The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway (English) Paperback Book

Description: The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway, Maria Hinojosa Ernest Hemingways quintessential story of the Lost GenerationWith a new introduction by Maria Hinojosa, Emmy Award-winning journalist and anchor of Latino USA"A truly gripping story, told in a lean, hard, athletic narrative prose that puts more literary English to shame. . . It is magnificent writing, filled with that organic action which gives a compelling picture of character. This novel is unquestionably one of the events of an unusually rich year in literature."--New York Times Book ReviewFirst published in 1926, The Sun Also Rises displays the full flower of Hemingways unique style, at once spare and gut-wrenching. Following a group of expatriates in Europe after the devastation of World War I, the novel traces the doomed love story of Jake Barnes, a veteran wrestling with wounds both physical and emotional, and the beautiful Lady Brett Ashley. As they drift from the hedonistic nightlife of Paris to the macho world of bullfighting in Spain, these members of the Lost Generation face the loss of their illusions and the impossibility of love. Closely based on true people and events Hemingway experienced as an ex-pat in Europe, this debut novel marked the arrival of a towering talent. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Author Biography Ernest Hemingway (1899-1961) was a Nobel Prize-winning American novelist and short-story writer. Born in Oak Park, Illinois, he started his career as a writer for a Kansas City newspaper. In the 1920s, Hemingway became a member of a group of expatriate Americans in Paris, which he describes in this first important work, The Sun Also Rises, originally published in 1926. Hemingways other notable works include A Farewell to Arms (1929), For Whom the Bell Tolls (1940), and The Old Man and the Sea (1952). Review Praise for The Sun Also Rises"A truly gripping story, told in a lean, hard, athletic narrative prose that puts more literary English to shame. . .It is magnificent writing, filled with that organic action which gives a compelling picture of character. This novel is unquestionably one of the events of an unusually rich year in literature."--The New York Times Review Quote Praise for The Sun Also Rises "A truly gripping story, told in a lean, hard, athletic narrative prose that puts more literary English to shame. . .It is magnificent writing, filled with that organic action which gives a compelling picture of character. This novel is unquestionably one of the events of an unusually rich year in literature."-- The New York Times Excerpt from Book 1 Robert Cohn was once middleweight boxing champion of Princeton. Do not think that I am very much impressed by that as a boxing title, but it meant a lot to Cohn. He cared nothing for boxing, in fact he disliked it, but he learned it painfully and thoroughly to counteract the feeling of inferiority and shyness he had felt on being treated as a Jew at Princeton. There was a certain inner comfort in knowing he could knock down anybody who was snooty to him, although, being very shy and a thoroughly nice boy, he never fought except in the gym. He was Spider Kellys star pupil. Spider Kelly taught all his young gentlemen to box like featherweights, no matter whether they weighed one hundred and five or two hundred and five pounds. But it seemed to fit Cohn. He was really very fast. He was so good that Spider promptly overmatched him and got his nose permanently flattened. This increased Cohns distaste for boxing, but it gave him a certain satisfaction of some strange sort, and it certainly improved his nose. In his last year at Princeton he read too much and took to wearing spectacles. I never met anyone of his class who remembered him. They did not even remember that he was middleweight boxing champion. I mistrust all frank and simple people, especially when their stories hold together, and I always had a suspicion that perhaps Robert Cohn had never been middleweight boxing champion, and that perhaps a horse had stepped on his face, or that maybe his mother had been frightened or seen something, or that he had, maybe, bumped into something as a young child, but I finally had somebody verify the story from Spider Kelly. Spider Kelly not only remembered Cohn. He had often wondered what had become of him. Robert Cohn was a member, through his father, of one of the richest Jewish families in New York, and through his mother of one of the oldest. At the military school where he prepped for Princeton, and played a very good end on the football team, no one had made him race-conscious. No one had ever made him feel he was a Jew, and hence any different from anybody else, until he went to Princeton. He was a nice boy, a friendly boy, and very shy, and it made him bitter. He took it out in boxing, and he came out of Princeton with painful self-consciousness and the flattened nose, and was married by the first girl who was nice to him. He was married five years, had three children, lost most of the fifty thousand dollars his father left him, the balance of the estate having gone to his mother, hardened into a rather unattractive mold under domestic unhappiness with a rich wife; and just when he had made up his mind to leave his wife she left him and went off with a miniature-painter. As he had been thinking for months about leaving his wife and had not done it because it would be too cruel to deprive her of himself, her departure was a very healthful shock. The divorce was arranged and Robert Cohn went out to the Coast. In California he fell among literary people and, as he still had a little of the fifty thousand left, in a short time he was backing a review of the Arts. The review commenced publication in Carmel, California, and finished in Provincetown, Massachusetts. By that time Cohn, who had been regarded purely as an angel, and whose name had appeared on the editorial page merely as a member of the advisory board, had become the sole editor. It was his money and he discovered he liked the authority of editing. He was sorry when the magazine became too expensive and he had to give it up. By that time, though, he had other things to worry about. He had been taken in hand by a lady who hoped to rise with the magazine. She was very forceful, and Cohn never had a chance of not being taken in hand. Also he was sure that he loved her. When this lady saw that the magazine was not going to rise, she became a little disgusted with Cohn and decided that she might as well get what there was to get while there was still something available, so she urged that they go to Europe, where Cohn could write. They came to Europe, where the lady had been educated, and stayed three years. During these three years, the first spent in travel, the last two in Paris, Robert Cohn had two friends, Braddocks and myself. Braddocks was his literary friend. I was his tennis friend. The lady who had him, her name was Frances, found toward the end of the second year that her looks were going, and her attitude toward Robert changed from one of careless possession and exploitation to the absolute determination that he should marry her. During this time Roberts mother had settled an allowance on him, about three hundred dollars a month. During two years and a half I do not believe that Robert Cohn looked at another woman. He was fairly happy, except that, like many people living in Europe, he would rather have been in America, and he had discovered writing. He wrote a novel, and it was not really such a bad novel as the critics later called it, although it was a very poor novel. He read many books, played bridge, played tennis, and boxed at a local gymnasium. I first became aware of his ladys attitude toward him one night after the three of us had dined together. We had dined at lAvenues and afterward went to the CafZ de Versailles for coffee. We had several fines after the coffee, and I said I must be going. Cohn had been talking about the two of us going off somewhere on a weekend trip. He wanted to get out of town and get in a good walk. I suggested we fly to Strasbourg and walk up to Saint Odile, or somewhere or other in Alsace. "I know a girl in Strasbourg who can show us the town," I said. Somebody kicked me under the table. I thought it was accidental and went on: "Shes been there two years and knows everything there is to know about the town. Shes a swell girl." I was kicked again under the table and, looking, saw Frances, Roberts lady, her chin lifting and her face hardening. "Hell," I said, "why go to Strasbourg? We could go up to Bruges, or to the Ardennes." Cohn looked relieved. I was not kicked again. I said good night and went out. Cohn said he wanted to buy a paper and would walk to the corner with me. "For Gods sake," he said, "why did you say that about that girl in Strasbourg for? Didnt you see Frances?" "No, why should I? If I know an American girl that lives in Strasbourg what the hell is it to Frances?" "It doesnt make any difference. Any girl. I couldnt go, that would be all." "Dont be silly." "You dont know Frances. Any girl at all. Didnt you see the way she looked?" "Oh, well," I said, "lets go to Senlis." "Dont get sore." "Im not sore. Senlis is a good place and we can stay at the Grand Cerf and take a hike in the woods and come home." "Good, that will be fine." "Well, Ill see you tomorrow at the courts," I said. "Good night, Jake," he said, and started back to the cafZ. "You forgot to get your paper," I said. "Thats so." He walked with me up to the kiosk at the corner. "You are not sore, are you, Jake?" He turned with the paper in his hand. "No, why should I be?" "See you at tennis," he said. I watched him walk back to the cafZ holding his paper. I rather liked him and evidently she led him quite a life. 2 That winter Robert Cohn went over to America with his novel, and it was accepted by a fairly good publisher. His going made an awful row I heard, and I think that was where Frances lost him, because several women were nice to him in New York, and when he came back he was quite changed. He was more enthusiastic about America than ever, and he was not so simple, and he was not so nice. The publishers had praised his novel pretty highly and it rather went to his head. Then several women had put themselves out to be nice to him, and his horizons had all shifted. For four years his horizon had been absolutely limited to his wife. For three years, or almost three years, he had never seen beyond Frances. I am sure he had never been in love in his life. He had married on the rebound from the rotten time he had in college, and Frances took him on the rebound from his discovery that he had not been everything to his first wife. He was not in love yet but he realized that he was an attractive quantity to women, and that the fact of a woman caring for him and wanting to live with him was not simply a divine miracle. This changed him so that he was not so pleasant to have around. Also, playing for higher stakes than he could afford in some rather steep bridge games with his New York connections, he had held cards and won several hundred dollars. It made him rather vain of his bridge game, and he talked several times of how a man could always make a living at bridge if he were ever forced to. Then there was another thing. He had been reading W. H. Hudson. That sounds like an innocent occupation, but Cohn had read and reread The Purple Land. The Purple Land is a very sinister book if read too late in life. It recounts splendid imaginary amorous adventures of a perfect English gentleman in an intensely romantic land, the scenery of which is very well described. For a man to take it at thirty-four as a guide-book to what life holds is about as safe as it would be for a man of the same age to enter Wall Street direct from a French convent, equipped with a complete set of the more practical Alger books. Cohn, I believe, took every word of The Purple Land as literally as though it had been an R. G. Dun report. You understand me, he made some reservations, but on the whole the book to him was sound. It was all that was needed to set h Details ISBN0593201132 Author Maria Hinojosa Language English Year 2022 ISBN-10 0593201132 ISBN-13 9780593201138 Publication Date 2022-01-25 Format Paperback Country of Publication United States US Release Date 2022-01-25 UK Release Date 2022-01-25 Place of Publication New York Illustrator Gladys Jose Translator Jackie McClure Birth 1927 Affiliation Clark University Position journalist Qualifications M.D. DEWEY 813.52 Audience General NZ Release Date 2022-03-28 AU Release Date 2022-03-28 Pages 272 Publisher Random House USA Inc Imprint Bantam Press We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:134266543;

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