Literary Love Fest: A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway
When thinking of romantic writers, Hemingway is generally not the first author that comes to mind. Out of curiosity I typed the phrase “Hemingway is a” into Google and autocomplete came up with words like ‘misogynist’ and ‘badass’, but no synonym of ‘romantic’ was to be found. However, beneath all of Hemingway’s liquor-swilling, gun-toting masculinity, there is a deep, insightful romantic core to his works that often gets overlooked.
Case in point, we have the following passage from A Farewell to Arms. Hemingway’s love isn’t the flowers and carriage rides sort of love, it’s the sort of love that permeates the body and pulls two people together in a sort of beautiful desperation.
“That night at the hotel, in our room with the long empty hall outside and our shoes outside the door, a thick carpet on the floor of the room, outside the windows the rain falling and in the room the light and pleasant and cheerful, then the light out and it exciting with smooth sheets on the bed comfortable, feeling that we had come home, feeling no longer alone, waiting in the night to find the other one there, and not gone away; all the other things were unreal. We slept when we were tired and if we woke the other one woke too so no one was not alone. Often a man wishes to be alone and a girl wishes to be alone too and if they love each other they are jealous of that in each other, but I can truly say we never felt that. We could feel alone when we were together, alone against the others.”