Book Group: The Bell Jar

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath (New York: Harper Perennial, 2005; originally published in 1971. 288 pp)

To Recap

The Bell Jar details Esther Greenwood, a college student who travels to New York to work as an editorial intern for a popular magazine. While she should be thoroughly enjoying herself, Esther feels dead inside, largely disconnected from the world. As she lives in New York, she begins to question her abilities as a writer and her future in general, which only causes her to sink into extreme depression. Esther wonders if she should be a typical woman and marry, or pursue a career instead.

Esther returns to the Boston suburbs, where she grew up, in the hopes to reawaken herself from depression. Soon, however, she finds she can’t, and the feelings she had in New York are all the stronger. What follows are suicide attempts, mental hospital stays, and unhealthy relationships. The only question is, will Esther make it out of the suburbs and out of her depression in time to start the next semester at college?

Parallels Between Fiction and Reality

Donovan: I found considerable resemblance between the author’s life and that of the main character, Esther. Did you?

Andrew: Yes. Plath wrote The Bell Jar as somewhat of an autobiography. Plath herself worked during college in New York City, and suffered depression. She also ended up in a mental hospital at one point. Plath eventually committed suicide in 1963, only one month after The Bell Jar’s initial publication.

What intrigued me was the lyrical prose Esther, the protagonist, uses intermittently throughout the novel. Mirroring Plath, herself a poet, I found this styliing to be an eye-opening experience into the inner workings of Plath’s mind.

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another…” (85).

Andrew: How about you?

Donovan: Esther’s slide into suicidal depression elicits gloomy feelings in the reader since the plot resembles Plath’s real-life bout with depression and eventual suicide. Plath’s life evokes rumination considering her dramatic demise.

Understanding her life story, Esther Greenwood resembles Plath closely. As such, her constant desires to inflict bodily harm conjure deep fears in the reader.

“The interior voice nagging me not to be a fool—to save my skin and take off my skis and walk down, camouflaged by the scrub pines bordering the slop—fled like a disconsolate mosquito. The thought that I might kill myself formed in my mind coolly as a tree or a flower” (97).

As Esther devises new forms of attempted suicide, my heart broke for Plath’s family and the pain such portent, semi-autobiographical prose generates.

Let's Talk Culture

Andrew: In many ways, The Bell Jar serves as a cultural commentary of the time. How did you see this notion conveyed?

Donovan: For starters, Esther’s stay at the mental institution reinforces the horrors regarding how humanity dealt with mental illness less than 60 years ago.

“To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is the bad dream” (237).

Pages upon pages in The Bell Jar describe shock therapy and the painful ways in which physicians attempted to cure the mentally sick. These treatments—cutting edge at the time—remind me of the frailty of human knowledge. What are we doing these days that 50 years from now will seem brutally inhumane?

Andrew: I agree completely, and couldn’t have said it better. However, I think it’s also important to note, at this point, the importance a Bell Jar in the novel.

“I knew I should be grateful to Mrs. Guinea, only I couldn’t feel a thing. If Mrs. Guinea had given me a ticket to Europe, or a round-the-world cruise, it wouldn’t have made one scrap of difference to me, because wherever I sat—on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok—I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air” (207).

The bell jar, something which is generally placed over pastries to keep them fresh, symbolizes the inability to escape from depression, something perhaps more painful in Esther’s life (and vicariously Plath’s) than the ways in which physicians tried to cure the mentally ill.

A Proto-Feminist Work?

Donovan: Many literary critics suggest Plath’s depiction of Esther is a strong feminist viewpoint. Did you see this theme in the novel?

Andrew: The restricted role of women in 1950s America is assuredly something Plath intentionally included in the novel. Coupled with the realization that conventional expectations only provide emptiness, feminism is one of the more explicit themes in The Bell Jar. Esther observes a gap between what society says should happen and what she actually feels. As a result, she becomes alienated, and pulls between the desire to start a family and continue her English career. More to the point, she doesn’t fit in because of her individualism, something females weren’t necessarily encouraged to develop at the time.

“I was the only girl on the beach in a skirt and high heels, and it occurred to me I must stand out. I had removed my patent leather shoes after a while, for they foundered badly in the sand. It pleased me to think they would be perched there on the silver log, pointing out to the sea, like a sort of soul-compass, after I was dead” (169).

Andrew: Would you agree?

Donovan: Certainly. I found Plath’s depiction of Esther to be a representation of a strong female fighting against the expectations of the dominant culture. Esther had the perfect education, the perfect internship, the almost perfect boyfriend, and the perfect life, potentially. But the notion of perfect coincides with the accepted virtues of the dominant culture. Esther had other plans.

 “What I always thought I had in mind was getting some big scholarship to graduate school or a grant to study all over Europe, and then I thought I’d be a professor and write books of poems or write books of poems and be an editor of some sort” (32).

While men slept around, Esther needed to remain virginal to attract the highest quality husband. These expectations, coupled with her desires to cast her line in the other direction, shepherd her toward mental breakdown.

Expressing frustration about unreasonable cultural expectations about marriage and parenthood, Esther proclaims,

“'What I hate is the thought of being under a man’s thumb,’ I had told Doctor Nolan. ‘A man doesn’t have a worry in the world, while I’ve got a baby hanging over my head like a big sick, to keep me in line’” (221).

Not to say traditional roles are bad, I find the pressure for people with a myriad of personalities to fit into one specific cultural box to be problematic. Esther, and to a certain extent, Slyvia, do not fit the specific traditional mold. As such, the pressure to fit in became too much to bear.

The Final Word

Donovan: What’s your verdict?

Andrew: Much like Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye, I found The Bell Jar to depict both teenage angst and depressive characters in a way that deserves acclaim. Perhaps Esther is the female version of Salinger’s Holden Caufield, the novel was assuredly written to challenge the populace and garner praise to help push the feminist movement forward. However, I found the book to be too simply written for the literary acclaim it has raised. Perhaps there is beauty in the simplicity, but I had trouble pressing on past it.

Andrew: And you?

Donovan: The Bell Jar offers good prose and an intriguing story. Had Sylvia Plath not mirrored her depressive character in real life, I am not sure if The Ball Jar would receive as high of praise. Whether good or bad, a dead artist intrigues the populace and I believe this effect to be the case in this instance. The Bell Jar is worth reading but I am unsure if it qualifies as a modern classic of literary genius.

Andrew’s Verdict: 4 out of 5

Donovan’s Verdict: 4 out of 5

Sylvia Plath was born in Boston, Massachusetts, in 1932. She graduated from Smith College in 1955 and won a Fulbright Scholarship to the University of Cambridge. Her many books include the poetry collections, Ariel, Colossus, Crossing the Water, Winter Trees, and The Collected Poems, which won the Pulitzer Prize. The Bell Jar is her only novel. She was married to the poet Ted Hughes, and together they had two children. She died in London in 1963.
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Book Group: In Cold Blood

In Cold Blood: A True Account of a Multiple Murder and Its Consequences by Truman Capote (New York: Random House, 2007; originally published in 1965. 343 pp)

A Brief Recap 

“Mister Clutter was amused. ‘I’m not as poor as I look. Go ahead, get all you can,’ he said. Then, touching the brim of his cap, he headed for home and the day’s work, unaware that it would be his last.” (13). 

Reading like a precursor to one of the many CSI crime television series, the quote above summarizes the feel of In Cold Blood incredibly well, a novel where both innocence and brutality collide, where beauty meets tragedy. 

In Cold Blood highlights the grisly murders of the Clutter Family in Holcomb, Kansas. Four people with fatal shotgun wounds to the head. No apparent motive. No apparent suspect.

A lead appears only after a tip from a prison inmate. The inmate, having worked for Mr. Clutter on the farm, shared stories of the rich farmer with two convicts. In typical prison grandeur, these inmates—the prurient Dick and the unstable Perry—boasted of the eventual robbery and murder of the farming family.

With a lead, Dick and Perry soon find themselves caught. After a quick trial and verdict, the pair resides on death row with the gallows looming.

A Nonfiction Novel 

Andrew: In Cold Blood reads like fiction but presents reality. What were your thoughts, Donovan, on the truth-value of this book?

Donovan: For starters, the nonfiction nature of In Cold Blood makes for a frightening tale. It is easy to set aside violent fictional stories due to the widely understood falseness of a tale. However, the Clutter family senselessly died in real life at the hands of Dick and Perry.

“Somehow he haunts me the most, Kenyon does. I think it’s because he was the most recognizable, the one that looked most like himself—even though he’d been shot in the face, directly, head-on. He was wearing a T-shirt and blue jeans, and he was barefoot—as though he’d dressed in a hurry, just put on the first thing that came to hand. His head was propped by a couple pillows, like they’d been stuffed under him to make an easier target” (64).

I find affinity with an historical individual. Just as I breath, think, eat, and sleep, so too did Herb, Bonnie, Kenyon, and Nancy Clutter. For this reason, the grisly end of this family conjures horror because I can imagine myself in their shoes.

Donovan: How about you, Andrew. Any thoughts on this “non-fiction novel”?

Andrew: It should be known that Capote wrote In Cold Blood as a literary experiment, as an attempt to see if he could write a nonfiction “novel”, one that read like fiction, but was, in fact, nonfiction at its core. As a result of his experiment, it is incredibly hard for the reader to decide whether or not In Cold Blood is a journalistic report, an actual novel, or something in between.

The Purpose of Setting 

Andrew: Donovan, you mention the real-life nature of the case as frightening. Does Capote add anything else to the novel to instill fear in the reader?

Donovan: Certainly. Another cause for horror resides in Capote’s mundane portrayal of murder in the book. Capote masterfully interweaves non sequiturs about life in rural Kansas. As a result, the horrific actions of two individuals settle among descriptions of mundane tasks.

Photo by Trey Ratcliff

For example, Capote depicts Alvin Dewey, the FBI the investigator on the case, meandering often around the crime scene:

“The detective moved from room to room. He had toured the house many times; indeed, he went out there almost every day, and, in one sense, could be said to find these visits pleasurable, for the place, unlike his own home, or the sheriff’s office, with its hullabaloo, was peaceful. The telephones, their wires still severed, were silent. The great quiet of the prairies surrounded him. He could sit in Herb’s parlor rocking chair, and rock and think” (152-153).

Instead of a yellow-taped crime scene, the detective explores the Clutter household finding the serenity of the Kansas countryside pleasurable.

Donovan: What are your thoughts on In Cold Blood’s setting?

Andrew: In all honesty, Donovan, I disagree. I think Capote meant to use the setting as a contrast to the murders.

In creative prose, it seems as though Capote made some artistic choices within the book. The setting, true to reality, is in a beautiful place, which he intentionally juxtaposes against the brutal murder of an entire family. The book begins and ends with striking descriptions of the landscape; the serenity of the plains becomes an unlikely setting for an eerie tragedy.

“This hitherto peaceful congregation of neighbors and old friends had suddenly to endure the unique experience of distrusting each other; understandably, they believed that the murderer was among themselves” (88).

Fragmenting the community, the murder sows seeds of extreme suspicion among the entirety of the previously peaceful and placid town of Holcomb. Much like in Steinbeck’s East of Eden, the reader is able to see their allegorical fall, where sin enters the community, and the first time the community is forced to reconcile with the presence evil.

Wherefore Art Thou, Protagonist? 

Andrew: Donovan, did you find a protagonist in this book?

Donovan: Not really. In fact, it felt like Capote worked tirelessly to keep everyone situated in a moral gray area.

Truman Capote

Despite the clear evidence linking Dick and Perry to the murders, Capote refuses to let the citizens off the hook. As pious Christians opposed to capital punishment, the citizens hypocritically seek retributive justice.

Perry, the murderer, notes:

“Those prairiebillys, they’ll vote to hang fast as pigs eat slop. Look at their eyes. I’ll be damned if I’m the only killer in the courtroom” (289).

Donovan: Were you able to find a protagonist, Andrew?

Andrew: It’s incredibly hard for me to pinpoint a definitive “protagonist” as a result of the great suspicions in Holcomb. Because everyone is a suspect, it was hard for me to root for any one person. It could be argued that Alvin Dewey, the FBI agent in charge of the murder investigation is the best protagonist, but it’s hard to say. 

Perry Edward Smith and Dick Hickock are assumed to be the murderers (the antagonists), but Dewey assumes it must be someone close to the family. However, just as it seems that the murder investigation is going nowhere, Dewey finds the truth.

“The crime was a psychological accident, virtually an impersonal act; the victims might as well have been killed by lightning. Except for one thing: they had experienced prolonged terror, they had suffered. And Dewey could not forget their sufferings. Nonetheless, he found it possible to look at the man beside him without anger—with, rather, a measure of sympathy—for Perry Smith’s life had been no bed of roses but pitiful, an ugly and lonely progress toward one mirage or another.” (245)

What’s truly interesting about the novel is that Dewey finds it nearly impossible to condemn the two men responsible for killing an entire family, as they have also suffered in other ways. To Perry and Dick, the Clutters represent what they never had in life, and though they liked the family, they still murdered them.

“I didn’t want to harm the man. I thought he was a very nice gentleman. Soft-spoken. I thought so right up to the moment I cut his throat” (244).

The murders were not due to the hatred of the family, but rather because the family represented everything the two gentlemen could not attain in life. Dewey offers no absolute moral judgment on any scenario. Dewey finds it difficult to press condemnation, perhaps because the novel is set in paradise. Because of the easygoing nature and the near perfection of the town, it is difficult for any of the characters to recognize evil.

Has the Jury Found a Verdict? 

Andrew: Any concluding thoughts, Donovan?

Donovan: I enjoyed In Cold Blood, Andrew. I would recommend it. For starters, the book brings clarity to Capote, a critically acclaimed film starring Philip Seymour Hoffman based on the making of this book. In present times, In Cold Blood might not seem like a genre-defying masterpiece. But it was ahead of its time.

Donovan: What did you think, Andrew?

Andrew: Overall, In Cold Blood was thrilling. At times, it was a slow read, but the suspicion among the characters made it incredibly intriguing. Reading like an NCIS or CSI investigation, it was simply fun. I think that Capote succeeded in writing a nonfiction “novel”, as it read well, sounded like a genuine story, and kept me entertained as a reader. I think Capote deserves high praise for bringing a real-life event into a brilliant light.

Donovan’s Verdict: 4.5 out of 5

Andrew’s Verdict: 4 out of 5
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Truman Capote, born Truman Persons, was an American novelist best known for Breakfast at Tiffany's and In Cold Blood. Capote died in 1984.

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Book Group: My Name is Red

My Name Is Red by Orhan Pamuk; translated by Erdaǧ Göknar (New York: Knopf, 2001. 536 pp)

Set in Istanbul during the Ottoman Empire, My Name Is Red functions as a murder mystery at its core. In its simplest construction, the plot of this novel seeks to find out who-done-it. Yet, the strength of this prize-winning story lies not in its plot but in its poetic language and descriptive setting.

The main characters frequent the miniaturist scene painting illustrations for the Sultan. With a recent commission from the sovereign causing uproar, a murder occurs and the victim’s associates become the most likely suspects.

Andrew: This novel has an intriguing narrative structure. How do you feel that impacted the novel as a whole?

Donovan: My Name Is Red uses an unusual technique with every chapter narrated from a different character. Thus, while the story unfolds, we interpret the happenings through the framework of that specific character. In other words, the murderer dictates plot lines one way while the protagonist responds in a different way.

With the murderer narrating certain parts of the story, keeping his identity secret offers a glimpse at the virtuosity of Pamuk’s writing. Obviously, such a technique could never work with an illustrated story, but the text hides the identity and the murderer schizophrenically shifts into a different voice when speaking.

“Now I am completely divided, just like those figures whose head and hands are drawn and painted by one master while their bodies and clothes are depicted by another. When a God-fearing man like myself unexpectedly becomes a murderer, it takes time to adjust. I’ve adopted a second voice, one befitting a murderer, so that I might still carry on as though my old life continued. I am speaking now in this derisive and devious second voice, which I keep out of my regular life. From time to time, of course, you’ll hear my familiar, regular voice, which would’ve remained my only voice had I not become a murderer. But when I speak under my workshop name, I’ll never admit to being ‘a murderer.’ Let no one try to associate these two voices, I have no individual style or flaws in artistry to betray my hidden persona” (112).

Donovan: One of the narrative techniques Pamuk uses is personifying different objects and animals, such as a tree, a coin, a dog, or even the color red. What did you think about narrating inanimate objects?

Andrew: While I felt that it was artistically executed, I felt that the personifcation didn’t add much to the novel. While it was interesting to know the dog’s thoughts or what a coin knew about the murderous situation, it was obvious to me that the inanimate objects didn’t commit the murder. On the other hand, it was intriguing, as each view offered something new, especially that of the dog.

“I’m a dog, and because you humans are less rational beasts than I, you’re telling yourselves, ‘Dogs don’t talk.’ Nevertheless, you seem to believe a story in which corpses speak and characters use words they couldn’t possible know. Dogs do speak, but only to those who know how to listen.” (11)

Andrew: What was the theme that you enjoyed the most in the novel?

Islamic Miniaturist Painting

Donovan: For me, the most interesting idea in My Name Is Red surrounds the notion of sacred versus secular. A tome filled to the brink with the art forms of the Ottoman Empire, Pamuk describes the tension between the art forms of the Old Masters and the new Western influences from Europe. By commissioning illustrations in a Western style, the Sultan conjures a deep divide between conservative and liberal ideals.

Much like modern-day Istanbul, the characters in My Name Is Red live the fine line between pious conservatism and a careful acceptance of the new. Pamuk notes this tension nicely when he writes,

“The poverty, plague, immorality and scandal we are slave to in this city of Istanbul can only be attributed to our having distanced ourselves from the Islam of the time of Our Prophet, Apostle of God, to adopting new and vile customs and to allowing Frankish, European sensibilities to flourish in our midst” (80).

Donovan: How about you?

Andrew: I found that the notion of color throughout the novel was most enjoyable. As a reader, we are to look at color as a means to solve the mystery itself.

“Try to discover who I am from my choice of words and colors, as attentive people like yourselves might examine footprints to catch a thief. This…brings us to the issue of ‘style,’ which is now of widespread interest. Does a miniaturist, ought a miniaturist, have his own personal style? A use of color, a voice all his own?” (17)

Pamuk uses color amid the artistic Islamic miniaturist painters to help us decipher not only the murder, but the qualities of the characters themselves. Color also serves as a dialogue for artistry in the novel. While Turkish painters paint in one style, Frankish painters paint in another. Pamuk explores these differences in style, perspective, and color, asking all the time if one is more holy or righteous than the others.

Andrew: So what’s the verdict? Did you like My Name Is Red?

Donovan: Given the concepts and writing style, I understand why My Name Is Red receives such high praise. Yet, I did not thoroughly enjoy the book. I found the first half of the story to entertain and awe, but the second half felt bogged down with dense descriptions of art and Turkish culture. Had I known more about these subjects, I am certain that my evaluation of My Name Is Red would be higher. Thus, I recommend the book specifically for people interested in Turkish culture and art.

Andrew: Setting off with the goal of reading something from the Eastern canon of literature, I’m glad I read My Name Is Red. Much like you, I didn’t thoroughly enjoy the book, most likely because I’m used to the Western style of storytelling. I understand why it received such high praise, but I feel as though a cursory knowledge of Islamic miniaturist paintings and the cultural nuances would have helped me as a reader considerably. If the reader, like me, is interested in expanding horizons into the Eastern way of thinking, I recommend My Name Is Red , but be forewarned, it will be a rough journey.

Donovan’s Verdict: 3 out of 5

Andrew’s Verdict: 2.5 out of 5

Born in Istanbul in 1952, Orhan Pamuk spent his early years dreaming of becoming an artist. Educated at American Robert College and Istanbul University, Pamuk decided to become a novelist at the age of 23. His debut novel, Cevdet Bay and His Sons, won him the Orhan Kemal and Milliyet literary prizes. While serving as a visiting scholar at Columbia University, Pamuk wrote The Black Book which gave him international acclaim. In 2002, Pamuk’s novel, My Name Is Red, earned him the IMPAC Dublin literary award. Pamuk has won many prestigious awards including the 2006 Nobel Prize, the Richarda Hucka Prize, and was named among the world’s 100 intellectuals by Prospect Magazine, and one of the 100 most influential persons by Time Magazine.

Erdaǧ Göknar is the Assistant Professor of Turkish Studies at Duke University. He holds a Ph.D. in Near and Middle Eastern studies from the University of Washington and an M.F.A in creative writing from the University of Oregon. A Turkish-American scholar, he is currently a fellow at the National Humanities Center where he is writing a critical analysis of the Turkish novel and Orhan Pamuk. He is the recipient of two Fulbright awards, the IMPAC Dublin literary award, and an NEA translation grant.
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Book Group: The Old Man and the Sea

The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway

Donovan’s Version: (New York: Simon & Schuster, Inc., 1955. 127 pp)

Andrew’s Version: (New York: Scribner, 1980. 93 pp)

Since both of the contributors are actively involved in a book group, we thought it might be interesting to review the books we read for this group in a “book discussion” style. What follows is less a critical reflection on the literary themes in a particular work and more a discussion about the novel. What we liked; what we didn’t like; what we thought the author intended to say; whether or not we thought the author succeeded in communicating those thoughts. Who knows how it will end up but here we go!

Donovan: We just finished Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea, Andrew, and before we analyze the book, we should probably give a brief plot summary. A short novella, The Old Man and the Sea is Ernest Hemingay’s Pulitzer Prize-winning and final work. Set in Cuba during the Joe DiMaggio-era (sometime in the 1940s), the tome follows Santiago, an old fisherman riding the longest fishing drought (84 days) of his life. Although a typical day of fishing involves the help of a young boy and apprentice, Manolin, Santiago’s recent string of bad luck results in the boy moving to another fisherman.

Faced with another day at sea with no help, Santiago rows out into the gulf on his small skiff. Unlike previous days, a giant fish takes the bait early on during the day.  After an early and intense struggle, Santiago realizes that he has hooked no ordinary fish. With the creature swallowing an enormous length of line and Santiago’s calloused hands struggling to fight back, the fisherman knows he has a hefty marlin on the line. What follows is a story of humanity’s fight with nature and the will of an old man to reel in one final catch.

Q: So Andrew, what did you make of The Old Man and the Sea? Did you enjoy it? Was it a simple man-in-nature story or did Hemingway intend to write something with more depth?

Photo by Fadzly Mubin

Andrew:  Well, as I started the story, I harkened back to my high school years when I was forced to read it. So, I began reading the story with some trepidation, seeing that all I remembered was an old man fishing, which doesn’t resonate well with a teenager. But, as I began to re-read the story, I saw some pretty obvious Christ imagery jump off the page, even from page one, when Hemingway describes the main character, Santiago.

"His hands had the deep-creased scars from handling heavy fish on the cords...” (1).

Later on while out at sea,

“He had pushed his straw hat hard down on his head before he hooked the fish and it was kitting his forehead.  He was thirsty too...” (40).

And, finally, toward the end of the work, Santiago mimics Christ by showing Santiago climbing the road home,

“He started to climb again and at the top he fell and lay for some time with the mast across his shoulder. He tried to get up. But it was too difficult and he sat there with the mast on his shoulder and looked toward the road” (89).

And those were the more obvious ones: Christ’s scars on his hands from the nails, on his head from the crown of thorns, and falling from the weight of the cross. Imagery like this is somewhat rare to find, and I think it enhanced the depth of the novel.   

Q: What about you, Donovan?  Did you see any depth in the novella?

Donovan: I did, Andrew. To be honest, I did not readily see the Christ imagery you so eloquently stated. While I read The Old Man and the Sea, I continued to link the story back to Hemingway. With this book acting as the final work before Hemingway’s death, there is certainly a link between Santiago as the over-the-hill fisherman and Hemingway, an author whose best work many considered behind him.

Photo by Kivanc Nis

Thus, there is a sense in this novella that Hemingway is pouring out his creative passion to prove that despite his eleven year absence in the literary world; his work remains a force in literature.

Moreover, I found Santiago’s continual yearning for the young boy’s assistance during his bout with the marlin to link to the vigor of youth. Hemingway writes,

“If the boy were here he would wet the coils of line, he thought. Yes. If the boy were here. If the boy were here” (83).

As a fisherman struggling not only with the strength of the fish but also with the limits of his frail body, Santiago longs for the boy’s help not just to catch the marlin faster but also as a sort of eulogy to the vigor of youth long lost.

They say the moment you turn 40 your body exponentially declines. I can’t help but link Hemingway’s advancing age, his length between novels, and the old man looking at youth with fondness.

Q: So Andrew, you have clearly found a depth in Hemingway’s imagery. But let me bring you back to the surface level. Did you enjoy reading The Old Man and the Sea? Did the novella’s length enhance or inhibit the work? Would you recommend that those who have yet to read this book do so?

Andrew: For me, good short reads are hard to find. While I enjoy longer novels, because there is a depth of character and plot development, I found that Hemingway achieved the same level of character depth in this novel. I think the length enhanced the work, as it was as though Hemingway was telling the story orally to friends that he knew. It was very refreshing, and a good read overall. I would give it 4 out of 5 stars.

Q. What about yourself? Would you recommend this novella to others?

Donovan: I would. This book reminded me of the reality television show, River Monsters. Previously, I believed fishing to be a pacific exercise. I thought the act of catching a fish carried less significance than the serenity around waiting for a fish. River Monsters and The Old Man and the Sea depict the torturous action of catching a fish. Simply put, fishing is brutal through the time and strength it takes to put a fish in a boat. Hemingway’s novella expresses bravado, brokenness, and the basic fight with nature. The Old Man and the Sea is a classic well worth reading. I give it a 4.5 out of 5 stars.

Born in Oak Park, Illinois, in 1899, Ernest Hemingway began writing in 1917 for The Kansas City Star. He served as an ambulance driver during World War I and moved to Paris in 1921. While in Europe, Hemingway associated with a group of notable expatriates such as Gertrude Stein, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ezra Pound, and Ford Madox Ford. Noted for his terse prose, Hemingway’s fiction won him the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1954 and his work, The Old Man and the Sea, won the Pulitzer Prize in 1953. He died in Ketchum, Idaho on July 2, 1961.

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Posted by: Donovan Richards and Andrew Jacobson

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