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By Laurie Allee
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The three-part PBS series by Ken Burns and Lynn Novick is truly bingeworthy...
I'll be honest: I never really understood why Ernest Hemingway was so famous. I had read The Old Man and the Sea in high school and probably wouldn't have finished it if I hadn't been assigned a term paper worth a quarter of my grade. At 16, I wasn't terribly interested in an aging fisherman or (spoiler alert!) the giant marlin he finally managed to catch.
In college, I read A Moveable Feast, and while it made me really want to find a time machine to go back to expatriate Paris, I still didn't regard Hemingway as much more than an outdated, macho guy who was into drinking, fishing, hunting, and bullfights. In the 1980s when Scribners unearthed the author's incomplete copy of Garden of Eden, the resulting novel felt stilted, sad, editorially manipulated and definitely unfinished.
So I had not given Hemingway much thought in the last few decades. One of my goals during the pandemic, however, was to utilize some of my newfound time at home to tackle a few of the great works of fiction I'd never gotten around to reading. One of those books was The Sun Also Rises. I had barely read Hemingway, and I certainly hadn't read the books considered to be his best. So, I downloaded a kindle copy from the library, prepared to roll my eyes at the much-imitated staccato sentences, and expecting to suffer through pages of booze, bravado and bullfights in the name of my own literacy. What I didn't expect, however, was to love the book.
And I really, really love the book.
Although the story is set in the 1920s, it feels immediately familiar. The dialogue is fresh. The people of the early 20th Century's Lost Generation seem eerily recognizable. I've known beautiful, spoiled, flamboyant-yet-insecure women like Brett. I've hung out drinking with tough, restless guys like Jake -- salty on the outside, casually cruel, enmeshed in debauchery, silently suffering with dark secrets and fiercely protecting soft romantic sides they would never, ever admit they had. Maybe it's because I read the novel during the bleakest surge of Covid-19 -- also during a concurrent time of painful social crisis, despair, conflict, unrest and governmental breakdown -- but it really spoke to me. The book's themes of aimlessness, loss, empty escapism and moral crisis gave structure and voice to my own chaotic mood.