#12: The Sun Also Rises (1926), by Ernest Hemingway

“Do you still love me, Jake?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Because I’m a goner,” Brett said.

the-sun-also-rises

I didn’t like The Sun Also Rises.

I thought I would, but I didn’t. At 250 pages, I figured I’d breeze right through it, but in fact I found it a slog.

I don’t think it’s “poorly written” or “overrated” or unworthy of the critical anointing it’s received. Quite the contrary, I greatly admire Hemingway’s pioneering writing style. When you in your everyday to and fro are forced to endure an onslaught of run-on sentences and comma splices and all other manner of malformed thoughts spouting forth from the general public, Hemingway’s no-nonsense, muscular prose can be a desperately-needed tonic.

And yet, it just didn’t take.

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