Names are important, I believe. They should say something. I think The Sun Goeth Down says something. Here is why:
Ernest Hemingway published The Sun Also Rises in 1926. Hemingway, one of my favorite authors, is famous for covering the Spanish Civil War, the Cuban Revolution and the Fiestas de San Fermin. He was a life long expatriate who lived in both Latin America and Spain. Being an American expat and a member of the Great Generation, his work touched upon identity and finding a role for one's generation in history.
I've just committed myself to a year in Spain. Like Hemingway, I've lived in Latin America and found that after an extensive stay abroad, you'll find yourself forgetting your natal culture. A while away (no, spring break trips to Cancún don't count) makes you both reject and desperately miss that culture. I will stop speaking English, but I won't quite start speaking Spanish. I'll be exposed to Miró, Cervantes and Franco, but I'll filter them through Warhol, Hawthorne and Ashcroft. I'll be stuck in an interlanguage and an interculture. I can empathize with Hemingway.
The characters in The Sun Also Rises wander aimlessly within the inter-war period . I can't help but pretentiously state that in some smaller way, I share America's 21st century version of that sentiment. I don't always know where my country is heading, where history is taking my generation, or why it is taking us there. All I know is that Ernest found introspection in Spain and in travel.
The ambiguous end of that novel may be where I pick up.
This is about getting lost and enjoying it. This is about the sun going down. This is about seeing it hasten back to the place where it arose.
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2 comments:
pretentious bastard. in any case, don't go fishing in all the wrong places or, for that matter, hopelessly fish for that which isn't there (unfortunately, the only book by E.H. I have read but once I get a library card, I will begin my trek through Italy and Spain with him) although I have watched a very good documentary on his life and I think he might have become that old man, lost at sea, sooner than desired. Anyway, except for the crazy people in/on the subway, New York is treating me well. I have yet to do a lot of real exploring as I've been busy with work and everything but I am starting to come to terms with my actually living here. Honestly, I am not sure how much of an extended time I could live here; I love the city and all but I do miss being surrounded by the colour green and do sigh constantly at the neverending rushing masses of people. Perhaps I will come more to terms with that once I become one of them. Be sure to let me have your nuovo numero di cell so I can at least text or something. And you'll be happy to know that not only does Prada let me practice my Italian but most of the workers at the warehouse, where I spend half my time, speak little english and mostly what can only be liberally called spanish. I must admit, such lazy tongues. I am learning about bachata though. Anyway, here's to hoping that we can go forth gently into that which has been presented us, which has been thrust upon us, which can only be taken up by us. Assuming the rest of the world isn't forgotten between red wine and tapas.
I had to open this with something pretentious. Now that "stuff" is happening, it will get more pratical.
I should have met up with you. I was in JFK the other day! Well, ok, so what if we only had 45 mins free before boarding? I at least thought of you neo NYCers.
I have a cooler cell phonere here than I did in the states. El # es 676853246.
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