Book Review
Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway
There’s something to be said about discovering Ernest Hemingway in your early thirties. It’s as if you need some life lessons behind you, or some sort of feeling that you’re living life, instead of life living you. There’s just no way I would have been able to appricate Hemingway in my early twenties. I was too selfish then, into my self, and my Friday and Saturday nights. Hemingways words would have had zero effect on me.
I’m now thirty four. I’ve done somethings, felt love and terror. So when you turn the last page to Farewell to Arms and you gasp, or a tear rolls down your cheek you understand the feeling. The final pages hit you like a brick to the chest. It hurts, and the first words out of your mouth are, “Fucking Hemingway” as you shake your head and smile.
In describing the books we read we use the words “on the surface” a lot and this book is no different. On the surface, this book is about a love story between Frederic Henry, an American ambulance driver serving with the Italy army during World War I and Catherine Barkley, a British nurse. Hemingway is not just an on the surface kind of writer, although this love story is tragic, and rips your heart from your chest, Hemingway folds in World War I, like I’ve never seen written about before.
When I finished this novel it felt like another piece of work that’s completing me as a person. What I mean by that, is, books can form little pieces of you. We each have books we’re read we’ll never forget, when they come up in conversation or we see them on bookstore shelves we smile, or poke a friend and say “Have you read this..?”
Farewell to Arms leaves a mark. That mark will never go away, for that I’m grateful.