This book is better in what it intends to do rather than what it achieves.
One should think that of all writers, Hemingway would be the ideal person to delve into the beauty and majesty of bull-fighting, and he certainly was knowledgible. The issue for me comes for several angles.

First, the book is in desperate need of structuring, and the aid of a skillful editor to help guide Hemingway. Also, there is a lot of critiquing of specific fighters that are repetative and mean nothing to those nowadays. In fact this is an issue for any contemporary reader: much of the book is designed as a travel guide for Americans or ex-patriots at the time of its publication. The book would have been better and have had longevity if it was instead a poetic and heroic study of those who fight (human and animal) and the themes of why these acts are important. There are brief moments of such discussion but they come across as broad statements that are not investigated. As detailed as he gets about the elements of the fights, what he somehow misses is the feeling of the movements and (this is a big one) what it is about the fights that are so entrancing. He writes from that point of view that you must agree with him and if you don't than you aren't worth his time. In fact, he should be able to convert those who wouldn't expect to like the subject. He very briefly touches on such connections as how bull-fighting is a metaphor for art and Spain itself, though I wish he worked this more thoroughly

In addition to all the above there is the big issue of the narrator's voice, i.e. Hemingway himself. His voice is pompous, holier than thou, and extremely sexist. There were many times while reading it I felt certain I was reading a parody of Hemingway rather than the true article.

All this being said, the book did make me interested in seeing a bull fight, which is much of the point of it. The problem was that this interest started early and unfortunately started to dwindle as the book went along.

Read in San Cristobal and Xela.
Really cool in depth guide to bullfighting by Ernest Hemmingway written in the early 30s. This was clearly my man's special interest, he knew everything about it. Really good read after going to a Bullfight in CDMX, puts alot of what I saw into context and makes way more sense.

این کتاب یه حالت گزارش مانند داره از مسابقات گاو بازی. در نظر اول شاید خیلی جذاب به نظر نیاد مثلا توی کتاب از جاهای خوب برای نشستن توی محل برگزاری مسابقه گفته میشه تا معروف ترین و بهترین ماتادور ها و همینطور بهترین ها در بد بودن حتی انگار موقع خوندن کتاب هم خیلی متن جذابی رو انگار شاهد نیستیم و میشه گفت تا حدود زیادی هم کتاب دردناکیه. من خودم هیچوقت نتونستم گاو بازی رو درک کنم و همیشه ازش متنفر بودم ولی چیزهایی که توی این کتاب خوندم یه ذره شاید دیدگاهمو عوض کرد. اساسا همینگوی میگه که گاو بازی یه مسابقه نیست و ماتادور اگه ماتادور خیلی خوبی باشه هنرمند به حساب میاد (که توی کتاب به شکل مفصل ماتادور خوب و بد رو تعریف می کنه). و گاوبازی در اصل تراژدی مرگ گاوه. چیزی که خودم میتونم تشبیه کنم این هست که بیشتر مثل دیدن یه تئاتر میمونه که اگه بازیگرای خوبی (گاو شجاع و ماتادور شجاع) داشته باشه فوق العاده است دیدنش چون محتوای به شدت جالبی (مرگ) داره. همینطور جالبه که بدونید گاو توی گاوبازی هیچوقت زنده نمیمونه و اگر تو زمین ماتادور نتونه اون رو بکشه بیرون از زمین قطعا کشته میشه چون هر گاو فقط یک بار باید توی این رویداد شرکت کنه چون گاو ها موجودات احمقی نیستن و کاملا از مسابقه ی که ازش زنده خارج بشن تجربه کسب می کنن. همینطور کشتن گاو با شمشیر حالت شرافتمندانه اش این هست که وقتی گاو حمله می کنه به سمت ماتادور, ماتادور باید شمشیر رو از بین شاخ های گاو به پشتش بزنه و خودش رو در ریسک آسیب شدید و مرگ قرار بده و بتونه گاو رو از کنارش با فاصله خیلی کم رد کنه.
در کل خیلی کتاب خوب و جالبی بود برای من و به نظرم با اینکه متن خیلی ساده است اما انگار مفهوم خیلی فراتر از فقط آشنایی با گاوبازی هست. خودم از وقتی که شروع کردم به خوندن کتاب تا الان که دارم دربارش مینویسم کاملا ذهنم رو درگیر کرده و نمی تونم بهش فکر نکنم و بعیده به این زودی ها هم از ذهن خارج بشه.

Hemingway's frank, highly readable and quite engaging explanation of bullfighting as it was practiced in Spain in the early part of the last century. Dealing with the mechanics of the bullfight, the ring in which it occurs, the breeding and selection of the bulls, several celebrated matadors, and a little bit on the development of the practice and the supposed degeneration of the sport. Or rather, the tragedy. As he points out early on: bullfighting is NOT a sport, it is a tragedy. The bull always dies.

Somewhere, I have no idea where, I read Hemingway stating that 'Only bullfighters and boxers are truly brave'. To have seen over three hundred bulls (at another point he counts it as 1500) die, Hemingway certainly was drawn to the spectacle of such man-against-beast confrontations in which the bravery of both was so tested as to provide for, at its highest manifestation, the description of having been 'very emotional'.

A matador's cuadrilla consists of two picadors on horses, four banderilleros with long barbed sticks and then himself, armed with cape, muleta and swords. First, the picadors try to get the bull to charge them so that they can stab it with pics - pointed lances - in the heavy neck muscle. Damage to the horses was so extreme that mattress-like wrappings now protect their undersides from gorings, so that the display of a dying horse running around, trailing his internal intestines, is no longer seen. While they proceed to do so, the matador uses his cape to perform veronicas, holding
the cape with both hands and getting the bull to pass him as close as possible before turning and getting him to do the same motion in reverse.

Then the four banderilleros each stick the bull with two barbed lances (banderillas). Finally, the matador moves in for the kill, using his muleta -a red piece of serge wrapped around a stick - to get the bull to put its head down so that the killing blow can be administered by a word thrust between the shoulder blades. The term faena describes the passes with the muleta the matador performs preparatory to the final kill. All three elements of the entire operation must be completed with fifteen minutes. A bull fight involves six bulls and three matadors with their respective cuadrillas.

Hemingway describes the different seatings available in the bull ring, and their advantages and disadvantages, as well as the different reactions to the spectacle on the part of the audience - ranging from jubilant accolades and shoulder-carryings of their heroes to ugly scenes of physical violence against those who have displeased them. Certainly, it would appear that 'emotion' is a large part of the practice.

His description of the degeneration of the sport largely relates to the changes in the bulls brought to be so ritually slaughtered. Instead of four- to five-year old bulls of large size and much intelligence, the use of three year old, smaller bulls who are less wise in their dealing with man has become the practice, as is the use of tricks by the bullfighters who make it appear they are working close to the bulls when in fact they are taking few real risks. Bull breeders have to assess their bulls when they are calves to see if they will charge - otherwise they are good only for the slaughterhouse. As well, they must be kept to a minimum of human contact, or they will learn too well how to kill their antagonists.

The matadors Belmonte and Joselito radically reformed to the practice with their exaggerated movements during their faenas, and for several years carried on a strong rivalry which was good for the business. Then, Joselito was killed in the ring (this after being gored three times while killing 1557 bulls) and Belmonte retired a year later. As well, the stories told of Freg, a Mexican bullfighter who from 1910 to 1931 received 72 severe horn wounds and was four times given up for dead; of Gitenello, who was gored in both thighs and then through the stomach and died three months later weighing only 63 pounds (he'd weighed 128 when gored); and Maera, who repeatedly encountered bone while trying to kill a bull but kept at it ('Fuck the wrist!) even through his wrist was dislocated, are true marvels of human bravery and tragedy.

Hemingway lets the story get away from himself at several points and could have used a stricter editor. Not really belonging are the short story 'The Natural History of the Dead', which I've read in another collection of his, as well as a seemingly pointless story of two arguing guests in a hotel room. As well, there is adulation of Faulkner, and criticism of Aldous Huxley (a popinjay), Andre Gide (moral arrogance), Oscar Wilde (conceited debauchery) and Walt Whitman (sentimental pawing). There is also a stricture on novel-writing, indicating that novelists should create people, not characters, since the latter can only hope to be caricatures. All these are quie interesting, but somehow out of place.

There is also a 60 page glossary of bullfighting terms, explaining the original Spanish expression in sometimes excruciating detail. An appendix gives a short analysis of the bullfighting skills of Sidney Franklin, an American who became a bullfighter in both Mexico and Spain. Hemingway's refusal to include any particulars of Franklin's personal life made me curious to find out more.

Then, there is Chapter 20. It includes eight pages of Hemingway's glorious stream-of-consciousness, impressionist type of writing ostensibly describing all the sights, smells, taste, sounds and feelings of Spain (this 'country I love so much'), that he would have included to make this book complete. As in his rhapsodic passages in The Green Hills of Africa, this is Hemingway at his best. Any writer should marvel at his ability to see and feel the land and people he was living in and with.

All-in-all, a highly commendable, and reasonably objective analysis of a practice (I've had to fight the inclination to call it a 'sport') that certainly is relatively unique in human experience. The author's objectivity is never more apparent than in his self confession that 'rarely will you meet a more prejudiced man nor a man who tells himself he keeps his mind more open.' Well done.

Para quien desconozca todo acerca de la tauromaquia, esta crónica resulta indispensable. La minuciosidad y rigurosidad del autor ayudan muchísimo a entender la tauromaquia y el por qué es un arte en Iberoamérica. Algunos párrafos, al final de la obra, dedicados a describir la mentalidad colectiva de los castellanos, gallegos, madrileños y catalanes constituye unas muy interesantes opiniones del autor. Merecen ser tomadas en cuenta y confrontarlas con la actualidad. Al menos, en el caso de Castilla, diría que después de un siglo, las cosas no cambian en la meseta central.

It reminded me of HELLS ANGELS by HUNTER S THOMPSON. Hunter was a fan of hemingway. and interestingly i understood where his incisive insightful writing about subjects comes from when i read this book about bullfighting. Interestingly just like HELLS ANGELS this book is also about someting society condisers uncool. But you cant help but fall in love in a way with bullfighting and its deeper good aspects of honor, bravery etc. of course it isn't good for animals and hence has been banned. But this is a super book. super!

Ernest Hemingway knew a great deal about bullfighting, and he shares it all in this book ... sometimes in excruciating detail.

I am of the type who believes that just about everything Hemingway wrote was brilliant. And parts of this book, which by the way has one of the best titles ever, reaches that level. In fact, it also shows Hemingway in a rare playful side, bringing in a fictional old lady at the end of several chapters and showing his alterego armchair psychologist as Dr. Hemingstein. The descriptions of the bullring, of the sports' rituals, of the stories of those involved and even of the types of bulls themselves can carry a great deal of the book even to bullfighting non-believers.

But it doesn't take much for the book to get into minutiae. Details were Hemingway's strong suit, but they were usually details about setting and character. The details about the innumerable bullfighters and their entourages became tedious toward the end.

And even though Hemingway acknowledges at the beginning that some people would be appalled at the very notion of bullfighting, he asserts that you have to see it, to be there, to know exactly how you react.

That, dear Papa, is crap. I don't have to see an animal being tortured to know it's unappealing at best and downright immoral at the other end. Even beautiful prose by the 20th century's greatest American writer couldn't persuade me otherwise.

I've read this book multiple times since I first encountered it in high school - I believe this is the fourth time, though I've not consciously kept count. I first read it, back in high school in the 70s, because I'd discovered Ernest Hemingway and found that I loved his writing (I've learned since that he could produce junk, too). But I've reread it periodically because the subject is interesting too.

Now before all the animal rights people come screeching for my head (amazing how those who want to protect animals from harm have no compunction about harming people - sometimes with hurtful words, and sometimes with guns or knives or saline solution or vacuums...yet, those who want to save the whales also want desperately to kill the babies), I have never seen a corrida de toros, literally "running of the bulls," what we call a bullfight. I'll mention here, as a parenthesis in this parenthetical paragraph, that what everyone calls "the running of the bulls" in Pamplona is actually the encierro the enclosing of the bulls in their pens prior to the corrida. It's true that they run through the streets - but the real "running" of the bulls takes place later, in the bull ring. Anyway, back to my point here - I've never seen a bullfight. I've never been in any country, never mind any town, that had a bullring (in Spanish, una plaza de toros). I don't approve of cruelty to animals, and I have no use for any hunting for a purpose other than getting food. I don't say that I like bullfights (how can I like or dislike any spectacle I've never witnessed? I can, abstractly, dislike what the thing does, but I can't judge the thing itself until I've witnessed it).

With that in mind, I say that again that the subject of this book interests me. I wouldn't have the guts to stay in the ring with the bull, unless I was on one side, he was on the other, he was blind, he was deaf, and he was looking the other way. Those who protest against bullfights do not, I think, properly understand what sort of animal a fighting bull is. This is, essentially, a wild animal. There is the absolute minimum of contact with human beings until the bull enters the ring, partly to prevent him learning so much that he is impossible to dominate and will certainly kill the matador, and partly because if you separate one of these bulls from the herd, he'll charge just about anything. In a group they're manageable - but let one get loose, and he'll attack cars, houses, horses...people... In the ring, the bull outweighs the man by as much as 100 times, and while the man has a sword, the bull has two "swords," the horns which he uses as precisely as we can touch something with our fingers. Although modern medicine makes it much less common than it used to be, matadors still occasionally die in the ring, or later from what the bulls do to them. The man has to dominate, control, and finally kill an animal with superior size, speed, strength, and armament. Leaving aside, for the sake of discussion, the question of cruelty to the bull, it is an uneven contest, and the only thing that makes it possible for the matador to survive is his mind. He knows bulls exhaustively, while the bull has limited knowledge of men, and he knows how to use his knowledge of bulls, and of the tools of his trade, to control what otherwise would tear him to bleeding shreds. And this unequal contest - all the physical attributes on the side of the bull, and all the intelligence on the side of the man - is fascinating to read about.

Hemingway takes the position that bullfighting isn't a sport, but a spectacle, a tragedy, an art form. The point of it isn't just to kill the bull - any slaughterhouse could do that - but to kill the bull following a set of ceremonial forms, using specific tools, in a particular manner. If all that bullfighting involved was killing bulls, anyone off the street could walk in, take up an automatic weapon, and accomplish the task. But while the death of the bull is the final act of the corrida, it's not the point of the exercise. The point is what comes between the time the bull rushes into the ring, and the moment when the bull is dead. And that means that, however repugnant the effects on the bull may be, bullfighting isn't wanton slaughter, and it's not casual cruelty. I'm at a loss to find any term which accurately describes the affair, except for those which Hemingway used - art and spectacle.

So much for the subject of the book. The writing is Hemingway's, which no one has successfully imitated (more than anyone else, Hemingway proved that an imitation of great writing, no matter how skillful the imitation, is still just a fake). It's not his best writing, except in the last chapter when he writes about the Spain that he loved. His device of the Old Lady is clumsy and unnecessary, and I wish his editor had told him to cut those passages. And I suspect that Hemingway was harder on some of the matadors he discusses than the facts warranted, and easier on others, just as his favoritism toward Antonio Ordóñez marred his later bullfighting book, The Dangerous Summer. But as long as his writing is at least mediocre for him, Hemingway's writing poor writing is better than the best writing of a lot of modern authors. This isn't the best writing Hemingway produced - that occurs in some of his short stories (e.g. "The Snows of Kilimanjaro," "In Another Country"), in the opening passage of Islands In the Stream when he's describing the house on Bimini, the first few chapters of A Moveable Feast, and his best novel, For Whom the Bell Tolls. But this is still good writing where it's best, and no worse than mediocre at its lowest moments. If you're opposed to bullfighting, but are willing to approach this book on its own merits, leaving emotional reactions to the corrida itself behind, you very well might enjoy this book. And if you have no objections to the corrida, you'll find it even easier to enjoy.

Published in 1932, His fifth book. set primarily during the 1920s. Hemingway's experiences and observations about bullfighting in Spain during that period. It combines a deep dive into the art and culture of bullfighting with meditations on life, death, and human nature.

Note

A bullfight in Spanish is called a corrida de toros or a running of the bulls

Feana; the feana that takes a man out of himself and makes him feel immortal,the final act of killing a bull

I read this mostly to understand the fascination with bullfighting, which today (at least for Americans in Pamplona) seems like a deadly spring break vacation (for the bulls anyway). For Hemingway, and perhaps for Spaniards since the practice began, bullfighting represented a controlled way to defy death, to be God-like in taking a life, and somehow trandscending immortality, even if temporarily. (Those of you out there that study group dynamics, it seems as simple as the biblical practice of scapegoating.) But more than anything else, bullfighting seems to primarily concentrate death and dying and killing and, I suppose in the 1930s, was considered very appropriate writing material, especially for an author who narrowly escaped death in WWI. That said, it was interesting, boring at times, and sadly cruel at other still...

This book seemed to never end. The last chapter is the best so I glad I stuck to it. This book is like reading a textbook not a novel.

This book can’t be rushed—even by the true bullfighting aficionado. Hemingway does an earnest job of describing every aspect of bullfighting to a fault. So much so that it loses some of the... romance... of the duel itself. It was a book that forced me to read excerpts at a time to avoid an overload of information. The intent was obviously present, and the prose flow; the sheer amount of information will cause you to reach for a bottle of Tylenol.