, September 11, precision-guided missiles, Pearl Harbor. From WWII forward the world has been engulfed in a near-constant state of warfare, both hot and cold, beamed straight into our living rooms thanks to CNN. These are images that we are very familiar with.

To the writers of the Lost Generation, however, World War One came out of nowhere and completely altered the way in which the world could be viewed. The advances of industry had made it possible for humans to be exterminated on a scale that boggled the mind. Remember, this is only a few decades after Alfred Nobel claimed that his invention of dynamite would so shock soldiers and politicians that it would usher in an era of world peace. Oh to be so innocent! Instead we got a continent-wide conflict that threw away the gentlemanly rules of combat and revealed clearly the brute animal lurking beneath the veneer of civilization.

Is it any wonder, then, that bullfighting forms the centerpiece behind this fantastic novel of alienation? A custom steeped in tradition and history, where every movement is perfectly scripted and unalterable. A beautifully brutal balet between beast and men, violence as performance art. What could be further from the barbarity of the Great War? This conflict between codified behavior and brute force plays out very obviously in the bullfighting scenes, yet plays out a bit more subtlely in other sections of the book. Of particular interest to me were the conflicts over Lady Brett Ashley, the promiscuous paramour of nearly every male character in the short novel.

After having a brief affair with Robert Cohn, an American Jew with a crippling inferiority complex due to the rampant anti-semitism with which he is constantly confronted, Brett takes up with Pedro Romero, the young bullfighter who is the star of the fiesta. Cohn finds himself obsessed, however, unable to let go of Brett or see her with another man. His behavior becomes increasingly eratic and ends up with Cohn bursting into Romero's hotel room where he finds the object of his obsession entwined in the young matador's sheets.

The ensuing fight between Cohn and Romero very skillfully turns the bullfighting metaphor on its head as Cohn takes up the role of the matador, very capably fending off Romero's headstrong attacks and dancing around him with the same skill that the young Spaniard uses in the ring. Likewise, outside of the rules of the ring, Romero is revealed to be just as stubborn as the bulls he dispatches, taking punch after punch from Cohn yet refusing to even acknowledge his pain, let alone his defeat. I think it was in this scene where my nascent love for Hemingway was kindled.

Some readers may be thrown off by the scenes describing the bullfights (I find it strange that violence against animals often evokes more of an outcry than violence against humans (perhaps a product of an ingrained cultural misanthropy?) but that is a topic for a whole other argument) yet these are short and serve to better set the stage for the character drama that unfolds in the streets around Pamplona. Hemingway's distinctive austerity is on full display here, he never uses five words when four will do. Yet rather than distracting me, as it did in Garden of Eden, I found it compelling. Plain-speaking should never be confused with simplicity, as Hemingway very aptly demonstrates here. Now that I've finally had a chance to get to know Papa Hemingway, I can tell that we are going to get along quite well in subsequent literary adventures. Now the only question is which of his works to pick up next.

This was my first Hemingway (apart from his short story collection I read a couple of months ago) and overall, I haven't left entirely disappointed, but I can't say that I was thrilled with what I read, either. I've noticed that this book has mixed reviews, and I feel Hemingway could be compared to Marmite, you either love him, or you hate him. As for me, I'm in the middle, because even though I didn't love this book, it held my attention enough to hold out till the end, and if one knows me, they'll understand that that is a bonus.

I understand why people enjoy his writing style, because I did, but only to a point. His descriptive style of the atmosphere or places of interest were decidedly lacking, and they didn't intrigue me to actually want to know what might be on the other side of that door. I needed suspense and excitement, and this didn't hold much of it. I also noticed that he tends to abruptly cut off sentences where they don't need to be cut off, and I didn't find that welcoming.

This story revolves around alcohol and partying which was fine, but obviously I couldn't relate well to it, and possibly because this book is very much a 'Mans' book, (which is also fine) but I think that made it just a tad more difficult.

There was some interesting dialogue and conversations between the characters which I enjoyed, but I think I could have rated this more if my level of intrigue was higher. I will read more Hemingway in the future, but I'm not in any rush.

Audiobook read by one of my long time favorite actors, William Hurt.
7 hours and 45 minutes.

I thought I would never read Hemingway again— I was not a fan of “For Whom the Bell Tolls”…..
I thought he needed to take lessons on how to write love scenes by the woman who wrote those 50 Shades books….

But here I am years later trying another book by Hemingway. This time I chose the audiobook. William Hurt was perfect for me. I read so many one star ratings on his performance— saying he didn’t have the right accent— that he trashed Hemingway‘s magnificent masterpiece….
NOT for me —
I loved William
Hurt’s voice - his reading
… helped redeemed my faith in Ernest Hemingway.

This is another recently read book without much plot….(didn’t matter to me one iota).
but I adored the dialogue- those testosterone conversations, the art-of-drinking, (haha),
buddy-chatting, women-everything, watching bullfights, traveling, walking, the beaches…
and best of all,
Jake Barnes and Lady Brett Ashley had my heart….
and…
as for Hemingway’s delicious prose (in this book anyway)….
well, nobody is more surprised than me at how much I 5tenjoyed this deceased distinguished classic author.

Hallelujah! Loved it!!

I think there is something cheesey about reviewing an old book, but I felt I had to write something, as I constructed my senior thesis in college with this book as the cornerstone, I have read it at least six times, and I consider The Sun Also Rises to be the Great American Novel. Why?
1) Hemingway was, if nothing else, a great American. A renaissance man, a soldier, a fisherman, and a sportswriter, a romantic and an argumentatively direct chauvinist, a conflicted religious agnostic who never abandoned religion (and, it could be argued, never wrote about anything but his conflicts with religion), Hemingway was a stereotype red-blooded American like no other great writer. An argument could be made for Fitzgerald, but the crux of that argument lies in his relationship to Hemingway (and his psychotic wife. By the way, I love Fitzgerald. He is just a touch wordy).
2) The Sun Also Rises describes (among other things) disillusionment with the "American Way" and what that had come to mean (especially emphasized through the walking wounded, contrasted always with previous generations' "Dulce et decorum est pro patria more" mentality). Unlike other similarly-themed novels, however, the book does not take place in America. I postulate the Great American Novel must take place somewhere other than America, to reveal the way in which Americans can be defined as such anywhere, and to ephasize said disillusionment. I have other reasons to think thus, but suffice to say for the moment.
3) The Sun Also Rises does not end so drastically as other great works of Hemingway's, such as A Farewell to Arms (not afraid to say I shed tears at the end of that one) or For Whom the Bell Tolls. His best ending was in Old Man and the Sea, but that work (at the risk of sounding blasphemous here) was slightly too poppy to be his best.
4) The book does not begin with the narrator (the opening describing Robert Cohen). Americans exist in relationship to one another. The country has been built through a competitive spirit- fostered by democracy and that ideal we call "The American Dream". The backlash of all that is a natural inclination to "Keep up with the Jones'," as it were. Jake Barnes is an observer, separated from the Americans and from the Europeans yet constantly comparing himself, directly or by insinuation, to others.
In short, read the damn book. If you don't get it, read it again. It is arguable (perhaps, though I doubt it) that this book may not be the best ever written, but I do believe no greater has ever been penned.
You want a great trifecta? Read The Sun Also Rises, then The Great Gatsby, then Eliot's The Wasteland. Follow those up by reading Ecclesiastes 1 and the Revelations of John. Now go to a cocktail party and start a conversation. You're welcome.

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.

کتاب خورشید هم چنان می دمد با وجود شاد نوشی ها و مستی ها ی فراوان ، جشن ، کارناوال ، رقص ، شور ،عشق وخوشگذرانی پیامی متفاوت از خوشبختی ، لذت و شادی دارد ، همینگوی در این کتاب دستان پرقدرت گذشته ای را ترسیم کرده که هیچ گاه در بند زمان نمانده ، همواره در تمام دقایق حضور داشته و فراموش شدنی نیست ، همانند آثار دیگر همینگوی جنگ نقش مهمی دررمان داشته و حال و آینده افراد را تعیین می کند .
راوی داستان جیک بارنز خود حکایت عجیبی ایست ، زخمی که او در جنگ اول برداشته ( عقیم شدن و ناتوانی جنسی ) هم جسم او را رنجور ساخته و هم روحش را سخت مجروح کرده ، او خود را در کار زیاد ، خوردن و نوشیدن غرق کرده ، اما قلم جادویی همینگوی ظاهر بارنز را برای خواننده رو کرده ، به قول نویسنده روز آدم می تواند قیافه بگیرد ولی شب چیز دیگری ایست ، کار بارنز بیچاره شب ها گریه کردن است اما روزها بر خود مسلط شده و لذتی را که نمی تواند از کام زنان بگیرد با خوردن و آشامیدن تلاش در جبران آن دارد تا شاید رنج هستی را این گونه فراموش کند .
شرح زندگی بارنز در پاریس را شاید بتوان مانند مقدمه ای بر داستان و سفر نه چندان عرفانی شخصیتهای آن دانست ، اگرچه که به لطف قلم توانای همینگوی ، خواننده با جادو و جذابیت پاریس و زندگی پر هیجان شبانه آن آشنا می شود ، زندگی در پاریس با وجود آنکه شاد و پرزرق و برق به نظر می رسد اما از درون خالی ایست ، پاریس هم همانند مردان کتاب مصیبت دیده است و جنگ زده .
اساس داستان را باید در سفر به اسپانیا دانست ، هنگامی که اندک اندک جمع مستان رسیده و از پاریس مدرن رهسپار اسپانیا قدیمی و سنتی هستند ، اسپانیا که در جنگ شرکت نداشته ، شور و شوق و گرما در مردمان و طبیعت آن کاملا حس می شود . بدون شک همینگوی استاد توصیف است ، او چنان تصویر جادویی از طبیعت اسپانیا نشان داده که خواننده را هم همراه کاراکتر های همواره مست کتاب ، مست و مخمور اسپانیا می کند . اگر چه که اسپانیا زیباست و برت ، تنها زن همراه مردان هم دلربا ست و بساط عشق هم گسترده ، اما نه عشق واقعی شکل گرفته و نه شور و حالی پدید می آید
پامپلونا و فستیوال گاوبازی سن فرمین  جایی ایست که تمامی افراد داستان به پوچی خود ، تلخی زندگی و تلاش ناکام خود برای فراموش کردن گذشته پی می برند ، خماری مستی که زندگی واقعی را پوشانده بود اگر چه برای لحظه ای کوتاه پریده اما دوباره و این بار قویتر باز می گردد ، آنچه آنان در جنگ کشیده اند ، پوچی ، تنهایی ، گویا درمانی ندارد جزمستی .
خواندن کتاب خورشید همچنان می دمد دید و نگاه متفاوتی از جنگ و فروپاشی روحی پس از آن را نشان می دهد ، در این کتاب نویسنده کاری با شهرهای ویران ، مردان مجروح و معلول ندارد ، او روح متلاشی شده پس از جنگ را دیده و تجسم کرده است ، چه شهر و چه انسان ها در داستان همینگوی خالی ، پوشالی ، پوچ و تهی هستند ، زیبایی و حقیقت را می توان در اسپانیا محبوب همینگوی و البته گریختن به طبعیت بکر آن یافت ، اگر چه که در همین اسپانیا ست که افراد پی به پوچی خود می برند .
در پایان می توان گفت آنچه همینگوی در این کتاب نشان داده نمایش شور بختی انسان و تلاش برای رهایی از آن است ، تلاشی که نه تنها شکست خورده بلکه افراد داستان را هم بیشترخرد و ویران کرده و سرانجام در چاه شوربختی زندگی فرو برده است .