Un narator pesimist, distrus și copleșit de gânduri și regrete: ce nu a apucat să facă, ce a făcut greșit, ce mai poate îndrepta. O introspecție asupra unei vieți de artisit, de reporter de război, de iubit, de prieten și de om. Hemingway merită citit și descoperit, durerea și neliniștea sunt atât de bine transmise, încât par palpabile.

Book #5 of 2023 reading challenge

#reading prompt: an author you dislike

(I know I know Hemingway and an author I do not like, it was hard for me to admit but yes, I have read few books by Hemingway and I am most certainly not a fan of his and this short story was my attempt to read and like him more and it kind of made me admire his writing so yaaaaayy!!!)

The Snows of Kilimanjaro -- Editor's Note:

This short story -- written in 1938 -- reflects several of Hemingway's personal concerns during the 1930s regarding his existence as a writer and his life in general. Hemingway remarked in Green Hills that "politics, women, drink, money and ambition" damage American writers. His fear that his own acquaintances with rich people might harm his integrity as a writer becomes evident in this story. The text in italics also reveals Hemingway's fear of leaving his own work of life unfinished.

In broader terms, The Snows of Kilimanjaro should be viewed as an example of an author of the "Lost Generation", who experienced the world wars and the war in Spain, which led them to question moral and philosophy. Hemingway, in particular, found himself in a moral vacuum when he felt alienated from the church, which was closely affiliated with Franco in Spain, and which he felt obliged to distance himself from. As a result, he came up with his own code of human conduct: a mixture of hedonism and sentimental humanism.

While reading there were times when I had to go back and read again coz I had no clue what Hemingway wanted to convey to us readers.

Story is about a man Harry, a writer who is dying of an injury and it's about his thoughts sometimes random, alienated and sometimes related to his writing and the incidents that took place in his life. They felt musings of a man who is delirious and thinking about what his life meant as a whole.

A man on his deathbed mostly becomes humble and sad but Harry was another story. He was downright rude and unapologetic. Maybe he was angry as he wanted to survive but he knew he wouldn't. I hated Harry for sure. Overall this is a well written story with lots of layers to peel from. It sure is beautiful and thought provoking.

The story can be read here : http://xroads.virginia.edu/~DRBR/hemi...

داستان دلنشینی بود و با توجه به کوتاه بودنش مطمئنا به یک‌بار خواندن می‌ارزید.

The Snows of Kilimanjaro, is one of Hemingway’s most famous and no doubt garners such appeal because it deals with the essence of every man’s life...what he has accomplished before he dies. Some see it as a treatise on procrastination, but I do not. I believe it is every man’s lot to die with things undone, hopes unrealized, opportunities missed, and I think Hemingway is making that point as well. We are busy living our lives and these things slip by us, sometimes without a thought, but often with the idea that we will come back to them, do them later, and then life runs out, as life always does. We all die in the midst of living. A secondary, but important theme, would seem to me to be that of isolation. No matter who is there holding our hands, soothing our brows, we die alone. No one can take that journey with us, and those who will continue to live after we are gone do not truly understand our going as we understand it, as an end of second chances, a startling realization that whatever we might have done is lost to us now, forever.

با وجود اینکه می‌دونم و می‌فهمم که ارنست همینگوی نویسنده‌ی محشریه، اما کتاب‌هاش به دلم نمی‌شینه. نمی‌دونم چرا.

“Arusha’ya yöneleceklerine sola doğru döndüler. ‘Yakıtımız bitmedi herhalde’ diye düşündü Harry. Aşağı doğru baktı. Nereden geldiği belli olmayan, hem yerde hem havada hareket eden ve kar fırtınasından hemen önce düşen ilk kar tanelerini andıran pembe bir bulut gördü. Çekirge sürüleri güneyden gelirlerdi, onlarsa batıya yönelmiş gibiydiler. Yükselmeye başladılar. Sonra bir anda ortalık kararıverdi: Fırtınaya tutulmuşlardı, koca koca yağmur damlaları, sanki bir şelalenin içinde uçuyorlarmış hissi uyandırıyordu. Hemen sonra fırtına bulutlarının arasından sıyrıldılar, Compie, adama dönüp sırıttı ve dışarıyı işaret etti. Harry camdan dışarı baktığında Kilimanjaro dağının, güneşin altında bembeyaz parıldayan devasa büyüklükteki muhteşem zirvesini gördü. O anda, nereye gittiklerini anladı.”(s.42)

When I read Hemingway I try to focus on the writing and the story and forget that he was an a**. But that fact seeps into his writing, into his characters. His characters, at least for me, are not very likeable, and that's the case in this short story. Harry, in the wilds of Africa, is dying of gangrene from a leg injury, and he and his wife are waiting for a plane to arrive and get him to medical help. While he is laying, waiting, he muses about his life, mostly about his life's failings. It's easy to project Hemingway himself into his character Harry. I think that was his intention. It's hard to know what frame of mind he was in when he wrote this, but it's obvious his mortality was foremost in his mind.

The Snows of Kilimanjaro is my first short story read of Hemingway.

The story is about a writer who revisits his past on the verge of death. He dwells on the lost opportunities and failed relationships and vents out his frustration on his present wife/girlfriend. The story perhaps has a personal touch of the author's life.

The story, however is a little depressing; and my emotions kept on rolling between anger and pity to the main character, Harry - the writer. All in all he was not a likable character.

However, one cannot resist Hemingway's beautiful and intense writing even if you do not like the story. The beauty, intensity and simplicity of expression and deliverance, I believe, is the secret of his success as a writer.

'Why, I loved you. That's not fair. I love you now. I'll always love you Don't you love me?"
"No," said the man. "I don't think so. I never have."
"Harry, what are you saying? You're out of your head."
"No. I haven't any head to go out of."
"Don't drink that," she said. "Darling, please don't drink that. We have to do
everything we can."
"You do it," he said. "I'm tired."

WHAT A FUCKING ASSHOLE! This is one of those *i'm dying so i can be an ass, and people would just let me be, So i'm gonna shit on everything and everyone* kind of books. the writing was fine (to me at least) smooth really. But Goddamn. Harry's personality made me want to reach out, and strangle him to death. He was an arrogant, rude, obnoxious, prick. he did shut his wife down, When all she ever wanted to do is to help him and fix him. i hate when women gets mistreated, but she still is nice and warm and loving toward the person whom she should hate. *SIGH*

a sentence summary of this book: how an asshole behaves in the face of death.

İçindeki birkaç öyküyü dönüp dönüp tekrar okuyacağımdan eminim. Özellikle öykü severlerin ıskalamaması gereken bir kitap Kilimanjaro'nun Karları.

"Tanrı hiçliği yarattı ve hiçlik bize daha fazla hiçliği sağladı. Bizi hiçlikten alıp hiçliğe soktu."

"Artık, iyi yazabilmek için yeterli donanıma sahip oluncaya kadar beklettiği hiçbir şeyi yazamayacaktı. En azından, yazmaya çalışırken başarısızlığa düşmek zorunda değildi. Belki de asla yazmayı beceremeyeceği için vazgeçmiş, bir türlü başlayamamıştı. Yazsa nasıl olacağını hiçbir zaman bilemeyecekti artık."

"Eğer her şeyi gereğinden daha uzun süre yaparsan ve artık çok geçse, insanları bıraktığın yerde bulamazsın. Tüm insanlar gitmiş, parti bitmiştir ve sen ev sahibiyle tek başına kalmışsındır."


Tavsiye ederim.

It was never what he had done, but always what he could do. (6)

Air. Fresh air. Clarity for the mind. A pause. Another view. Many things. Many things can be found in a white landscape. The snow hides many secrets. The beginning and the end of everything, there, on the top of Kilimanjaro. Harry knows it now. A little too late.
Wait, it is never too late, you say? Nonsense. Sometimes it is
too
damn
late.

A couple, Harry and Helen. They are in Africa. He is dying of gangrene; she is by his side, taking care of him. This is my first Hemingway and I really enjoyed it. His writing—at least in this short story—has the ability of conveying the inner process of one conflicted soul. He described feelings and memories with such beauty and acuity that I felt completely captivated. I do not care so much about the plot if you let me see what is inside somebody's mind by following the inextricably fascinating rhythm of your prose. Hemingway wrote. I followed. I got hurt, then healed while staring at the ceiling with that dreadful book next to me.

I did not know what to expect, to be honest. I do not know if this was the best short story to start my journey with this writer (whose work has also been described as... “painful”; I am officially afraid of his novels now). But I saw it. I felt it. During the whole time I was reading this story, I felt the air getting heavier. It was filled with nostalgia and regret: powerful things that can choke you to death. Death. It does not sound so scary when you start thinking about regret. The story you could have written. The call you should have made. The kiss you should have given. The confession you could have shared. The vulnerability you should not have hidden. The words you could have said; the words you should have swallowed. The life you should have lived. To the fullest. Whatever that is.
Death cannot be avoided. But regret... that unbearable weight upon your chest. That stubborn attitude of waiting for tomorrow knowing there are limits. Unforgivable. I have no excuse to justify mine. No good excuse, at least.
“Never look back.” “I don't regret anything”. Is that possible? Is that even human? We are swinging between the avoidable and our humanity.
Some riddles cannot be answered.

You kept from thinking and it was all marvellous. You were equipped with good insides so that you did not go to pieces that way, the way most of them had, and you made an attitude that you cared nothing for the work you used to do, now that you could no longer do it. But, in yourself, you said that you would write about these people... But he would never do it, because each day of not writing, of comfort, of being that which he despised, dulled his ability and softened his will to work so that, finally, he did no work at all. (5)

You cannot stop death. He kindly stops for you, a poet once wrote. He awaits by your side, resting his head on the foot of your bed while contemplating the setting sun. A bicycle policeman. A bird. A hyena.
But regret chokes. Slowly. Inexorably. Taking away all trace of existence while you are still breathing. The hunger for living. The desire of doing. Stillness.
A bundle of miserable contradictions. There are few things so human as regret.


March 31, 15
* Also on my blog.

10 Kurzgeschichten von Ernest Hemingway.

Ich fand die Geschichten viel zugänglicher wie 'Der Alte Mann und das Meer'. Die Kurzgeschichten sind nicht miteinander verbunden, jedoch fand ich das die Qualität der Kurzgeschichten nach hinten raus abgenommen hat.

Trotzdem war es amüsant und die einfache, klare Sprache macht es leicht das Buch an einem Tag durchzulesen.