Ernest Hemingway, "The Sun Also Rises"
Goddamn midterms are taking all my free time. What�s worse, even with me cutting back on reading non-class related material, I would have had as much of a chance in my last midterm for Nutrition if the instructor had handed me a blindfold and some darts. I think they require you to take stupid classes like this just so people with high GPAs can have some humility.
And I need to rethink my plan on getting through all my books. Previously, I had decided I would finish six books before I bought another one. But the bookstore recently got some really good stuff in and while I�ve been trying to keep from hoarding too much stuff for myself, even not picking things up I really want to read, I still have 21 books on hold. That means I have to read over 100 books that I already have before I clear out my hold shelf.
And so what do I read? Hemingway.
This book was actually pretty good, though not much happened. This is now my third novel by Hemingway, and I think I like this one more than the better-known �A Farewell to Arms� and �For Whom the Bell Tolls.� It seems that happens a lot: the more popular books are lauded, while the others are ignored.
But I was reminded of something that my communications instructor had said when he read the draft copy of my book (which you should buy, �cause I�m low on money for booze). His comment was that there were �some cinematic qualities that were quite visual, but didn�t do anything to advance the story.�
That could be said for most of this Hemingway book. I�m not going to look for a specific quote, as I�ve spent too much time on this damn book already. But if I found a quote, it would probably go something like this:
�I got up, fished around in my pocket for some change, counting out two quarters, five dimes and three pennies. I held the change in my hand while I walked across the street and opened the door for the deli, which opened toward the street. Three people were in line in front of me, one being of the Polish persuasion, another who looked Russian, and an Indian Squaw. The Squaw was tall, taller then the men, and she waited for her turn directly in front of the Russian behind her, and he was unable to see how far the line went back. I waited until it was my turn, which took twelve and a half minutes...�
And so it goes. And who cares? Not me. Fortunately, this only happened a few times, and the majority of the book flowed fairly well. I�m still not a fan, though, and frankly I can�t see what the entire hubbub about Hemingway is for.
