The Sun Also Rises
I’ve been struggling to get this post out. Not because I didn’t finish it on time or got too busy, or any typical excuse…no. The reason I’ve been so reluctant to write this is because I really didn’t like this book. I’ve been terrified to share my distaste for the novel, because who am I to say, “yeah, I really hated Hemingway’s first big book, the one that put his name on the map.” I’ve been so afraid to share these feelings for fear of sounding either uneducated or maybe even pretentious…but at the end of the day, this blog is about my emotional journey through my own library, and that is a very vulnerable and blatantly honest undertaking.
Going into this, I’d just finished The Paris Wife by Paula McLain, which sent me into a huge wave of memory for the days when I read my first Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea. It also gave me so much nostalgia for days I spent with my grandfather, hearing stories about growing up in Philly, life as a merchant sailor and all other aspects of his manner of thought. The Paris Wife really dug into the time that Hemingway spent in Pamplona with his wife and fellow expatriates and I was so excited to experience more of that in The Sun Also Rises.
The Sun Also Rises follows a group of expatriates living in Paris in the 1920’s, they live large on little money, everyone is in love with the same girl, and they all manage to be in a position to take an unlimited number of vacation days and basically do whatever they want without giving a damn about the consequences of their own actions or the actions of others. It’s a grand and terrible time. This freedom leads them straight to Spain to experience the Running of the Bulls and the Festival of San Fermin in Pamplona.
My grandfather loved going to the bullfights in Juarez, Mexico. My family went so often they were known by name. He met so many renowned bullfighters, I thought reading this book would make me feel close to that world, close to the graceful deception it takes to be a torero. But it really didn’t. And that disappointed me and gave me some really unexpected waves of grief and anxiety. All that from a 247 page book.
The characters in the novel, with the exception of Jake Barnes (sometimes), who is basically Ernest Hemingway, and his buddy Bill (I really thought he was a capital guy) are wildly unlikeable. And I totally believe that’s intentional, but they just really got under my skin in the worst way. Every time Cohn, Mike or Brett came on the scene my skin would crawl, my blood would boil and I’d get so frustrated at Barnes for having such lousy friends and following their every fancy.
In no way did this novel alter my admiration of Ernest Hemingway’s literary abilities or create any less space in my library heart for his work, I just couldn’t get behind this group of friends. Their collective depressive tendencies pulled me down in the worst ways. And at the end of the day, I’m glad I read this book, and I refuse to apologize for not loving every moment of it.
I think I need to do a little soul feeding this month, join me as I read Radical Acceptance by Tara Brach…it’s only been 2 full years since my therapist told me to read it, better late than never, right?
