maybe mix in a water guys

Book Review: Fiesta (The Sun Also Rises) by Ernest Hemingway 

…As a self-professed classic literature reader, it is hard for me to admit that this book was, in fact, my first meeting with Hemingway. Given the close bond between those wanting to be seen as thoughtful, insightful intellects and Ernest Hemingway novels, you may have thought a scorned performative reader such as myself would have the complete oeuvre of Hemingway on my shelves. No matter, I found myself entering the world of the renowned Renaissance man on a drizzly July afternoon along the Tenterden High Street. I picked this short novel up on a bit of a whim. I was in town to meet fellow PRA member Jack Godfrey (call sign: Stan) for a coffee prior to our subsequent deployment to the real world (his serving the matrix at a bigwig London law firm, while my tour of duty is more pencil pushing than boots on the ground in comparison). I was strolling up to our rendezvous point when I received a call from Stan informing me that he would be a little late (he, despite all his abilities, had forgotten to iron a shirt for his last shift at a part-time gig following the coffee). It just happened that as I took this call, I passed Waterstones (a smaller, quainter Barnes & Noble to you yanks reading). Perfect. Escape the drizzle and have a nosey at some books. The indecisive perusal of the shelves began. Modern fiction…classic lit…fantasy…poetry……classic lit…modern fiction…poetry……classic lit…non-fiction…classic lit. My dithering was only prolonged by multiple time extensions from Stan, which I warmly welcomed, as perhaps due to the spontaneity of my visit, my indecisiveness was at a ten. I finally settled on the classic lit section, and once I did my Goodreads and Reddit research, I had a Hemingway in hand.

The ‘modern renaissance man’ is an approach to life that, in all seriousness, I do deeply admire (perhaps that’s an essay for a future post), and with Hemingway’s allure and critical acclaim as a writer, I was particularly excited to dive in. Yet, as and Stan I happened to discuss over coffee, sometimes the works of literary greats are a bit overrated. Maybe it’s our “TikTok brains” that we’ve tried our best to minimize coming back with a vengeance, but we spoke to how the odd classic “must-read it’ll change your life” is just a little boring. It is with regret that I must inform you that Fiesta undoubtedly falls into that category for me. I shall certainly persevere with other Hemingways as it wasn’t so bad that I need to shelf the bloke for life, but….eh, just didn’t give me the fizz that I was so looking for. As I read, I longed for it to pick up and grab me by the balls, but before I knew it, it was over, and I was left lying in bed unfulfilled.

....errr....now the review....

Looking objectively at the ingredients of the book, it would be rather difficult not to get excited about what possibly lies before you. An eclectic group of British and American expats boozing and partying their way through Paris in the mid-1920s, going on an extravagant trip to the running of the bulls in Pamplona, and all the while, lines of love, jealousy, and obsession entangle them. These features set the table for an unbelievable and exciting read, one which, alas, did not come to fruition. 

Works of literary fiction are heavily contingent upon their underlying development of themes and characters. The latter is one that appears upon first reflection as being rather inefficient and absent. The characters themselves are simply hard to like and connect with; this is obviously not a requirement of literary fiction – or any book for that matter – yet makes the novel difficult to engage with. This lack of real affinity for any individual impedes the ability to observe and evaluate the novel’s driving ideas. Many of the characters come off as bratty, well-off, alcoholics whose flippant approach to life – and each other – grates upon you over the course of the book's two hundred or so pages. Through the myriads of directionless gin, absinthe, and wine-fueled evenings, you develop a palpable distaste for this motley crew. The protagonist Jake Barnes is maybe the slight exception to this statement. A hard-working journalist who is rendered impotent by WWI struggles as he watches his love, Lady Brett Ashley, sleep with nearly every other male character in the story. Perhaps one of the more disheartening elements of this novel is the fact that this potential for merit and resonance is left wholly untapped. You reach the end of the novel feeling as if Jake has hardly been a part of the ongoings, pushed aside at times in what should be his story. 

This disjointed and unfulfilling relationship with the characters, paired with a loose and jumbled narrative, makes it an incredibly tepid read. The story flits from a documentation of the group's drinking in Paris to an off-piste trout fishing trip prior to the ensuing debauchery and madness in Pamplona. Once again, the result was less than the sum of its parts. The odd, intense, and colourful event – most often the bull-fighting – was the sole redeeming factor and the only driving force (that and the low page count) which pulls you through an otherwise airy and flat narrative. The allure, bravado, and celebration surrounding the bullfighting are certainly enjoyable aspects of the novel, even if more so from an informational perspective. Sans these more vivid scenes, the narrative failed to truly grip and consume you with interest. 

However, despite all these supposed shortcomings of the novel, it is important to note the potential intentionality of some of these features. Perhaps it was in Hemingway’s interest to drag us through a stagnant and distant narrative to reflect the incredible disillusionment felt by the “Lost Generation”, who came of age during the Great War and had to come to terms with issues of identity and meaning post-war. Perhaps it was by design that the reader becomes aloof with the characters and becomes tired of their excessive drinking and fighting. Perhaps this helps communicate the moral aimlessness and alienation of an entire generation, fighting to discover their purpose while also dealing with the scars and horror from one of the bloodiest wars mankind has ever seen. 

Maybe that’s the beauty of literary fiction. Maybe no one really knows. 

3/5