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rafternorth 's review for:
A Farewell to Arms
by Ernest Hemingway
“Will you come to our wedding, Fergy?” I said to her once. “You’ll never get married.” “We will.” “No you won’t.” “Why not?” “You’ll fight before you’ll marry.” “We never fight.” “You’ve time yet.” “We don’t fight.” “You’ll die then. Fight or die. That’s what people do. They don’t marry.”
This is going to be my most unforgiving review to date. I’ll not apologize for it because Christ, this was depressing. For a few different reasons. Hemingway’s style of writing was literal hell to me. The dialogue was sterile and normal structure was not to be found.
I couldn’t believe Henry and Catherine were in love because there was barely any emotion in this book. It was like two robots trying to make conversation for the first time without any knowledge of what to do or say. Catherine’s “love” for Henry seemed to me to be obsessive more than anything else. She seems to want to become Henry so the two won’t know where one ends and the other begins. Henry is fine with this, probably because his own personality is so droll and the only facets of a personality I see in him are his indifference to everything and everyone and his narcissism.
There was blatant disapproval for war, but no one seemed attached to what they said. There was a little sympathy for Henry’s accident or when Aymo died, but not much. I couldn’t connect to any character at all. All I learned was everybody dies, so before you die you might as well become an alcoholic. You have to be a pretty serious masochist to enjoy this and somewhat of a sadist to write it. I’m left with a feeling of depression and have come to the conclusion that I have largely wasted my time. I’ll generously grant it 2 Stars, if only for its supposed “classic” status.
Rating : 2 Stars
This is going to be my most unforgiving review to date. I’ll not apologize for it because Christ, this was depressing. For a few different reasons. Hemingway’s style of writing was literal hell to me. The dialogue was sterile and normal structure was not to be found.
I couldn’t believe Henry and Catherine were in love because there was barely any emotion in this book. It was like two robots trying to make conversation for the first time without any knowledge of what to do or say. Catherine’s “love” for Henry seemed to me to be obsessive more than anything else. She seems to want to become Henry so the two won’t know where one ends and the other begins. Henry is fine with this, probably because his own personality is so droll and the only facets of a personality I see in him are his indifference to everything and everyone and his narcissism.
There was blatant disapproval for war, but no one seemed attached to what they said. There was a little sympathy for Henry’s accident or when Aymo died, but not much. I couldn’t connect to any character at all. All I learned was everybody dies, so before you die you might as well become an alcoholic. You have to be a pretty serious masochist to enjoy this and somewhat of a sadist to write it. I’m left with a feeling of depression and have come to the conclusion that I have largely wasted my time. I’ll generously grant it 2 Stars, if only for its supposed “classic” status.
Rating : 2 Stars