The Sun Also Rises

I’m impressed that a book populated by such unbearable people could be so readable and wonderful. I’m possibly more impressed that Hemingway could lay bare what an obnoxious, alcohol-abusing jerk he and all his friends are and yet fail to catch his own hint, grow up, and chill out on the booze.

The Sun Also Rises is a postcard from Pamplona in the 1920s. An old Kodak Brownie Box Camera shot of 30-something drunks trying anything to give their post-war/pre-war lives meaning or, failing that, at least something to make them feel something. As I read it I became aware of how the pacing and dialogue of this book imbued a generation of screenwriters with Hemingway ticks and tricks. The casual antisemitism and racism should be acknowledged. In a culture that likes to ban books, I don't think this book ever comes up. I think it preserves the culture of expat Americans and Brits of the 1920s perfectly, the good and the bad. As a reader who grew up in the latter half of the 20th century, I found myself expecting emotional payoffs that never landed. I was left with a sense of mallaise that perfectly sums up that lost generation.

Mon premier contact avec Hemingway est difficile. Je n'ai pas aimé ce roman, son premier. Je n'ai pas aimé les personnages, qui m'ont semblé sans saveur et interchangeables. A la fin, je ne savais plus qui était Mike et qui était Bill, je les confondais. Je me suis profondément ennuyé en lisant ce roman, même si j'ai fait l'effort d'aller jusqu'au bout. Je suis peut-être passé à côté de quelque chose.