October 05, 2012

The Sun Also Rises

This summer I was between universities and was finally able to read something I chose myself, rather than it being on a reading list. The first book I read independent of a degree was The Sun Also Rises (1926) by Ernest Hemingway. I had been planning on reading for a long time and found it liberating to be able to read something without a deadline looming in the distance. Whilst I enjoyed reading a lot of the books on my course, this was a different kind of enjoyment. I wasn’t constricted to a certain time limit, nor did I feel I had an agenda whilst reading – I wasn’t looking at how Hemingway presents European cities, or reading it amongst feminist theory. I had carte blanche on how to approach it. So the experience was less focused, but I could attain a panoramic vision of the novel.

I hadn't read any Hemingway before this but I had been eager to. I accumulated an impression of him through various sources, such as conversations with friends, reading snippets about him and also the Any Human Heart TV series, which is brilliant and something all people should watch. The impression I had of Hemingway was reinforced by his writing. It was indeed full of drinking, boxing and bull fighting and so the 'man's man' image of Hemingway continued to exist for me. But at the same time there was an ever present feeling of disillusionment and loss which accompanied the protagonist Jake Barnes and his circle of friends - a tension in the book which is constantly felt and rarely seen. I saw Hemingway's young, rich and lost generation of the interwar period as a blend of Evelyn Waugh's degenerate and debauched Bright Young Things, and Jean Rhys's troubled Sasha Jensen in Good Morning, Midnight (1939).

The decadence of Jake Barnes' circle of friends meant that they very rarely fell into boredom, especially that which is invoked by lack of money; perhaps a state of exhaustion or a sense of tediousness in their actions, but never genuine boredom – Jake Barnes always seemed happy to go fishing in the middle of nowhere or fraternise with the locals and drink wine. This is where we can see parallels with Waugh's depiction of the Bright Young Things in Vile Bodies (1930). Adam Fenwick-Symes’ group of friends gallivant through the streets of London, using places such as the Ritz as nothing more than rest stops, and 10 Downing St. as a party retreat. Both groups lived their lives as well as they could; jazz and drinking, debauchery and perversion - anything to allow them to ignore – to forget – the pain of that the first half of the twentieth century brought and instead enjoy life.

However there is a huge difference in the characterisation and the way that the generations are presented. The Sun Also Rises attains far greater depth, and the characters are more human than those in Vile Bodies who are better described as caricatures. This distinction in the presentation of both parties simmers own to one of the key differences which is their involvement in the war.

Those in The Sun Also Rises have experienced the war, such as Jake who was in fact wounded and whose wound serves as a physical reminder of the persistent devastation the war has had, particularly to the individual. The Bright Young Things’s generation have avoided this – their anxiety comes from living in the wake of The Great War, which they were too young to experience, and the shadow of World War II which loomed in the distance. They were living in Eliot’s Wasteland and stood on the precipice to further disaster. Not only that but their generation was sandwiched between their fathers and their sons who experience these, but they will see but not be involved. They lack that opportunity for 'glory' which was so valued amongst the upper-classes, and in fact all of Britain during their lives.

In my opinion this why Waugh could not convey the omnipresent anxiety or trauma of interwar Europe as well as Hemingway could. Possibly because the experience of war carries with it far more suffering than the potential of a war, but it could also be that Waugh was in fact part of the generation that had avoided the war (at least at the time Vile Bodies was published, he did later fight in the Second World War). He was a BYT and Hemingway a veteran, and the audience that they wrote for was completely different. Waugh didn’t want to concern himself with war – in fact in Vile Bodies when war had broken out, it was experienced in the back of a car drinking champagne.

When The Sun Also Rises was published at a time when people where only just becoming ready to talk about the effect it left in the lives of those who had experienced it. Some novels such as Rebecca West’s The Return of the Soldier (1918) did write about the post traumatic stress it invoked, but it wasn’t really until the late twenties when it became ‘acceptable’ (for want of a better word) to talk about what had happened, and how it had changed life as it was once known. Wilfred Owen, whose poetry defines the literary output of the war for so many people, had only a handful of poems published before his death in 1918, and only gained notoriety in the late twenties.

Now the comforting forgetful snow was melting; the mood was changing and at the same time so was the literature. One couldn’t ignore what happened, but it was still difficult to express it. Richard Aldington claimed in 1926 that ‘those who have attempted to convey any real war experience, sincerely, unsentimentally, avoiding any ready-made attitudes (pseudo-heroic or pacifist or quasi-humorous) must have felt the torturing sense of something incommunicable.’[1] Here we stumble upon one of the great strengths of Hemingway and The Sun Also Rises – the subtlety of his writing and the huge impact it has. The 'Iceberg Theory' associated with Hemingway's writing is explained in Death in the Afternoon (1932): 'if a writer of prose knows enough of what he is writing about he may omit things that he knows and the reader, if the writer is writing truly enough, will have a feeling of those things as strongly as though the writer had stated them.'[2]

As I said before, there’s a feeling of constant tension in the book which is always felt, but rarely seen. The tension truly emerges in the scenes between Jake and Lady Brett Ashley, who share a love affair hampered by the wound Jake sustained in the war that has afflicted his sex life. The moments of privacy they share are limited to only a few scenes, and when they speak there’s no huge outburst of feelings, but we quickly understand the torment they experience from not being able to be together, and the damage the war has left. We realise that, like Vile Bodies, the carpe diem philosophy is a way of forgetting – of ignoring the anguish and the damage that the war had inflicted upon the individual. It was now starting to permeate into the consciousness of the world. It couldn’t be forgotten by those who had experienced it and who were still living with the consequences. That’s why Hemingway could present the anxiety far better than Waugh, even if it wasn’t explicitly expressed.

By the time Good Morning, Midnight is published Europe had two decades to come to terms with the destruction of war, and was now holding its breath before plunging into another. There was no longer an abashed attitude to the way the individual suffers, and modernist literature, in particular, was able to communicate suffering in one of the truest ways known to the art world. Good Morning, Midnight deals with the isolation and estrangement of Sasha Jenson in interwar Paris. Almost certainly her experiences capture the emotions of many. Like Jake and the BYTs, Sasha attempts to live a life devoid of tragedy and tries to move on from the pain that she had suffered, but for her it can’t be done. Like Jake she is scarred both physically and emotionally, but unlike Jake we are able to see how entrenched the psychological issues are upon her personality, and the effects it has on her daily life.

What I meant earlier about The Sun Also Rises acting like a blend of Vile Bodies and Good Morning, Midnight can be summed up by comparing one another through something all books have in common, which is a heavy reliance on alcohol. If one was to read The Sun Also Rises alongside Vile Bodies one may be able to attribute the large quantities of Spanish wine being drunk to the urge to have a good time, to enjoy life and indeed being Hemingway-esque. This would be the visible 10% of the iceberg. However, if it was to be read alongside Good Morning, Midnight then the rest of the iceberg would be far more visible, the sadness of Jake Barnes’ life much more prominent. This is what I loved about The Sun Also Rises, how it truly captured the many levels of human emotion, and the fact that it could be read multiple times and each time feeling new. It’s not something you can accumulate by watching Any Human Heart, no matter how brilliant it is.



[1] Richard Aldington, ‘Review of Herbert Read’s In Retreat’ in Criterion 4 (1926).
[2] Ernest Hemingway, Death in the Afternoon (New York: Scribner, 2002), p. 154.


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