“Separation of the indivisible”? You what now? I’d just finished the book and two hundred pages of sentences like the one above had driven me to a pitch of squealing irritation. I typed out a rough blog-post about The Long Prospect then decided not to post it because it was all pure wailing and howling. It’s included in 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die. There’s a terrific review of this book at Hannah’s blog. In a multicultural and global world, book characters ought not all sound the same, and writing styles should reflect the rich diversity of the cultures we share. It’s important to read Hemingway, and enjoyable too, but it seems to me that we have all moved on and his heyday is over. Simplicity that lapses into dull, plodding sentences is all too common, especially in novels that feature the seamy side of life where the characters have the vocabulary of eight year olds. Lyricism laid on with a trowel is painful to read, but it’s equally easy for minimalism to degenerate into paucity of vocabulary. (A little too vivid if you don’t care for bullfighting!) Most writers need an adjective or adverb here and there if the prose is not to become pedestrian. Few can achieve the impact that Hemingway did with short, declarative sentences, vivid images and simple prose. And because he was a master of his art it works: his stories are original, powerful, and haunting.īut alas for many who admire his writing, it’s too easy for copycat efforts to become tiresome reading. Anyone can whip through a Hemingway in a day or two. It’s also easy to understand his appeal: straightforward, direct, minimalist, easy to read. My point is that these few would give any reader a sense of 19th century style and preoccupations, and would also demonstrate the universality of the human condition over time.Ī reader with that kind of understanding of the development of the novel is then in a position to recognise the audacity of Hemingway’s departure from existing writing styles and his influence on 20th century writing. Well, there is nothing to stop people choosing other books as well, or substituting different authors and titles. (I could even suggest an Australian classic as you might have expected me to). Yes, I could be more inclusive more international less Eurocentric and yes, I could suggest a better gender balance or fewer dead white males. Yes, there could be endless arguments about these choices, which are basically just the classics that I read as a teenager. I think that anyone who’s a serious booklover should read at least some of the great 19th century classics: Pride and Prejudice Jane Eyre: Great Expectations Wuthering Heights Silas Marner a Thackeray, a Trollope a Thomas Hardy one of the Russians – preferably Tolstoy something by Balzac and something by Henry James. I don’t intend to add to the plethora of words about this ground-breaking book except to make a case for why a lover of Australian literature should make the time to read it, and why wannabe Hemingways should tread carefully when they seek to emulate his style.
It is hard to imagine two books less like each other than these: Joyce, the great Irish modernist, exploring the limits of language (not to mention the patience and fortitude of his readers) and Hemingway, the great American exponent of plain language and tough, terse prose.Īnyone who wants a review, analysis, or crib notes about The Sun Also Rises has only to Google for them and there they are in abundance. He wore what used to be called polo shirts at school, and may be called that still, but he was not professionally youthful.The Sun Also Rises was Ernest Hemingway’s first serious success – published in 1926, only four years after James Joyce’s Ulysses. If he were in a crowd nothing he said stood out. “He had a funny sort of undergraduate quality about him. She was built with curves like the hull of a racing yacht, and you missed none of it with that wool jersey.” Meanwhile, we learn that Robert Cohn’s fashion sense skews utterly ordinary, which Hemingway uses to convey his personality. Hemingway introduces her with his typical flair: “She wore a slipover jersey sweater and a tweed skirt, and her hair was brushed back like a boy’s. She’s sexually free, unrestricted by society and her outfit choices showcase it.
Lady Brett Ashley, with her close-cut bobbed hair, her masculine aesthetic and her comfortable fashion choices (all the better to go adventuring) embodies the ultimate New Woman.
It’s 1926, and all across Europe, the liberated flapper look is coming into fashion.