The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway

Cherchez la famme. Brett was handsome, witty, and "built with curves like the

hull of a racing yacht." Men fell in love and she loved them back or as Jake

Barnes jibed, she liked to "add them up." Jake was Brett's true love and she

couldn't be with him. So everyone was miserable.

 

The story started in Paris where the American expatriate Jake Barnes worked as a

journalist. Then, five friends went on a fishing trip and to see the fiesta of

San Fermin in Pamplona, Spain. There was the New York Jew Robert Cohn who ditched

his girlfriend and became besotted with Brett after a brief fling, Bill Gorton, a

successful writer from Chicago, the Scot Mike Campbell who was heir to some

fortune and Brett's fiancée.

 

As it happened at the fiesta Brett fell in love with Pedro Romero, a 19-year-old

master matador. Cohn, a former boxer, now jilted, called Jake a "damned pimp,"

hurt the bullfighter badly out of jealousy, and left the next morning

heart-broken. Brett ran off with Romero but finally decided not to "be a bitch"

to ruin the boy and sent for Jake.

 

As Jake concluded after telegraphing Brett,

    That was it. Send a girl off with one man. Introduce her to another to go

    off with him. Now go and bring her back. And sign the wire with love. That

    was it all right. (p216)

 

So that was their kind of love.

 

They'd ridicule as defeatist a wisdom such as the Chinese "Go with the rooster

or the dog, whichever you get hitched to." But their idea of "love" is so poorly

defined and its pursuit is like searching in a dark room for a black cat that

might not be there. To be together was at once a dream and a risk as eating

cakes everyday might lead at some point to heart failure. So they danced around

as long as they could and let jealousy and lust sucked others in. The ancients

tuned out such a lofty, not to say profitable, thing as love and said: "Let's

get it over with."

 

There was much to like about Hemingway's writing, simple, crisp, flowing, and

vivid. I enjoyed the witty dialogues among the friends and Bill, who must be one

of the the funniest characters I've ever read, and Jake's crowded bus ride from

Bayonne to Pamplona as Basque peasants and the writers drank like brothers

despite of some language barrier.

 

Reading the book made me want to drink from a wineskin, squeezing the leather

bottle at arm's length and the nectar arcing into the back of my mouth, Basque

and Biblical. Where I live, however, the glass bottle ruled. I conceded with an

Italian vintage, Reggiano Lambrusco, a soft red wine on sale on a mobile rack in

the store. It came from Emilia-Romagana, near Pamplona in latitude. Undated, the

wine tasted fruity and smooth, much less acidic than the Menage a Trios from

Napa, which I used to drink.

 

The dancing scene after the first bull-fight reminded me of Jorge from Spain. A

young dancer visiting SF, he trained BJJ at our gym for a few months last year.

He was wiry and fast on the mat and we had a great time rolling. One Friday,

most of the squad left for a tournament, I taught a class to the whitebelts. I

showed him how to do the fatman roll. I'm sure he would remember me had we met

in a Pamplona square.

 

I enjoyed reading the book and taking notes twice.