For Whom The Bell Tolls

For Whom The Bell Tolls is a war novel by Ernest Hemingway, based on his personal experience of the Spanish Civil War which he participated in as a reporter. I was taken aback by the language used and the counterfeit love story throughout the novel.

Fundamentally, the novel is written like a translation as discussed previously in class. The obscure phrases that Hemingway uses as an attempt to make the novel seem like a translation did not work for me. For example, during a conversation between the gypsy and Robert Jordan the gypsy asks why Pablo wasn’t killed, to which Robert responds, “I thought it might molest you others or the woman” (34). The word molest (molestar) in the Spanish language translates in English as “to bother” as opposed to the English word which generally is understood as sexual abuse. Despite the attempts to bring the “Spanishness” to the novel, I believe it disrupts the flow of the plot and can seem pretentious for the native English speakers who may not have a full grasp of the Spanish language. Also, during the scene where Maria and Robert Jordan is copulating, there is extreme repetition of the word “nowhere” which I did not enjoy.

“For him it was a dark passage which led to nowhere, then to nowhere, then again to nowhere, once again to nowhere, always and forever to nowhere, heavy on the elbows in the earth to nowhere, dark, never any end to nowhere, hung on all time always to unknowing nowhere, this time and again for always to nowhere, now not to be borne once again always and to nowhere, now beyond all bearing up, up, up and into nowhere, suddenly, scaldingly, holdingly all nowhere gone and time absolutely still and they were both there, time having stopped and he felt the earth move out and away from under them” (88).

The novel also attempts to present itself as a romance novel, which I argue it has failed also. Given the circumstances that it was a civil war, there is a dramatic element that paints any form of romance be it an affair or not as a beautiful love story. However, the sudden escalation of the romance between Maria and Robert Jordan and the scene in which they fornicate does not appear to be very logical. I’m no feminist, but the classic scene of a military man and a poor woman is a theme too familiar in literature and looked as if Hemingway was objectifying the woman, projecting his insecurities he faced in his life. The dramatic farewell between Maria and Robert Jordan was also seemed far-fetched.

All in all, I was not too impressed with the novel as it failed to reach its objectives. I also don’t believe it gives a fair assessment of the Spanish Civil War other than the desperate environment Spain was in. It was presented merely as a backdrop to the love story.

For Whom The Bell Tolls

For Whom The Bell Tolls is a war novel by Ernest Hemingway, based on his personal experience of the Spanish Civil War which he participated in as a reporter. I was taken aback by the language used and the counterfeit love story throughout the novel.

Fundamentally, the novel is written like a translation as discussed previously in class. The obscure phrases that Hemingway uses as an attempt to make the novel seem like a translation did not work for me. For example, during a conversation between the gypsy and Robert Jordan the gypsy asks why Pablo wasn’t killed, to which Robert responds, “I thought it might molest you others or the woman” (34). The word molest (molestar) in the Spanish language translates in English as “to bother” as opposed to the English word which generally is understood as sexual abuse. Despite the attempts to bring the “Spanishness” to the novel, I believe it disrupts the flow of the plot and can seem pretentious for the native English speakers who may not have a full grasp of the Spanish language. Also, during the scene where Maria and Robert Jordan is copulating, there is extreme repetition of the word “nowhere” which I did not enjoy.

“For him it was a dark passage which led to nowhere, then to nowhere, then again to nowhere, once again to nowhere, always and forever to nowhere, heavy on the elbows in the earth to nowhere, dark, never any end to nowhere, hung on all time always to unknowing nowhere, this time and again for always to nowhere, now not to be borne once again always and to nowhere, now beyond all bearing up, up, up and into nowhere, suddenly, scaldingly, holdingly all nowhere gone and time absolutely still and they were both there, time having stopped and he felt the earth move out and away from under them” (88).

The novel also attempts to present itself as a romance novel, which I argue it has failed also. Given the circumstances that it was a civil war, there is a dramatic element that paints any form of romance be it an affair or not as a beautiful love story. However, the sudden escalation of the romance between Maria and Robert Jordan and the scene in which they fornicate does not appear to be very logical. I’m no feminist, but the classic scene of a military man and a poor woman is a theme too familiar in literature and looked as if Hemingway was objectifying the woman, projecting his insecurities he faced in his life. The dramatic farewell between Maria and Robert Jordan was also seemed far-fetched.

All in all, I was not too impressed with the novel as it failed to reach its objectives. I also don’t believe it gives a fair assessment of the Spanish Civil War other than the desperate environment Spain was in. It was presented merely as a backdrop to the love story.

For Whom the Bell Tolls

Ernest Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls centers around an American dynamiter with the International Brigades who is sent on a mission to destroy a bridge and prevent the fascist advance.  This book certainly seems to be the most conventional war novel that we have read in this course.  There is a clear protagonist, a stated objective, and a love story; all rather conventional literary tropes that are not as prominent in the other novels we’ve read.  The story only takes place within a few days, which provides a clear timeline for the reader to follow what’s taking place.

I agree with Mauricio’s assessment in class about how Hemingway may have just been trying to write a book that would sell well.  One that reads easily, is relatively uncontroversial, and has a bit of something for everyone.  The romance between Robert Jordan and Maria is probably the most blatant example of this.  I share some of the skepticism towards their relationship; mostly in how they fell absolutely in love with each other after only a couple nights of smiling at each other.  I understand the nature of the war and that they may have only a few days to live, but the romance does seem a little far-fetched.  Similarly, there is little discussion of the politics surrounding the conflict, except for some discussion of how Robert Jordan ultimately takes his orders from the Communist party.  Perhaps Hemingway didn’t think it necessary, as he was ultimately writing a romantic war novel and probably wished not to scare people away with the complexities of the political situation of the time.

The symbolic purpose of the relationship is more clear though, especially considering the epigraph at the beginning of the book.  Maria could represent the Spain that needs to be rescued from the brutality and depravity of fascism, and Robert Jordan feels a responsibility to play his part, for if fascism takes over Spain it could easily spread elsewhere.  “He fought now in this war because it had started in a country that he loved and he believed in the Republic and that if it were destroyed life would be unbearable for all those people who believed in it” (p. 163).  Thus we see a part of Robert Jordan’s rationalization for taking part in the war as going along with John Donne’s quotation: ” . . . any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde; . . .”  He feels morally obligated to fight the fascists for if he didn’t he would bear responsibility for not doing enough to prevent their rise.

 

For Whom the Bell Tolls- Hemingway

In Ernest Hemingway’s book, For Whom the Bell Tolls, we read about Robert Jordan, a person from the US, whom has come to participate in the Spanish Civil war. His main task is to blow up a bridge in-order to hinder the fascist’s military force and to delay their chance at getting reinforcements. To be honest, after reading the book, I thought that some of the language he uses, is awkward, just like what we talked about in class, his attempt to translate, something that isn’t there. Instead, the purpose of those quotes with words like  thou, thy, art, and thee, etc., was to give the reader the idea that the character is using formal Spanish language.

Looking at the book, there are some animal references, comparing humans and animals. One of the main characters Pablo, has several, he calls himself a fox, referring to its cunning nature, “I live here and I operate beyond Segovia. If you make a disturbance here, we will be hunted out of these mountains. It is only by doing nothing here that we are able to live in these mountains. It is the principle of the fox (11).” He then refers to himself as a wolf, “I am more wolf than thee (11).” Perhaps, he found the qualities of a wolf more appealing, due to it’s fearless nature. I don’t exactly remember the pages, but I’m pretty sure Pablo also has a lot of ‘pig’ references. I think I can see why Hemingway used this metaphor because of Pablo’s greedy nature, intelligence, and his unattractive face. Pigs are actually smart animals, even smarter than dogs. Other than Pablo, Maria is also referred to as an animal, “rabbit”. Perhaps it’s due to the rabbit’s cute and cuddly nature, even it’s defenseless nature. The relationship between animals and humans, perhaps can relate to the war? The nature of an animal is based on survival and the task of Robert blowing-up the bridge using whatever means necessary and Pablo killing innocent people for his own gain, can both relate to the idea of what they believe is survival, or for the better, for the cause. The main point I’m trying to make is, the characters in this book are pretty-heavily relying on their instincts of lust, hunger, and killing? The dehumanization of people? The idea of lust reminds me of the talk we had on the superficial and unreal relationship between Robert and Maria. In my opinion, their relationship is based on lust, and they’re just acting as if it is more than that, such as doing the normal regular tasks that couples do.

We talked about the epigraph in class, and I definitely think that in certain aspects, the book contradicts the epigraph, unless if you look even deeper, for example each time Pablo, kills, he dies a little in side? I think someone mentioned this in-class. It is very animalistic to kill people with out batting an eyelash, in the sense that animals don’t have laws or morals, but humans do. Pablo unconsciously, feels bad each time he kills, perhaps he isn’t as animalistic as we thought.

The idea that the characters in the book are fighting due to their duty, despite the risks, fighting for their cause, makes their nature seem more human. Characters such as Pablo and Robert, have an different understanding of what their duties are supposed to be. Pablo saw it as his duty to protect the people of this land, so bombing the bridge would be out of the question. Despite his efforts, he still killed innocent people who have come to help him, in-order for the survival of him and his companions. Robert on the other hand, is motivated by his duty, and even knowing that their resistance is futile, he still continued on, in the end, he even sacrificed himself in-order for his companions to survive. He has come to terms with his end, but I still don’t know if what he did was worth it or not. If he didn’t blow-up the bridge, would the result have been different? Could he have had a later death? Being resolved to die, he sees duty as more important than anything else.

The question I want to ask is to what extent is Hemingway expressing his thoughts through Jordan? Of course, it could also be none because like what Mauricio said, he made it so that it would sell. Which was something I didn’t really see until he mentioned it.

For Whom the Bell Tolls

Huérfana España,
raíces y cimientos,
epidemias, cicatrices,
blasfemias y sacramentos,
¿por quién doblan las campanas?
San Fermín en vena,
la de Triana
contra la Macarena.

Releyendo a John Donne, me parece interesante rescatar algo que mencionó Jon ayer en clase. La idea de que el epígrafe que encabeza For Whom the Bell Tolls es una forma de justificación sofisticada que responde a la pregunta: «¿qué vine a hacer yo acá?». Esta guerra no le atañe de forma directa a Robert Jordan. Esta no es su guerra. Al menos no lo es de la misma forma en que lo era para los milicianos europeos —por mucho que le pesara a Cela, como nos hace saber en su epígrafe—. Orwell y Malraux tenían una razón si se quiere al menos egoísta para involucrarse en aquella guerra ajena: el peligro inminente del fascismo (cuya proximidad geográfica amenazaba con propagarse más allá de las fronteras naturales de la Península Ibérica, acechando la estabilidad proverbial de la campiña inglesa o de la tercera república francesa, la más extensa de la historia hasta la fecha) los eximía de justificarse. Hemingway, de quien Jordan es un trasunto más o menos evidente, un norteamericano que a primera vista ni pincha ni corta en el conflicto, recurre con Donne al tópico latino de que nada de lo humano nos es ajeno para explicarse y explicarnos por qué abandonó el tranquilo Midwest norteamericano para venir a meterse en este berenjenal. Si hay inocentes muriendo en alguna parte del mundo, parece decirnos, no puedo quedarme sin hacer nada con los brazos cruzados.

Pero como comentábamos en clase, Hemingway, a diferencia de Donne, sí se pregunta por quién doblan las campanas. Sí hace distinciones. Parafraseando a Orwell, podríamos decir que para esta novela nada de lo humano nos es ajeno pero algunos humanos nos son menos ajenos que otros. En este sentido, tal vez uno de los componentes que más me gustó de la novela es que habla desde el bando republicano sin por ello convertirse en una hagiografía de los vencidos, vicio en el que suelen incurrir muchos textos sobre la Guerra Civil española. Los republicanos de Hemingway, diametralmente opuestos a los de Sender, no son mártires cándidos. Pablo, a diferencia de Paco del Molino, es retratado desde la violencia, la brutalidad y la crueldad, particularmente en el capítulo 10 que narra la matanza liderada por él contra los fascistas del pueblo. Se nos dice que mató más gente que el cólera, el tifus y la peste negra juntos. El bueno de Paco del Molino, en cambio, es ejecutado sin haber matado nunca a nadie. Esto, como decía, es tal vez lo que más me gustó de la novela: estos republicanos no son santos, son humanos con agencia.

Por último, también querría destacar otra idea que mencionaba Jon ayer en clase: la de una traducción sin un original. Me hizo pensar en otra novela que aspiraba al mismo universalismo que observamos en Hemingway: la de Miguel de Cervantes, que presentó su Quijote como una traducción castellana de la prosa árabe de un historiador musulmán ficticio, Cide Hamete Benengeli. Hemingway, en este sentido, lleva este tópico de la falsa traducción a su raíz más drástica, modulando el lenguaje con los giros literales que enumeramos en clase, a mi entender, con el objetivo de desfamiliarizar la lectura para recordarnos todo el tiempo que no estamos a salvo en casa ni en otra novela sobre una guerra de un país remoto y exótico. Mañana cuando conversemos sobre la parte final de la novela me gustaría preguntarles si creen que su estrategia funciona.

For Whom the Bell Tolls

After yesterday’s classroom discussion, I have become more and more convinced of the important role that land, terrain, and the natural world play in the novel. As we noted, the first passages of the novel address this aspect, and the ways that the characters interact with the environment comes up time and time again as the plot advances.

While, as Jon mentioned, the book is concerned with how the human characters work with or against the terrain and the natural world, I find that the protagonists, Robert Jordan and the members of Pablo’s band, almost always work with nature rather than against it. The main exception to this trend is the snowstorm that upsets the plans of the guerrilleros. Indeed, were it not for this storm, the plot would be much different: Sordo’s nocturnal horse raiding mission would not have been detected and their band would likely not have been wiped out by the fascist calvary. We can even speculate that were it not for the snow, Pablo, assured of the support of Sordo’s band, may not have betrayed Jordan by stealing the exploder.

Examples of the ways that the guerrilleros work with nature are many. In fact, the entire action of the plot is set off by an attempt by the Republican army to make use of the terrain to their advantage: by destroying the bridge, the river becomes impassible and reverts to being a natural boundary that divides the Nationalist troops from their supply in Segovia. The guerrilleros’ use of natural shelters in the form of caves is another example of this working with nature.

Perhaps the most interesting collaboration with the natural world comes in the violence following Sordo’s horse-raid. In an attempt to defend the cave from a possible calvary attack, Robert Jordan organizes the men and sets up a defensive position above the cave that he camouflages with pine boughs. This act of disguising the machine gun with natural elements constitutes in itself a nature-human collaboration. However, more interesting is his dependence on a pair of crows near the machine gun that act as sentinels for the guerrilleros; Jordan actively watches the crows knowing that they will caw or fly away as soon as the calvary approaches. The crows do just that and the band manages to avoid a potentially disastrous conflict. Sordo’s band also actively makes use of the terrain in their last stand against the fascist calvary— their position at the top of a nearby hill is difficult for the calvary to take, until their adversaries resort to modern technology, war planes, to bomb Sordo’s position. The place of technology in this novel is definitely not as important as in others in this course; nonetheless, here it makes a small appearance.

These elements of the novel seem to address the specificities of guerrilla warfare and suggest that cooperation with the natural world is necessary for success. It would be interesting to read other accounts of guerrilla warfare in this light.

Lastly, I would like to reflect on the role of pine needles in this book, which we reflected on yesterday. In class we mentioned that the pine needles seem to ground Jordan, they ‘bring him back to earth’ and at the same time provide comfort in times of danger and distress. However, in the following quotation, the pine needles seem to have a more specific function:

He smelled the odor of the pine boughs under him, the piney smell of the crushed needles and the sharper odor of the resinous sap from the cut limbs. Pilar, he thought. Pilar and the smell of death. This is the smell I love. This and fresh-cut clover, the crushed sage as you ride after cattle, wood-smoke and the burning leaves of autumn. That must be the odor of nostalgia, the smell of the smoke from the piles of raked leaves burning in the streets in the fall in Missoula. Which would you rather smell? Sweet grass the Indians used in their baskets? Smoked leather? The odor of the ground in the spring after rain? The smell of the sea as you walk through the gorse on a headland in Galicia? Or the wind from the land as you come in toward Cuba in the dark? That was the odor of the cactus flowers, mimosa and the sea-grape shrubs. Or would you rather smell frying bacon in the morning when you are hungry? Or coffee in the morning? Or a Jonathan apple as you bit into it? Or a cider mill in the grinding, or bread fresh from the oven? (280, Chapter 20)

Here we see that for Jordan the pine needles are in opposition to the smell of death that Pilar takes such pains to describe. As such, we might associate these pine needles with life in general, but more specifically with a certain kind of life: both life well-lived  —as we see with the ‘adventurous’ nature smells associated with cattle herding, and trips to Cuba and Spain — and with the simple comforts of everyday life. Interesting here is the mention of “the odor of nostalgia”, that is, the smells of home, familiar smells. Can we see here an intersection between sensory perception and affect?

For Whom the Bell Tolls II

Hemingway, For Whom the Bell Tolls

Time and timing are of the essence in Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls. The mission at the heart of the book, for which the young American Robert Jordan is to sabotage a bridge in concert with a Republican offensive, is time critical: “To blow the bridge at a stated hour based on the time set for the attack is how it should be done,” he is told by the man in charge, General Golz. “You must be ready for that time” (5). But then, ultimately, when it becomes clear that they have lost the advantage of surprise and Jordan tries to have the attack called off, his messenger cannot get through in time: “C’est dommage. Oui. It’s a shame it came too late” Golz reflects (428). His divisions are already on the move, and there is no stopping them now. Still, “maybe this time [. . .] maybe we will get a break-through, maybe he will get the reserves he asked for, maybe this is it, maybe this is the time” (430).

We never know what comes of the offensive, and whether indeed “this is the time,” though we must presume it isn’t: the book was published in 1940, and so in the aftermath of the eventual failure to save Madrid, and indeed Spain as a whole, from Franco’s forces. A sense of doom hangs over the entire enterprise: “I do not say I like it very much” responds Jordan to Golz even when he receives his orders (6). And “It is starting badly enough [. . .]. I don’t like it. I don’t like any of it” he muses once he is on the scene with the bridge (16). Little by little, step by step, things go from bad to worse: the sky is full of Fascist planes; the leader of the local guerrilla gang is unpredictable and broken; unexpected snow reveals the tracks of an allied group, who are unceremoniously slaughtered; Jordan has to deal with incompetence and betrayal. By the time they finally blow the bridge they know that it is effectively a suicide mission, and what’s worse for a larger cause that is itself destined to fail. Yet still they go on with it. The book ends with Jordan, his leg broken and so unable to flee, on the verge of unconsciousness, waiting for his last fight as the enemy come up the road: “Let them come. Let them come! [. . .] I can’t wait any longer now [. . .]. If I wait any longer I’ll pass out” (470). But again, we are not told precisely what happens next. Instead, the novel’s final line (“He could feel his heart beating against the pine needle floor of the forest” [471]) returns us to how it all started: “He lay flat on the brown, pine-needled floor of the forest” (1). The entire book is a circle, refusing to look ahead as though to stave off the certain tragedy of what is to come, and refusing equally to look back, for the little we glimpse of the past is likewise marked by violence and shame.

Instead, the novel carves out an oasis of time: four days, or rather “not quite three days and three nights” (466), in which almost the entirety of the novel is set, between the moment at which Jordan meets the partisans and the point at which they have to leave him there by the bridge, with hardly the chance for goodbyes: “There is no time” (462). It is not as though this brief stretch is unaffected by what has gone before and what is to come: it is clear, for instance, that some unresolved Oedipal drama has brought Jordan here, while the other characters have traumas of their own that they are unable to escape; and however much they stoically (or heroically?) try to deny their intuition of a bitter finale, they are unable to dispel these presentiments altogether. But Hemingway’s point, I think, is that within these three or four days they are able to live an entire lifetime. There is something almost Borgesian about this, like the short story “El milagro secreto,” in which a man in front of the firing squad lives out what for him is an entire year between the order to fire and the bullets piercing his chest. Robert Jordan lives out his own “secret miracle” in the company of Maria, the ragged-haired young woman that the guerrillas had rescued from a previous operation.

On their last night together (Jordan’s last night tout court), “Robert Jordan lay with the girl and he watched time passing on his wrist.” But this steady temporal progression is, he feels, somehow under his subjective control: “as he watched the minute hand he found he could almost check its motion with his concentration” (378). A little later, “as the hand on the watch moved, unseen now”–and so perhaps unchecked, but also unminded–comes an extraordinary passage in which Hemingway (or Jordan) tries to delimit something like a pure present of absolute intensity:

They knew [. . .] that this was all and always; this was what had been and now and whatever was to come. This, that they were not to have, they were having. They were having now and before and always and now and now and now. Oh, now, now, now, the only now, and above all now, and there is no other now but thou now and now is thy prophet. Now and forever now. Come now, now, for there is no now but now. Yes, now. Now, please now, only now, not anything else only this now. (379)

Of course, the watch hand cannot be detained indefinitely: its motion can at best be “almost check[ed].” And language–or writing–inevitably unfolds linearly. The sentence, the paragraph, the book must all grind inexorably to their ends. But in the meantime, perhaps, this is the time; this is their time, our time. Hemingway’s wager, in For Whom the Bell Tolls, is to rescue and resuscitate a moment of exceptional intensity and vivacity, even within the earshot and in full knowledge of the bells that toll relentlessly for a death that (as in the epigraph taken from John Donne) diminishes us all.

See also: For Whom the Bell Tolls I; Spanish Civil War novels.

Hemingway: For Whom the Bell Tolls

In Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls, we acquaint ourselves with the protagonist Robert Jordan, an expert dynamiter from the US who has given up his life at home to participate in the Spanish Civil War. By orders of a General Golz, he is to strategically blow up a bridge at the precise time of a Republican offensive in order to hinder the mobilization of Fascist reinforcements. In order to do this, he enlists the help of mountain guerillas of the area; he is led to guerillas’ hideout by his guide, the elderly Anselmo.

What is notable about this book specifically is its strange diction in which it goes about telling the story. Indeed it really incorporates an almost Spanish type of grammar, yet it is largely executed in English, with light Spanish punctuations here and there. The sentences are not incorrect, but they feel like direct translations of sentences first written in Spanish. This is particularly true for inter-character dialogue, but less so for the narration.

What I particularly enjoyed about this book is that it portrays very real experiences, human experiences, and with that, clear and substantial emotions. Hemingway deliberately takes the more palpable parts of the war and the human condition to his audiences, depicting the more basic, primordial side of people: hunger, lust, killing, and death. There is much that goes on behind the lines and in between battles; people get hungry, and food must be prepared (as in the first chapter). As well, Robert Jordan and Maria make love in the woods. There is constant talk of killing and death among the guerillas of the camp, and later in the book, the actual killing commences. As discussed in class, there is indeed a certain universality to this book and its characters, where such experiences could have been lived by anyone and at any time; war, killing, and love are forever.

Hemingway moves on to create more complex emotions as well, putting the reader in difficult situations just as the characters face. As an example, there is a very real uneasiness as the people of the cave plot to kill Pablo, and we later find out from Pilar that almost certainly has Pablo overheard the conversation.

In the same vein, he neglects to substantially explain the political motivations and underpinnings of the war. Perhaps Hemingway did not want to bog down his book with overly complicated and hardly relatable struggles of ideal (and the inevitable battle of acronyms) that plagued the earlier books we have read. We learn very little about the situation in Spain of that epoch, and as a novel of historical fiction, it serves more as fiction than historical.

Nonetheless, I enjoy its simple prose and I look forward to reading the rest of this book.

For Whom the Bell Tolls

I’ve brought up the idea in class before that there comes a time when a cause is no longer worth fighting for. I mean this in the practical, life saving sense if not the idealistic sense. I believe there exists such a time in every conflict, and it is not only not cowardly but it is the right thing to do to stop fighting at such a time.

In the beginning of  this novel, I believe Pablo has at least answered this question for himself. Whether or not we have reached this point where there is no point in keeping fighting is obviously a matter of perspective and opinion, but no other character shows signs of even having this question in mind, and Pablo is labeled a coward for having posed this question to himself.

I contend Pablo is the sanest of all the characters for having done this (though ironically the answer to this question is probably what led to his alcoholism), though I can see why idealists might disagree with me. Pablo was clearly brave, patriotic and committed to the conflict based on the information we’re given about how many people he killed when the conflict started. We’re further told of how disorganized and outgunned this group was when the conflict started so we can, I believe, safely assume that Pablo hasn’t stopped fighting now because they don’t have a logical superiority or lack of conviction.

Ergo, the only explanation that I can see that remains for Pablo’s behavior is that he’s done the math and realized that not only is this war unwinnable, and he’s doing his fellow countrymen a disservice if he keeps fighting by inflicting more death and destruction for no actual strategic gain. War, in particular its brutality, is often justified as the ends justifying the means; but here it has become clear to Pablo at least that the end is unreachable and hence there is no way to justify the means.

All other characters appear to be rationalizing keeping the fight up. In particular, I believe they’ve set up a kind of straw man for themselves with this bridge. They’ve deluded themselves into believing that if this bridge can be blown up, then the whole war can be won, whereas in reality it is a tiny and insignificant part of the larger conflict that can easily be rebuilt given Franco’s resources. We furthermore see their inability to recognize the true extent of how unmatched they are and facing reality by how they just assume planes passing by are their own, when most likely that was not the case or they just couldn’t face it not being the case.

For Whom the Bell Tolls I

Hemingway, For Whom the Bell Tolls

Halfway through Ernest Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls, the protagonist Robert Jordan is thinking both forwards and back to Madrid. Forwards because, in the middle of the Spanish Civil War, stuck in a cave behind Fascist lines waiting to begin a tremendously risky and seemingly ill-fated operation to blow up a bridge, he distracts himself by imagining what he will do if and when his mission is successfully concluded. “Three days in Madrid,” he thinks. The capital is under siege, of course, but even so it would offer creature comforts unimaginable on the front lines: a “hot bath [. . .] a couple of drinks.” There would be music and movies: he’d take his peasant lover Maria to see “The Marx Brothers at the Opera” (231). He’d have dinner at Gaylord’s, a hotel that “the Russians had taken over” where “the food was too good for a besieged city” (228).

But all this also leads him to think back (unusually, for a man not given to reminiscence) to other experiences he has had at Gaylord’s, a place of intrigue thick with rumor and “talk too cynical for a war.” It was here that he’d met the shadowy Russian Karkov–introduced by the last dynamiter to work in the zone and described as “the most intelligent man he had ever met” (231). And it was largely Karkov who’d made “Gaylord’s [. . .] the place you needed to complete your education. It was there you learned how it was all really done instead of how it was supposed to be done” (230). For in Jordan’s (and Hemingway’s) jaded eyes, the Republican cause may be right, but it is far from pure. Behind “all the nonsense” (230) is a murky world of machination and deception that only fully comes into focus at the Russian-held hotel. This is the epicenter of disillusion and corruption, but it is also the only place to “find out what was going on in the war” (228).

The hidden reality of the war is not pretty, but in some ways (Jordan reflects) it is “much better than the lies and the legends. Well, some day they would tell the truth to everyone and meanwhile he was glad there was a Gaylord’s for his own learning of it” (230). And Jordan and Karkov talk about when and how this truth will emerge: “out of this will come a book,” Karkov says, “which is very necessary; which will explain many things which it is necessary to know” (244). Jordan himself, a Spanish instructor at a US university, has already written a book–about “what he had discovered about Spain in ten years of travelling in it”–but it “had not been a success.” Some day soon it would be time to try again:

He would write a book when he got through with this. But only about the things he knew, truly and about what he knew. But I will have to be a much better writer than I am now to handle them, he thought. The things he had come to know in this war were not so simple. (248)

Now, Jordan is not Hemingway–and Hemingway is not Jordan, though the author has surely invested plenty in his character, a man of few words who prides himself on his powers of observation and his knowledge of the human psyche. But is this novel the book that Jordan would have wanted to have written? The work of a “much better writer” that is to explain the truth of a complex war whose surface veneer is attractive but whose grim interior is more fascinating still. Perhaps.

But For Whom the Bell Tolls is not really about the war’s covert machination. Indeed, what’s interesting about the novel is that Hemingway refuses to accede completely to Jordan’s notion that the “truth” of the conflict is to be found amid the cynicism and corruption that his protagonist tells us “turned out to be much too true” (228). Or rather, Jordan himself is shown as struggling to determine where the reality of the situation lies. Up in the hills, he knows that the situation is bad, not least when he sees the “mechanized doom” (87) of the Fascist planes that roar overhead and announce, as clearly as anything, that the enemy knows of the forthcoming Republican offensive. But he can’t quite admit this: asked whether he has faith in the Republic he replies “’Yes,’ [. . .] hoping it was true” (91). To admit to the precariousness of their fate, the difficulty of their mission, would be to fall into the trap that has ensnared Pablo, the local guerrilla leader who has let fear (and alcohol) overwhelm him, because he knows that their cause is long lost: he toasts “all the illusioned ones” (214) and explains himself by saying that “an intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend his time with fools” (215).

Ultimately, Jordan–and Hemingway–know that Pablo is right. But that cynical truth has to be both acknowledged and at the same time staved off, postponed, in the name of another truth that resides within the illusion itself, the legends and lies. So what we get is an ebb and flow, a tense and agonizing interchange between these two truths, between an apparent simplicity and purity (incarnated above all perhaps in the figure of Jordan’s lover Maria–who can never be taken to Gaylord’s–but equally in Hemingway’s characteristically terse and understated style) and a darker, more cynical complexity that can neither be denied nor allowed to dominate. So the paradoxical result is that simplicity ends up being far more complex than the web of machinations that it endlessly has to deny, precisely because in fending them off it recognizes and so includes them, while the cynic can only destroy all that is pure. It preserves, in other words, the infrapolitical paradox: that what is necessary for politics is never inherent in it, but vanishes with scarce a trace.

Crossposted to Infrapolitical Deconstruction Collective.

See also: For Whom the Bell Tolls II; Spanish Civil War novels.