Nineteen - Last Words

"'We could have had such a damned good time together.'...'Yes, isn't it pretty to think so?" (p. 251). These are the last lines of the novel, and are therefore probably important. There was also something about bicycling and a beach somewhere in this chapter, but I don't get that. I get this though. Okay, so Brett is utterly delusional. She has idealized the only relationship that she can't have literally to the point that she can't see herself living any other way. Her thought process appears to progress thusly: "All the relationships I've pursued have ended in disaster, I cannot pursue a relationship with Jake, therefore, only a relationship with Jake will not end in disaster." I'd put down about a 98% chance that even if Jake didn't get his tallywacker blown off, the Brett-Jake duo would have ended exactly the same way as all the other relationships in this novel: everyone gets mad and intoxicated, not necessarily in that order. But Brett has idealized it to the point that she really believes that no matter what, if things could have worked out, everything would have been sunshine and rainbow-spewing pandas. However, I like to think that things worked out for the best because they can't make the sticky. All the other relationships that have been based on sex have fallen apart, but Brett and Jake, whose relationship seems to be based purely on unconditional love, as opposed to lust, has held together all the way through the end of the book. I think Jake's mildly cynical response shows that he recognizes this and can at least appreciate an eternal existence in The Friend Zone.

This is The Friend Zone. I can think of no better way to end our blogging adventure than with a demotivational poster.

Overall, this was an okay book. I could have thought of some better ways to spend the last week of summer, but I was recovering from major oral surgery anyway, so no big loss.

Eighteen - Belmonte

Belmonte makes me sad =( He was once top dog of this whole bullfighting syndicate, but now even he can't live up to his reputation. He's essentially lost his livelihood. In a way, I think he sort of resembles the Lost Generation as a whole. They all fought in a war and saved the world hoo-rah, but after it was all said and done, they were left without anything to do besides get drunk. They've lost that sense of purpose that they once had. Now, Belmonte is dusting off the cape and poofy pants in order to re-enter the bull ring, and suddenly he finds he just can't do it anymore. He now has also lost his purpose in life. Granted, it's for a different reason, but really he's exactly the same as Jake, Brett, and the entire Lost Generation. Now he's lost his aim, his goal in life, and all he has left is just wandering around aimlessly getting wasted. Poor Belmonte...at least he still has his canned food corporation. wait...

This is Del Monte. I am mistaken.

Seventeen - Was There?

"'Was there?' said Bill" (p. 208). That's right, Bill good buddy, a fellow died. I find this interesting. A person gets gored in the street, and, except for a single waiter, nobody really seems to care. The festival goes on, and everyone gets really really hammered, just like they did yesterday. It seems quite similar to Cohn, actually. He suffers a severe mental breakdown and probably goes slightly insane, and the general response from most of his so-called friends is essentially "don't let the door hit ya on your way out." I declare this to be an analogy. Crowd is to dead guy as Friends are to Cohn. woo. Next up we have Brett, destroyer of men. Is that an epithet? hoo hoo, look at me go. Anyway, it appears that every man that Brett comes into contact with suffers emasculation, depression, night sweats, uncontrollable laughing, and indigestion. Those last three were made up. However, there is a bit of a recurring theme here that every guy that chases after Brett just ends up worse off than when they started. Jake abandons his values in order to chase that tail, Cohn punches out his friends, Mike becomes a straight up jerk (although that probably would have happened either way), and eventually Romero will probably burst into flames. Poor chap. At least, his livelihood will go down the tubes. Anyway, we gain some handy insight into why Brett lives her life how she does. Frankly, Hemingway, I think it's a little late in the game to be throwing out character development. Try to get that done on the other side of the climax next time, kaythx. Oh that reminds me, I've decided that Cohn's hissy fit is the climax of this tale. Don't worry, I have reasoning. This whole novel, people have been ripping on Cohn. Even as a young lad, I'm sure the boys at Princeton called him "Connie" and ran his skivvies up the flag pole. So we've got this sense of building tension all the way up through the novel. However! because of Cohn's gentlemanly and old-fashioned chivalrous nature, he just takes it, over and over. So there's this building tension, and therefore sort of rising action that seems to push the plot along. And then BOOM chapter 17, he just snaps and beats Jake straight into unconsciousness. He gets pushed over the edge, and the climax happens. However, his brutal pwnage of Jake doesn't just serve as a plot device. It's also symbolic of the fall of his old-school morals. A gentleman does not just cave his buddy's face in. By showing Cohn abandon his values for violence, Hemingway is showing the shift from the old prewar morals and values of gentlemanlinessicity for getting drunk and having fights. This is the way of the Lost Generation, he is saying. Cohn's way is outdated. He recognizes this, and tries to salvage it with a handshake, but ultimately, the Lost Generation just ends up laughing at this pathetic attempt to salvage his honor.

These are boxers up a flagpole. "Connie" is inscribed on the wasteband. Kids can be so cruel.

Sixteen - Interesante

Exactly two interesting things happened in this chapter. Well, maybe more, but these are the only two I noticed. Firstly, Mike delivers a crushing falcon punch of words straight to Cohn's poor little sad Jew face: "Why don't you see when you're not wanted, Cohn? Go away" (p. 181). Then he almost makes the mistake of striking a boxing champion, but luckily, the confrontation is averted. For now. I think the particularly important thing here is figuring out why Mike flew off the handle. It's all too easy to just write him off as being drunk, borracho, muy borracho. However, I doubt that's it. I think the reason why he goes postal on Cohn has a lot more to do with who Brett happens to be sitting next to. Yeah, I'm looking at you, Pedro Romero. Mike gets mad because everybody in the room can smell the hormones in the air, and everyone knows little Pedro's going to be the next guy to have a go at Brett. Tsk tsk. But rather than doing the acceptable thing, he goes crazy on Cohn, like everyone else in this book. It's easier to blame the Jew than to actually address the problem at hand. One could almost call it a foreshadowing of World War II. Except that this book precedes said war. So this unarguably means that Ernest Hemingway could see into the future.

Important thing number two is that Jake is a tool. In that by the end of the chapter, he completely goes back on everything he said at the beginning of said chapter. At first, Jake attempts to protect Romero from evil foreigners who will ruin his bullfighting career. He tells Montoya not to show him the letter so as to protect him from foreign influence. However, later that night, he helps Brett track down Romero and throws her into his lap. Figuratively. This sounds an awful lot like a foreign influence that could be detrimental to Romero's career. So essentially, Jake goes back on his word and betrays both his old friend Montoya and his new friend Romero simply because Brett bats her eyes and asks real nice like. I do declare, he's a tool. And it sounds like Jake's feelings for Brett undermine everything he believes in, from fishing to bullfighting, and is proving detrimental to his life.

These are tools. Jake is one.

Edit: This is a Falcon Punch, Mr. Costello

Fifteen - Bullfighting

Pedro Romero is an intriguing fellow. Like the good Count Mippi-something, whose existence everyone seems to doubt, Romero seems to act as a foil to the entire Lost Generation. He seems to act as a symbol for everything that is pure and genuine and real in the world. "Romero never made an contortions, always it was straight and pure and natural in line....Romero's bull-fighting gave real emotion" (p. 171). Other people must rely on cheap fakeries like money, but Romero is the real deal, able to create actual genuine emotion in the people who watch him. Also worth noting is the fact that people seem to refer to him as "Romero-the-bullfighter." His occupation is as much a part of him as his name. You don't see that in other characters. We don't primarily think of Jake as a journalist, or Cohn as an author, or Brett as a...does she even have a job? The Lost Generation seems to collectively hold a job simply for the purpose of having money to get wasted. Romero, on the other hand, takes pride in what he does. His occupation is his identity, and it gives him an aim, a goal in life. I also find it worth noting that during the bullfighting session, Hemingway's writing style seems to reflect Romero's fighting style. Hemingway adopts short sentences without frills, metaphors, and clever wordplay. Rather, he just tells what happened. It seems to resemble Romero's style, in that he doesn't waste time with flashy flourishes, but simply moves straight and purely, not a movement wasted.

This is bullfighting. It doesn't look so hard to me.

Fourteen - Thinking

Oh goody, there's nothing like a chapter dedicated to a single character just thinking the night away. Seems like a soliloquy, except in a novel. It's even more fun when they're too drunk to walk. Anyway, I noticed pretty quickly that Jake's focus was primarily on money as he pondered in bed. Well, not exactly about money, but whenever he thought about things, he described them using money-esque terms. Saying things like "Enjoying living was getting your money's worth" (p. 152), or "The world was a good place to buy in" (p. 152), or saying that "the bill always came" (p. 152). It seemed odd to me that he was so fixated on money. It was like he had no way to describe relationships or life other than through money itself. In one paragraph alone, Jake says the word "pay" or some variation seven times in a single paragraph. So what's the reasoning behind this money-based fixation? I think it's supposed to mean that, to the Lost Generation, money has replaced their sense of values. Jake is unable to describe relationships and life with words like "love" and "friendship" because he just doesn't understand these things anymore; they have no meaning to him, now that he's simply wandering aimlessly through life. Money is the only thing that seems tangible and attainable to Jake and his friends. Jake's late-night powerthink seems to show that money has essentially replaced emotion.

This is money. Money, so they say, is the root of all evil today, but if you ask for a raise it's no surprise they're giving none away.

Thirteen - Loaded

I do declare, this is a violation of Man Law. Jake is having a perfectly good time up in the middle of nowhere with his best buddy Bill and a quaint fellow by the name of Harris. He's having a good old time knocking back a couple bottles of wine and going fishing with The Boys, and then he just up and bails because Brett is in Pamplona. Major party foul, Mr. Barnes, I'm going to need to see your Man Card. I guess what Hemingway is saying with Jake's readiness to abandon fishing and fun to go see Brett is that he really does have strong feelings for her. Although I think we already knew that. It's not like he's in it for the sex, amiright? *drum sounds*

I apologize for that. Okay, next, I've got a bone to pick with you, Hemingway. That's right, YOU *epic point* Afición definitely has an accent over the o. You accent every single usage of the word "café" in the entire novel, but in the case of "afición," you just got lazy? alt+162, it's not that hard, I promise.

I feel better. Next, let's see...we've got Mike's war story. Although...that's not much of a war story. I suppose it sort of has to do with the war, but it essentially takes place outside of it entirely. So I guess that's just another example of the members of the Lost Generation being uncomfortable actually talking about the war, so they tell cute little jokes and short funny stories in order to talk about it without really talking about it.

Right, so moving right along, Mike is a jerk. He keeps up with the whole "let's make fun of Cohn" deal that everyone else subscribes to. However, he at least goes right on out and says "Why do you follow Brett around like a poor bloody steer? Don't you know you're not wanted?" (p. 146). From this we can clearly see that Mike has adopted the more direct "Harvey Stone" method, as opposed to the more subtle "Jake Barnes" approach. Which naturally leads us into our Cohn equals Steer metaphor. This is turning out to be a loaded chapter.

Why is everyone so mean to little Cohn? Yeah, we know he's the only Jew, and he's the only nonveteran, but those are really just shallow coverings to hide the true cause of resentment throughout the entire group. Cohn acts sort of like the scapegoat, the target that receives the full force of resentment that is circulating throughout the entire group. Everyone picks on Cohn, and therefore nobody else seems to get mad at anyone else. Think about it, Jake and Mike have never had a tussle, even though they both love the same lady. Bill and Brett have never had an argument, even though Bill is literally the only guy in the group who hasn't had a saucy weekend affair with her. All this resentment and anger that should be floating around the group just sort of gets directed at Cohn, who bears the full fury of the entire group as a whole and is "gored" if you will. That's what makes him a steer. He takes on the entire group's aggression so that the group doesn't tear itself apart. Cohn is a steer not because he follows Brett around like Mike says; that's a job generally reserved for sheep. No, Cohn is a steer because he is the one who is sacrificed to the bulls.

It's just been revoked, Jake

Twelve - Gone Fishin'

I have come to the conclusion that Ernest Hemingway likes fishing. This is one of the nicest, most peaceful chapters in the book, and I doubt it's a coincidence that it focuses primarily on fishing. This is also possibly the first chapter in which the characters do not actually get straight-up staggering-home drunk. A little buzzed perhaps, but not that bad. It's kind of nice (although I must admit that generally on a fishing trip, the opposite is supposed to happen;. Perhaps that's some kind of paradox?). It has really been the first time that Jake has been able to relax throughout the course of the entire novel. Usually, he's running around from bar to bar, always moving, always talking to people, dancing on occasion, always up and active. However, when he goes fishing with his good buddy Bill, he seems extremely chilled out. I think this is particularly well-portrayed through his personal choice of fishing method. Rather than partaking in the mildly more active fly fishing method like Bill, he just drops some worms in the water and sits around until he gets a bite. I personally find it intriguing that Jake also catches more fish through the chilled-out method than Bill catches through the active "I'm gonna lasso a fish" method (note: fly fishing does not actually involve lassoing fish. It just looks like it sometimes). I think Hemingway is saying that in life, sometimes it's more effective to sit down, chill out, and just let things happen, as opposed to chasing issues down and solving them by any means necessary. Enough about fishing, let's discuss that deep ManTalk Jake and Bill share.

Bill and Jake are able to talk more openly with each other than any other two characters in the novel. The brief discussion of Jake's accident serves as essentially the basis for the whole "Jake-can't-do-the-nasty" theory that resonates throughout the course of the novel. So it's kind of important. Bill starts taking cracks at him, saying "another group claims you're impotent" (p. 120). Jake naturally denies this, but then starts to worry that Bill might feel bad about that last little jive. I think that there really wouldn't be any point for Jake to feel bad if there wasn't any truth to the joke. So he tries to salvage the conversation and make a little running joke out of it, leading into some fun stories about a fellow on a horse. Or maybe it was a tricycle. Anyway, the point is that the subject of impotence pops up way too many times in this book for it not to apply to Jake. Hemingway isn't the sort of person to just drop something like that and not have any meaning behind it. He never outright says it, but at this point, I'd say it's undeniable. However, Bill, being the nice guy that he is, decides to try to salvage his buddy's masculinity. He tells him he's a "hell of a good guy" (p. 121). I interpret this to essentially mean "I still think you're a man, even if your parts don't work." What a good friend. Then the conversation rolls into homosexuality causing the Civil War. Not true in the slightest, obviously, but I think that Bill mentions this to sort of reinforce that earlier theme of losing sight of what's masculine. Essentially, I think Bill is just trying to say that he loves Jake, but in a purely heterosexual and bromantic fashion. Long story short, Bill and Jake are best buddies, but they're not gay, no matter what those folks in New York might say.

This sign says it all

Eleven - Magic Bus

I don't want to cause no fuss, but can I buy your magic bus? noooooo....*solo break*

Ahem. *adds to playlist*

Bill and Jake go for a bus ride in this chapter. That's what I'm trying to say here. I doubt the bus is actually magical. That's just silly. Anyway, one thing that amused me on this little bus ride was that the native Basques felt inclined to teach Bill and Jake how to properly drink from a wine-bag. As if they really needed another method of intoxication. I'm truly glad that alcohol has this power to just bring everyone together...on top of a bus. That is a very safe place to get "tight." Anyway, this chapter illustrates two guys physically moving away from their problems again. There's that whole sense of movement. This time, they're hopping on a bus to moooove away from Robert Cohn, and go on a lovely male-bonding fishing experience. Still, it's just moving all the same. Eventually they've got to end up in the same place they started. But still, it's a nice little vacation.

This is The Who. You wish all they were doing was wine-skins. Heehee.

Ten - Welcome to Spain

I am just not feeling the creative titles today. There was something interesting about this chapter that struck me almost immediately. This of course is the extreme detail that Hemingway gives to the landscape and area of Spain. In previous chapters, things followed a simple pattern: "I woke up, went to the cafe, met Friend X, *three pages of dialogue*". It was a simple style, and it got the job done. However, now we're in a brand new country, and Hemingway spares no expense on the vivid imagery. Things like "You could feel the air came from the sea," (p. 97), and "long brown mountains and a few pines and far-off forests of beech trees on some of the mountainsides" (p. 99). Anyway, it was certainly a welcome change. Dare I say refreshing? Anyway, as far as the way of plot goes, nobody likes Robert Cohn. Poor guy. It's quite understandable for Jake to hate on him; one can only assume that perhaps Jake is a wee bit jealous. However, I don't really get why Bill is so hostile. I guess it could just be that little "air of superior knowledge" (p. 101), but he certainly got worked up awful quick. Maybe he just senses that Robert Cohn is just destined to be made fun of. Anyway, seeing as they are Jake and Bill, rather than confronting Cohn, they dance around the topic and make fun of his Jew-ness. Real mature, guys.

This is Spain. It's pretty, just like Hemingway said.

Nine - Developments

Intriguing developments. Brett and Cohn apparently had quite the saucy fling up in San Sebastian. or maybe it's down in San Sebastian. Or neither. Up and down have nothing to do with cardinal directions. Nevermind. Anyway, yes, Brett had an affair with Cohn, and now Jake knows about it as well. However, he does not let on that this even remotely bugs him. So, given that we already know Jake never lets on about his true feelings, I think it's safe to assume that he is extremely peeved. Understandable, to say the least. However, this little fling is probably going to be quite different from all those other ones, simply because this one involved Cohn. I doubt that Cohn, due to his old-school values, will be able to just let his saucy fling in San Sebastian simply just be a fling. He's going to try and pursue Brett, most likely, which is sure to lead to more hilarious developments. And by hilarious I mean dramatic and tragic. Oh, one more thing: Jake and Bill don't like Catholics (although I'm about 98% sure that Jake is a Catholic). I think there's probably a very fantastic reason for this. The best I've really got so far is that they're jealous. See, all religious people have an aim, some aspiration or goal in life, something to look forward to, and something to shoot for. The members of the Lost Generation do not. So in reality, Bill and Jake are extremely jealous of this deep-seated feeling of purpose that the Catholics have, but they themselves lack. Bill let's us know his true feelings with snippy remarks like "It's enough to make a man join the Klan" (p. 93), but I doubt he's really all that upset about eating late. Instead, I think he just feels jealous and threatened by the Catholics' sense of tangible purpose.

This is Mr. Smith. He'll tell you all about purpose. And then stab you in the solar plexus.

Eight - Bill Gorton

Bill is a nice guy, I've decided. He of course is another member of the Lost Generation, which is clearly evident by the fact that he drank himself into a blackout stupor in Vienna. However, he's a very nice guy too, which is apparently evident by the fact that he "Loaned the nigger some clothes and went around with him to get his money back" (p. 77). Nice fella. I think I like Bill because he's just such a jokester. He's slightly more open about his feelings than Jake simply because he uses his jokes to tell people how he feels and what he thinks, but it's not quite as outright as Harvey. A good middle ground, I suppose. Mike Campbell, however, is kind of obnoxious. He seems to be a bit fixated on just a few specific things, like Brett's hat, his own nose, and prattling on and on about how beautiful Brett is. Come now, Mr. Campbell, you can't carry on much of a conversation with only three stock phrases. He must be one of those talkative drunks. Anyway, I don't really have much to say about this chapter. I'm probably missing something important...ah well.

I imagine Brett's hat looks something like this.

Seven - Tromper

I had no idea what it meant to "tromper," and I decided it would probably be important to know, in order to understand the quote "Couldn't we live together, Brett? Couldn't we just live together?"..."I don't think so, I'd just tromper you with everybody. You couldn't stand it" (p. 62). Wiktionary has now taught me that tromper is a French verb that generally is understood to mean "to cheat on one's significant other." This line of course, is the major indicator that implies that Jake is no longer able to satisfy Brett, as a result of his injury, and this is essentially what keeps them apart. Also, because I am bad at transitions, I suppose this is a good time as any to declare that due to the reference to the Spanish city San Sebastian, I'll be adding "San Sebastian" by Sonata Arctica to my playlist. The other mildly important aspect of this chapter is the good Count M-*checks spelling* Count Mippi-*checks again*...Count Mippipopolous. yes. In addition to having a confusing name, Count M also happens to have a confusing nature. Brett insists that the Count is "one of them," which I take to mean he's one of the Lost Generation, wandering aimlessly through life in a state of seemingly perpetual dissatisfaction. However, the Count seems to foil Jake's entire crew! Unlike most of the people in the Barnes Gang, it appears that the Count actually has a genuine love of life and seems to be one of the only characters in the novel who hasn't adapted a mindset of aimless cynicism. I think this is best depicted by his insistence that Brett "enjoy that [champagne] slowly" (p. 66). Jake and Friends all seem to have oh so much trouble with alcohol, but the Count is able to find pleasure and fulfillment in it by drinking it slowly and savoring the flavor. Intriguing.

This is the image that inevitably comes to mind whenever anyone is ever described as a "Count."

Six - Harvey Stone

Make way for the newest member of this lovely Lost Generation, here's Harvey Stone, the token compulsive gambler. The best thing about Harvey is that he's about as subtle as a tactical nuke. Cohn comes a'rolling up to Jake and Harvey, and Harvey leads straight off, not with a hello or a how ya doing, but with "Hello, Robert, I was just telling Jake here that you're a moron" (p. 50). For whatever reason, I just can't shake the feeling that this Harvey fellow just doesn't much care for Cohn. However, I also get the feeling that Jake isn't too fond of Cohn either. However, the delivery between the two is completely different. Harvey just says he hates Cohn outright, but Jake, though he doesn't care for him, hides his feelings to the point that Cohn thinks they're really great friends. This seems to imply that Jake has trouble communicating his true feelings. Oh, and I think that makes Harvey and Jake foils, right? yeah. The other particularly important part of this chapter is that lovely bundle of awkward that ensues between Frances and Cohn. Frances just rips on him for about three pages straight, and Cohn just sits back and takes it. This really just serves to reinforce that chivalrous nature of Cohn's. It would've been all to easy to just send the little lass straight to the moon (Honeymooners reference, anyone?), but he just accepts it, and takes it all in stride. What a nice fella. I'm starting to feel kinda bad for the guy.

This is just a euphemism for beating your wife.

Five - Don Quixote

In this chapter, I felt as though I was drawing a bit of a parallel between Robert Cohn and everyone's favorite Spanish windmill slayer, The Ingenious Hidalgo Don Quixote of La Mancha. One should not be allowed to switch between English and Spanish that many times within a name, but that's beside the point. Anyway, the reason I say the two are kind of similar is that whole concept of outdated knightly chivalry. Cohn asks Jake about the Lady Brett Ashley, and when Jake only answers with negative qualities, "She's a drunk...She's [married someone she didn't love] twice..." (p. 46-47), Cohn gets all worked up in a tizzy, saying "I didn't ask you to insult her" (p. 47). He seems to cling to that old-timey chivalrous notion that women belong on pedestals. Señor Quixote also gets extremely worked up when some traders from Toledo "insult" his beloved Dulcinea, who he also seems to have "placed on a pedestal." It is in fact Cohn's outdated sense of values and chivalry that seems to set him apart from the rest of the Lost Generation depicted in this novel, and this old-fashioned behavior gives the other members of the Barnes gang only more ammunition to ridicule the poor fellow who was set apart from the very beginning.

This is Don Quixote. He respects women, but hates windmills.

Four - Lady Brett Ashley

Apparently, Brett and Jake are madly in love. Except that Jake can't have sex, and Brett doesn't love him enough to give up on having sex forever. Love is a strange and terrifying concept. Anyway, Brett's fixation on sexual relations seems to be her own special way of coping with her life's lack of direction. She likes to run around and have lots of meaningless intercourse, and it makes her feel like her life has meaning, but in reality, she recognizes that this behavior isn't fulfilling at all, and in reality, she's "been so miserable" (p. 32). So this looks like another case of people trying to physically "move" away from their problems. First we had Cohn who wanted to move to South America, and then there was Jake who constantly hops from bar to bar, and now there's Brett who jumps from significant male other to the next. This sense of "movement" seems to be a recurring idea throughout the novel. That's a motif, yeah?...yeah. Furthermore, it appears that Brett's very presence seems to frustrate Jake, as is seen on page 38: "To hell with Brett. To hell with you, Lady Ashley." She seems to serve as a constant reminder to Jake that he just can't do the nasty like he once could.

Perhaps it's just the vicodin talking, but I really could not come up with a relevant picture.
Edit: I'm not actually a vicodin addict; I got my wisdom teeth pulled two days ago.

Three - Clubbin'

Jake hits the bars and picks up a hooker named Georgette. I was almost appalled at our lovely protagonists apparent loose morals, until later when it becomes apparent that he does not plan to have relations with this lovely lady, as he got his hoohoo-dilly blown off in the war (blatant paraphrasing). Naturally, this fact is not expressed immediately outright, but throughout the course of the novel it is hinted at. Therefore, Jake is unable to partake in sexual relations with the aforementioned harlot or any other future prominent female characters (hint hint). This apparent impotence of Jake's brings forth yet another prominent theme in the novel: masculinity, or rather a sense of a lack thereof as a result of the war. Hemingway is essentially saying that many of the members of the Lost Generation came out of the war with extremely confused senses of what is "manly." The previous notions of charging into battle with banner waving in a tremendous bout of righteous macho fury were completely swept aside as trench warfare made such daring escapades impractical. The people who stood up bravely to charge ahead ended up getting ripped apart by machine guns. Acts of courage, honor, and bravery generally ended in a swift demise. Those that managed to get through alive just kept their heads down and tried not to get shot or blown apart by a mortar. This of course leaves the Lost Generation with a feeling that the only truly masculine soldiers got blown away while the sissies took cover and made it out in one piece. Mostly. This entire sense is embodied in Jake's own insecurity concerning his wound. This recurring theme of emasculation resurfaces throughout the course of the novel as strong women show off independence or exhibit control over other leading male characters, as was shown in the exchange between Cohn and Frances over the trip to Strasbourg.

This is an authentic WWI machine gun. It is the bane of masculinity.

Two - Would You Like to go to South America?

This line is a bit of a random conversation starter. Should a person ever walk up to me and boldly ask this with little to no build up or explanation, I would be fairly taken-aback. Apparently, nothing catches Jake Barnes off-guard. Anyway, Cohn appears to have a brief mid-life crisis, in which he feels absolutely sure that he's not living life up to the fullest, and thus decides that he wants to go to South America, and everything will be okay. This is one of the common ways that people in the novel seek to find fulfillment in their lives: travel. Whether it's moving from bar to bar, or from country to country, the members of the Lost Generation often try to leave their problems behind by actually physically moving. However, Jake responds with the lovely quote: "You can't get away from yourself by moving from one place to another" (p. 19). Jake is essentially saying that the problems that Cohn faces are due to his lifestyle, like his outdated values and morals, and that changing location will not make these problems go away. This chapter also shows a particular recurring quality of Jake's: oftentimes he shows quite the impressive insight in pointing out a problem, typically of those facing the Lost Generation, yet he oftentimes falls short of actually offering a solution.

This is South America; it does not hold the answers you seek.

One - Robert Cohn

Robert Cohn is the first member of The Barnes Crew that is mentioned in this novel. In this tiny slice of a chapter, we receive great insight into the life and mind of Mr. Cohn. We learn that he's a shy little Jewish boy who has gotten used to being picked on and made fun of, and has simply learned to just take it for the most part. He generally doesn't seem to stand up for himself, as is seen on page 14 where he declares that any trip involving a lady other than Frances and "I couldn't go, that would be all." He appears to be afraid of confrontation, which probably stems from the fact that he's one of the only members of The Barnes Crew that was not involved in World War One. Furthermore, we learn that Cohn is a writer, which only further enforces my theory that all writers everywhere like to write about writers more than any other profession. Just think about it. And lastly, and possibly most importantly, we learn that "Robert Cohn was once middleweight boxing champion of Princeton" (p. 11). I think this fact is particularly important because it's mildly ironic. Throughout the course of the novel, we see Cohn take on the role of a punching bag, rather than that of the one doling out the punches. Cohn is the focus of countless verbal attacks and insults and (generally) never fights back. Rather than being shown as the big bad boxing brute (unintentional alliteration), he just gets picked on, over and over.

This is a punching bag. They take many-a-punch, yet rarely hit back.

Zero - The Lost Generation

"Bryan, you can't start a blog series off with Zero. One would be okay, and Twenty-One would be acceptable as a continuation of the last twenty. But no, you can't start over at zero."

"Mr. Strawman, you may blame Hemingway for writing a novel with exactly 19 chapters. How am I supposed to evenly divide that into 20? And thusly I shall start this blogging adventure off with blog zero, which does not correspond to any single chapter, but is more of a conglomeration of things that helped me understand the novel as a whole (because after read-through number two, I was still lost). Furthermore, this way, blog post number 1 can correspond with chapter 1, and post 2 with chapter 2, all the way until we end our blogging adventure. So Mr. Strawman, if my simplicity just happens to be unacceptable to you, frankly this is my blog and I do what I want."

So without further ado, what in God's name is the "Lost Generation"?

A: "The "Lost Generation" is a term used to define expatriate artists and writers living in Paris after the end of World War I."

Thanks Wikipedia! (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lost_Generation) So then what's an expatriate?

A: "An expatriate (in abbreviated form, expat) is a person temporarily or permanently residing in a country and culture other than that of the person's upbringing or legal residence.

Good Golly Gosh, Wikipedia! (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Expatriate) So what you're saying is that this entire novel, The Sun Also Rises, by Ernest Hemingway, is ultimately an illustration of various people like Jake Barnes, Lady Brett Ashley, and their various friends and associates who struggle to cope in a world after The Great War, in which their original values of love, romance, honor, and respect have been shattered by the horrors of war, and they all attempt to deal with this aimlessness through various mediums, such as sexual promiscuity, alcoholism, and gambling?

A: "um..."

Thanks Wikipedia, this has been most enlightening. In reality I reached this conclusion right around chapter nine I believe, when I stood up, shook my fists at the ceiling, and rightly declared "This book isn't about anything!!!" Shortly thereafter, I decided that Hemingway is a rather intelligent fellow, and if his book seems to be about nothing, well he probably wants it to be about nothing. Like Seinfeld, except less funny. Anyway, I tried to come up with reasons why his book doesn't seem to go anywhere, and after a bit of research about the Lost Generation alluded to on the back cover, I came to the aforementioned explanation. The book is about nothing, because the characters' lives are about nothing; they simply hop around from bar to bar, or from man to man, not really living their lives, but just simply existing. I suppose I'll go more in-depth with each individual character's aimless life as they appear throughout the course of the novel, so for now I shall simply declare the aimlessness of The Lost Generation to be the overarching theme of this entire novel. Theme? I do declare, that's another literary term. Chalk one up for Bryan F. Cary. Furthermore, this theme reminds me of a song, "The Good Life," by Three Days Grace; you can find it over there, on the left. Anyway, I'll see you all in chapter 1.

This is Seinfeld. It's a show about nothing.


This is Wikipedia. I like to carry on long, intimate conversations with it.