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Sean

The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway

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This is the opinion I would have, if not for the few moments where some of the characters become more understandable, so to speak. And it ends on pretty satisfactory note, I think. iunno, It's always strange when i dislike a classic, because it feels like I'm just missing something.

Oh, I find the characters eminently understandable, but that doesn't un-break them or make them (to me) more interesting. I think I'm just more in the mood for uplifting material these days.

 

I find it quite interesting that this book would not be dated at all if it wasn't for the jargon. There's broken self-destructive people in all ages.

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I'm trying so hard to come at this book from an objective point of view. My only experiences with Hemingway is what I read in high school (A Farewell to Arms, which I remember liking) and a lot of my conceptions of Hemingway and his writing have been colored by other people's thoughts and opinions. It's so hard for me not to completely write him off as an example of masculinity run wild, even though I know that characterization is completely unfounded and unfair. After every page I have to remind myself that I shouldn't dislike this book based solely on the fact that Hemingway wrote it (and that I shouldn't feel obligated to like it for the exact same reason).

 

Basically, I have to force myself to only consider what the book is presenting to me and not any of the outside commentary on Hemingway and what he may or may not represent. It's a completely tortuous and ridiculous way to think -- I freely admit that -- but I'm kind of thrilled that reading this book is making me question so many things about how I relate to literature. This might be my favorite book cast choice, because it is so far outside of my reading comfort-zone.

 

Also, I really love the straightforward prose style. It just hammers home how meandering my own writing (and speech!) sounds. I wish I had the same talent for economical sentences that every writer from the 1920's seemed to possess. 

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The beginning of this book is my favourite due to its bluntness.

 

Robert Cohn was once middleweight boxing champion of Princeton. Do not think I am very much impressed by that fact, but it meant a lot of Cohn.

 

 

Sooooooo good.

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For another book club I read the Paris wife which about Heminway's first wife Hardley Richardson and their life together in Paris   which includes the trip and the people the Sun also rises was based on. Definitely worth a read

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So... is this happening? Thanks to school being done, I have now gone from being 50 pages into Evidence of Things Unseen in April to being completely caught up on the IBC books, as well as finishing three others, and now I'm starting to wonder where that sweet sweet discussion is. Can we get some kind of status report on the Wolf Hall and Sun Also Rises episodes, as well as what to expect next (if anything)? I've got to say, thanks to the IBC I've read several books that I've greatly enjoyed that I never would have heard of otherwise, and it's bumming me out a bit that it seems to have faded away these last couple of months. If you guys are burnt out on 'casting all the time, understood. Forcing yourselves to keep at it solely for our benefit would kill a great deal of the fun vibe of the shows. Still, it'd be nice to know what's up.

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I finished this the other day. I love the economical prose (and the choice of "economical" as an adjective by some posters above). The trip to Spain in romantic in the way of romantic British expeditions of the 19th century, which is to say also lightly disturbing in an invasive and unequal way. I cannot help but relate to Jake, particularly in how his physical condition affects his relationships (I am not so bad off as Jake, but let's just say I have physical limits) and his interactions with Cohn. I have known a Cohn-alike for many years, a kind of nice person fatally unable to interact or accept being ostracized. I have always tried to take the tack of defending this individual, but I have seen these situations and more.

 

I actually did not find the depiction of Paris mundane, but I may just have such a different lifestyle from their cohort that it seems exotic to me. To have a set of spaces that are travelled between by taxi cab, frequenting restaurants, cafes and clubs every night and chancing upon familiar faces. To know the service people and to be known in your community. It seems very different to me!

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I'm absolutely in love with this book. I'm only half way but in no way was I expecting this. Never read any of Hemingway's, but in The Sun Also Rises it's just awkward and masculine enough to not be distasteful. There's such a awkward optimism in the way Jake Barnes deals with his post-traumatic stress by taking it easy that is quite cathartic.

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Halfway through and not digging this at all yet. Hemingway could lay off a bit on the goddamn bon mots.

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I find it humorous that this book is so divisive.  I've only finished Book I but it resonates with me on a personal level that's both compelling and disturbing.  I say disturbing only because it dredges personal memories that tweak my emotions right in that sensitive spot (and no, not the impotent spot).

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Finished the book, and the boredom of Paris seems like almost a deliberate choice by Hemingway. His writing becomes much more descriptive once the book reaches Spain, and there's even a specific instance where the main character notices things anew after a fight. More subjective than I expected, and certainly a range I didn't see coming after the mediocrity of the Paris part.

Still didn't like the book at all, though. The characters all seem further soured by to the historical distance between us and them, due to the racism that everyone's mentioned. And I never really felt comfortable with the heavy gentlemen-adventurer vibes given off by the characters, almost as if they were using their Spanish trip as kind of an Eat, Pray, Love thing to go and find themselves. This is a very uncharitable reading, but one that I felt throughout.

Really feel ugh about the whole thing, and don't want to read more Hemingway even though I should.

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I've noticed that the older the book we've read for the Idle Book Club, the more strenuously polarizing it is among our readership. I imagine this is because the distance between the setting and ourselves is wide enough that people who enjoy the book in question enjoy it so much that its positive qualities overcome any historical disconnect, whereas the people who don't enjoy it can't even fall back on relating to the characters or situations in a baseline "they're people like me" sense.

 

 

Finished the book, and the boredom of Paris seems like almost a deliberate choice by Hemingway. His writing becomes much more descriptive once the book reaches Spain, and there's even a specific instance where the main character notices things anew after a fight. More subjective than I expected, and certainly a range I didn't see coming after the mediocrity of the Paris part.

That's interesting--I'm halfway through, and I enjoyed the Paris stuff much more than the Spain stuff so far. That's primarily due to the prose itself than for any other reason, though.

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I've noticed that the older the book we've read for the Idle Book Club, the more strenuously polarizing it is among our readership. I imagine this is because the distance between the setting and ourselves is wide enough that people who enjoy the book in question enjoy it so much that its positive qualities overcome any historical disconnect, whereas the people who don't enjoy it can't even fall back on relating to the characters or situations in a baseline "they're people like me" sense.

 

I'd agree with this idea -- even though I remember the reactions to Telegraph Ave and By Blood being pretty mixed -- but would would argue that it has less to do with historical distance and more to do with the specific authors. Fitzgerald and Hemingway just have a lot more baggage associated with them and I think that greatly affects the way people relate to their novels. At least it does for me. Which admittedly is a terrible attitude to have when reading a novel, but it's something I constantly struggle with while reading The Sun Also Rises.

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I've noticed that the older the book we've read for the Idle Book Club, the more strenuously polarizing it is among our readership. I imagine this is because the distance between the setting and ourselves is wide enough that people who enjoy the book in question enjoy it so much that its positive qualities overcome any historical disconnect, whereas the people who don't enjoy it can't even fall back on relating to the characters or situations in a baseline "they're people like me" sense.

 

 

That's interesting--I'm halfway through, and I enjoyed the Paris stuff much more than the Spain stuff so far. That's primarily due to the prose itself than for any other reason, though.

 

I've read the book twice now and both times I've felt that it really picks up once they go to Spain. I did enjoy the Paris stuff more this time, though.

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Just finished the book.  Part I moved me more than II or III but I still enjoyed the book.  The most interesting sections involved the ongoing drama with Brett so in the lulls between her appearances I found my interest wavering on and off a little.  Found it helpful to read the book in two sittings.  It has the type of plot where I was afraid if I put it down I wouldn't be compelled to pick it up, which isn't a knock against the book as I really liked the prose.

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After three months of starting and stopping, I finally finished reading this book. It was probably one of the more challenging books that I've read in a long time, not because of content, but because I could never really focus on was happening in the story. The whole time I was reading, it felt like I was working against some invisible barrier that I was never able to fully penetrate. It reminded me a lot of the sensation I get when watching a classic Hollywood movie. It's hard to describe, but the storytelling in those movies always feels stilted and off-putting -- I attribute it to the waning stage play influence on films -- and I constantly have to struggle to feel connected with what's happening on screen. The Sun Also Rises felt the same way to me, but unlike with those classic films, I was never able to move past the book's stilted nature. Which is a shame, because there are some parts of the book that I think I could have really enjoyed. I actually really liked the Lady Ashley character, and thought that Hemingway had some truly apt (and gutting) insights into male/female relationships, but it wasn't enough to make me enjoy reading this book.

 

But I'm glad I had the chance to confront some of my Hemingway prejudices. That alone made reading this book worthwhile, even if my reaction to it wasn't as positive as I was hoping it would be.

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After three months of starting and stopping, I finally finished reading this book. It was probably one of the more challenging books that I've read in a long time, not because of content, but because I could never really focus on was happening in the story. The whole time I was reading, it felt like I was working against some invisible barrier that I was never able to fully penetrate. It reminded me a lot of the sensation I get when watching a classic Hollywood movie. It's hard to describe, but the storytelling in those movies always feels stilted and off-putting -- I attribute it to the waning stage play influence on films -- and I constantly have to struggle to feel connected with what's happening on screen. The Sun Also Rises felt the same way to me, but unlike with those classic films, I was never able to move past the book's stilted nature. Which is a shame, because there are some parts of the book that I think I could have really enjoyed. I actually really liked the Lady Ashley character, and thought that Hemingway had some truly apt (and gutting) insights into male/female relationships, but it wasn't enough to make me enjoy reading this book.

 

But I'm glad I had the chance to confront some of my Hemingway prejudices. That alone made reading this book worthwhile, even if my reaction to it wasn't as positive as I was hoping it would be.

Could you delve more into your Hemingway prejudices, and your feelings on the book beyond the purely mechanical stilted stuff? I'd be curious. (It's funny; I really like the style you describe and find off-putting, but I feel like I understand why someone wouldn't be into it and it seems like a less substantial/interesting line of criticism that what I assume to be deeper barriers you were butting up against. I could be wrong of course.)

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Re the prejudices: I think authors like Hemingway (and Mailer, Roth, Updike) are saddled with this perception of being overly masculine, sexist boors. I've read enough of Roth and Updike (never Mailer) to know that this knee jerk opinion of them isn't fair, but it isn't necessarily wrong either. There's a lot problematic female characters in their books, and their status as 'Great American (male) Authors' has always rubbed me the wrong way. I lump Hemingway into that group, because he is often fetishized as being a paragon of desirable masculine traits, and I (dumbly) assumed that his writing would reflect that. Turns out Hemingway is better at writing women than Roth or Updike, but I struggled a lot with my false impression of what a Hemingway novel would be, until I basically got over myself and ignored those prejudices.

 

I just really struggled to care about anything that happened in this book. None of the characters -- especially Jake -- ever really appealed to me, and the prose style just exacerbated the disconnect I felt. Hemingway would occasionally drop a really insightful quip that would momentarily reengergize me, but ultimately the book felt like a series of events with a few bits of pithy dialogue. Jake and Brett are supposed to be in love, but I never really believed that or was particularly interested in their relationship. Cohn was a fascinating character, but I felt like he was too underused.

 

It probably does not help that I read a 250 pages over a three month period and I imagine that if I sat down and read this book over a shorter period, a lot of my misgivings would go away. But I just can't muster the enthusiasm to go back and reread it. But I'm really curious to hear what other people like about this book (especially what makes Sean call this a favorite). Maybe that'll convince me to give it a second look.

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This book and A Farewell to Arms are extremely tender and do not live up to Hemingway's reputation. They are about love, loss and struggling to live up to your own moral code. This book in particular isn't about good people. It's about flawed individuals who are just treading water, with no purpose, and struggle to find any happiness. They have every luxury available to them, but they are miserable because they are not chasing something. The epigraph is extremely important, I believe.

 

Also, I love the understated prose, so this book is a joy to read. He is incredible at saying so much with so little.

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Re the prejudices: I think authors like Hemingway (and Mailer, Roth, Updike) are saddled with this perception of being overly masculine, sexist boors. I've read enough of Roth and Updike (never Mailer) to know that this knee jerk opinion of them isn't fair, but it isn't necessarily wrong either. There's a lot problematic female characters in their books, and their status as 'Great American (male) Authors' has always rubbed me the wrong way. I lump Hemingway into that group, because he is often fetishized as being a paragon of desirable masculine traits, and I (dumbly) assumed that his writing would reflect that. Turns out Hemingway is better at writing women than Roth or Updike, but I struggled a lot with my false impression of what a Hemingway novel would be, until I basically got over myself and ignored those prejudices.

 

I just really struggled to care about anything that happened in this book. None of the characters -- especially Jake -- ever really appealed to me, and the prose style just exacerbated the disconnect I felt. Hemingway would occasionally drop a really insightful quip that would momentarily reengergize me, but ultimately the book felt like a series of events with a few bits of pithy dialogue. Jake and Brett are supposed to be in love, but I never really believed that or was particularly interested in their relationship. Cohn was a fascinating character, but I felt like he was too underused.

 

It probably does not help that I read a 250 pages over a three month period and I imagine that if I sat down and read this book over a shorter period, a lot of my misgivings would go away. But I just can't muster the enthusiasm to go back and reread it. But I'm really curious to hear what other people like about this book (especially what makes Sean call this a favorite). Maybe that'll convince me to give it a second look.

Thanks! It's interesting how your initial conflicts seem to have so heavily shadowed your reading throughout. I don't mind the meandering nature; it feels like kind of the point of the thing, and definitely seems to be a common enough factor in literary representation of this period that I feel it must be speaking to something true (or at least something true for a significant number of people at the time).

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I just really struggled to care about anything that happened in this book. None of the characters -- especially Jake -- ever really appealed to me, and the prose style just exacerbated the disconnect I felt. Hemingway would occasionally drop a really insightful quip that would momentarily reengergize me, but ultimately the book felt like a series of events with a few bits of pithy dialogue. Jake and Brett are supposed to be in love, but I never really believed that or was particularly interested in their relationship. Cohn was a fascinating character, but I felt like he was too underused.

 

I think that having the character be difficult to connect to is part of the point. Hemingway seems to be saying that The Great War created such disillusionment in his generation that meaningful personal connections were made impossible and that every interaction became superficially focused on food, drinking and sex. You can see this in the fact that the prose is at its most stilted and disconnect in the moments when Jake is surrounded by others; it only starts to flow naturally and feel at peace when he's fishing or watching the bulls, which are things he feels comfortable with and understands. Jake can't connect to the other characters because the means through which they all connect to each other - their sex drives - has been cut off from him. So he, and the reader, are left feeling alienated.

 

Of course, it's fine if you felt that the book was tough to read because of this. But I don't think it was an accident.

 

Also, I don't really think that Brett and Jake are in love. The last line is the biggest indicator:

 

 "Oh, Jake," Brett said, "we could have had such a damned good time together."

 Ahead was a mounted policeman in khaki directing traffic. He raised his baton. The car slowed suddenly pressing Brett against me.

"Yes," I said. "Isn't it pretty to think so."

 

A relationship between Brett and Jake would have fizzled out like all the others, even without the injury, and Jake knows it. The injury is just a convenient excuse, an obstacle that lets them ignore all the others standing in between them. Even if they could have had sex with each other it would have been as hollow and empty as all the rest of it because Jake's injury (and Brett's and the world's) is much deeper than skin deep. It's struck to the core of how people relate to each other.

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To be clear, I didn't find the prose style difficult to read, it just exacerbated the already disconnected feelings I had towards this book. And in general, I don't have a problem with flawed or questionable characters -- I actually prefer them. But nothing about this story felt substantial enough for me to get really invested in it (although now that I've spent so much time thinking about my reaction to this book, I'm seriously considering rereading it).

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I had similar feelings to Argobot, as I mentioned earlier in the thread. I just don't really have any sympathy or interest in the characters, they behave in ways that are kind of incomprehensible to me, and they all seem really stupid and spoiled. The book features a bunch of young, rich, white, Americans and Brits traipsing around Europe without any real appreciation for their surroundings. It's kind of the ultimate in "Ugly Americanism". It may be that this is all intentional, but it still really bores me and grosses me out. I don't feel bad for these characters; I want them to grow up already. 

 

I also feel like the book exhibits an amazing sense of obliviousness. The young people of America, as a whole, were not really all that damaged by the Great War. France, for example, lost something like 5% of its total population, and a majority of its young men were killed or permanently maimed (by comparison, the US lost 0.13% of its population). But there are few European characters in The Sun also Rises, and those few that are included are often made fun of, ignored, or are hilariously stereotypical (e.g. the Spanish matador). Europe is just kind of this romantic backdrop upon which the characters in the book can project their own personal "tragedies". That annoys me too. 

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I kinda feel like an uncultured boor for feeling this way, but oof, The Sun Also Rises didn't really do it for me.

 

Didn't really have any strong feelings about Hemingway coming in. As so many likely did, I read The Old Man and the Sea in high school and remember enjoying it. I think we also read For Whom the Bell Tolls, maybe, but I remember absolutely nothing about it. So I was pretty tabula rasa going in.

 

What was the most interesting for me was the depiction of Spain. The small moments like drinking wine with a bunch of Basques on top of a bus or stashing wine in a cold spring when fishing. (although you may be sensing a pattern here ...)

 

Probably the single most interesting bit for me was the detail of the various bullfighters, almost from a critical perspective. Their different techniques, forms, personalities, etc. Way interesting.

 

Until I took a step back and remembered it was talking about bullfighting, which is an utterly horrific and cruel bloodsport. Hemingway might as well be describing the grace and beauty of dogfighting or bear-baiting. (Obviously it's no fault of Hemingway's, it was way more normal in those days and, somewhat horribly, still is today in some places in the world. But it certainly dampened my enjoyment of what was otherwise a very interest part of the book)

 

But beyond those small moments, I just couldn't connect with it. As some other folks have said, I couldn't get invested in the characters. I'm fine with having flawed characters, but I'd like to know why they're flawed, how they came to be that way (the closest is Jake has, aside from his physical injury, maybe some PTSD from the war?) or anything else. They can be flawed, but they can't just *be* flaws, I guess?

 

I just couldn't really imagine the characters as people, or at least not people I'd ever want to know any better. Aside from Jake's fondness for bullfighting, none of them even seem to have any interests or desires beyond drinking, sleeping with each other (or pining to do so) and bickering/brawling about the above. I couldn't understand why they like each other. Why does Mike even like Brett? Why does Cohn? For what matter, why does Jake?

 

It's probably not helped that I don't have a particularly pronounced understanding of post-WWI, the Lost Generation, etc.

 

Maybe it's just because the book is such an extreme roman à clef, it felt to me like a travelogue of a bunch of people I'd never want to meet. Again, that feels so horribly reductionist, but there was just so much stuff I couldn't get over.

 

I am super excited for the cast though and hearing/reading other folks who got stuff out of a book that wasn't personally my jam. I mean, Hemingway didn't win that Nobel prize for nothing!

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