Bar tabs everywhere

Bar tabs come up frequently in The Sun Also Rises, only natural when you consider how much alcohol Jake and his friends drink. It seems every time a drink is consumed, there is a small kerfuffle over who will pay for it. Interestingly, the group takes their drinking as seriously as they do paying for the drinks - which is to say, not seriously at all.  I think their attitude has its roots in the war; their shifting of financial responsibility and obligation from member to member, always passing the buck while uncertain where it stops, echoes the soldier's nebulous web of obligation and non-obligation. Following the bloodbath and destruction of the war, no one seems to know who is finally responsible for any action, and their continual engagement in the transient pleasure of alcohol with disinterest to the financial, physical, and moral consequences reflect that. Jake's bar tabs are the anachronistic reminder that once upon a time, actions that taken had to be answered to and carried weight. But during the war, the horrific injuries the group members suffer and the bloody images they see trace back to no one, and they return to peacetime thinking that they have now earned the right to live similarly. The bar tabs’ continual presence in the story tells the reader that Jake remembers a long time ago he, too, cared about such consequences.

Similarly, the group lives their life as one big fiesta, magically avoiding the imminent hangovers that their Bacchanalian adventure would realistically entail. Jake’s storytelling often hints at his fatigue and exhaustion, but chooses not to attribute this to the copious amounts of alcohol he consumes. Instead, he sees weariness (and alcohol) as a fundamental characteristic of post-war life. This lets Jake off the hook for his behavior, detaching drinking’s consequences from the act of drinking itself, and leads him and the group to believe they can outrun anything. Just as Mike always believes he will find money as he sits mired in bankruptcy, the group continues to drink, believing that they will escape their hangovers with another drink. But for the Lost Generation, the trick might just work.

Stegner Fellows - Literary Event Response

This past Wednesday (April 24) I attended the final Stegner Fellows reading. The event paired together one poet and one prose writer, who chose pieces of their work to share with us. Hugh Martin, a veteran of the Iraq War read first. His poems about the war were sharp with humor and self-awareness. Many of the poems were from his book So How Was the War? and dealt with the presiding trauma of acting as a soldier in the military––whether on the ground in Afghanistan or at a university in the United States.

My favorite poem concerned the weight and burden of war. Titled "50 Caliber Scarf" this poem described Martin's experience with war firsts: the first time he set foot overseas, the first time he felt the desert sands, and the first time he unwound his 50 caliber cartridge chain and lifted the weight of it up onto his shoulders. Characteristic of Martin's somber humor, he wrote about how one of his team members fashioned the chain as a scarf and modeled it accordingly. The poems all in some way melded together trauma, military pride and amusement.

Monique Wentzel read the first portion of her piece titled Modern Speedwash. Her story explored the classic thought-experiment of alternate universes, probing at the regretful question: 'what if I had made a different choice, what would my life look like now?' The female protagonist in this story falls through a washing machine into a different world––a world where she married her college sweetheart, bore children and painted. Throughout this intriguing narrative, Wentzel attempts to get at the enduring and unique qualities of a person, unchangeable despite circumstance or alternate realities. Although she only read a portion of the short story, I found myself captivated, at the mercy of this character's struggle with her identity. 

Ultimately both Stegner Fellows, did not shy away from hard questions. Martin and Wentzel unflinchingly put into perspective the regrets of the human condition. 

Robert Cohn and Drinking in The Sun Also Rises

Cohn

Robert Cohn is a central figure in the story for Jake Barnes, but to begin the story with him is a strange choice. He begins with a recount of Cohn's history: boxing, college, writing, women, etc. This is unusual in the story because no other characters are given such a thorough description and analysis. In fact, the entire book contains very little analysis, and most scenes are described directly by dramatic modes (either dialogue or actions). The fact that Jake takes time at the beginning to go into this depth of analysis suggests something about Jake's mind: he is fixated on Robert. It makes sense in later context why this might be. Jake is in love with Brett and that Brett will be married by someone with money, but none of that bothers Jake as much as the fact that Robert is infatuated with Brett. Robert is weak in Jake's eyes (and the eyes of most characters around him) and his indecisions are frustrating to others, especially to Mike when the five of them are in Spain. Why is Robert fascinated with Brett? Why is he feel the need to travel to South America? Why can't he let go of Frances? Many reasons are given for Robert's actions (his "Jewish superiority," his insecurity from college, his experiences reading Mecken), but none of these are ultimately satisfying. This is perhaps the main reason why Jake feels the need to begin the novel with a recount of Robert Cohn, the central mystery of the story. In this sense, Robert is the most important character and his indecisions drive the tension and mystery of the story.

Drinks

In Paris, Hemmingway's story is constantly interrupted by bar tabs and descriptions of who ordered what, what each drink is like, etc. The detailed catalogue of drinks ordered might seem like useless information to the greater purpose of the story (i.e. developing character or plot), but it has a separate function. While the picturesque avenues and street cafes of Paris are most likely familiar images in the minds of the readers, the kind of drinks that cafe-goers drink is perhaps another layer of detail beyond the familiar. It gives us a glimpse into the alcoholic lives of the characters, the lives that one only sees after work and behind closed doors. In the context of certain drinks, character's define themselves in the moment by what they drink, and other characters respond to these drinks as if they were responding directly to the character. When Georgette orders a pernod, Jake highlights how the pernod will have just as large a crash later on as it has a uplift, as if her evening's crash were already predicted by the drink order at that moment. Later on, the count, Brett and Jake are talking in his apartment when Brett mentions the count's love of getting champagne. This comment, serves to flatten the count as a character whose desires lie solely in an appreciation of the expensive and high-class. This is the same night that the count orders the most expensive brandy in a restaurant and constantly mentions what class Brett has. Brett responds to his love of champagne as if this were the most defining quality of the count.

Bar tabs and contradictions

In The Sun Also Rises, Hemmingway uses the constant tabulation of drinks to reconcile contradictions. To start, the drink counts work to blend the Lost Generation lifestyle with Jake's interior sense of attentiveness. As the gang reels through Paris from one bar to another, the days blend together for them. Dates are missed, people appear and disappear in the party. But Jake, the newspaperman, is still writing, working, and watching. He reports the scene to us through bar tabs, the facts of his story.

Another contradiction develops from Jake's strong reluctance to talk about himself. He'll tell us about trout, about bulls, about his friends' histories, but his own self-reflection is limited to a few sleepless musings. How can he function as an effective narrator about himself as a character? Again, it's bar tabs: Jake may not tell us how he feels, but he tells us precisely what he drinks. He drinks as a reaction to the drama around him, and his drinking changes, knocks out, or restores him. As such, it's our best clue to how Jake's inner self is meeting his outer world.

Jake grows a little

               I think Jake has grown by the end of the story, but not by much. This growth lies in his relationship to Brett. In the beginning of the novel, Jake plays Brett’s little love game in which they both acknowledge their love for each other but Brett makes it known that they can’t be together. At one point she says something along the lines of her not being able to live with her true love. She obviously has some issues. But Jake is fully involved in this dance. He doesn’t feel the same as Brett (he’s the one who suggests they try living together), but he perpetuates this weird, depressing paradigm they’re in by not being assertive and letting Brett drive their relationship with her dark romantic rationale.

                This pretty much continues all the way through the novel’s time in Paris. Even after Jake discovers she was with Cohn in San Sebastian, he doesn’t assert a resolution about their relationship. Though I think this is where his growth begins. He doesn’t tell us explicitly here, but it seems he begins to get over Brett when he finds out about her and Cohn. And then in Pamplona, Jake hooks Romero up with Brett which I think further pushes him away from her. I think that here Jake has to begin losing respect for himself or for Brett; something has to give.

                In book three, Jake responds to Brett’s telegram with “Love Jake” and then he criticizes himself for it. He seems to really become more honest with himself regarding he and Brett after he notices what his behavior says about himself—that he is letting Brett walk all over him.

                Finally, in the last scene, we see Jake’s small amount of growth manifest in his conversation with Brett. Brett says that they could have such a damn good time together, but Jake, instead of echoing this self-rendered helplessness that is Brett’s go-to source for melancholy, he takes something of a stand when he says, “Isn’t it pretty to think so?” In this dialog we can feel Jake see himself some place where he is not involved with Brett. He is not exactly contradicting her, but he is sort of pushing her away, something he did not do in Paris in book one. It is not much growth, but it is something. By pushing away from Brett, he shows more respect for himself. And in terms of Jake’s being impotent, this growth perhaps represents his accepting his condition and the consequences of it.

The Sun Also Rises Response

Why does the book start with Robert Cohn?

Beginning the book with Robert Cohn reveals something interesting about our narrator, Jacob (Jake) Barnes.  Jake is very observant; he spends a lot of the novel observing other characters rather than reflecting on himself and his own life. This particular beginning tells us Jake's critical opinion of Robert who he views as somewhat pathetic. The fact that he is interested with Robert's past and searches to verify the fact that he was a boxer at Princeton even though he is not impressed with his boxing title reveals Jake's observant and perhaps prying nature as a journalist. 

I also think that opening with Robert was a great hook. At first, I skipped over the first "I" and didn't realize the book was in first person until the second "I" at the end of the first page. When I came to realize it was in third person, I was intrigued by Jake's voice as being similar to a third person narrator who would describe the protagonist in a similar expository mode. I wanted to know more about the relationship between Jake and Robert. Opening in this way allows for the line "I mistrust all frank and simple people, especially when their stories hold together" (Hemingway 12) because it has truth in the specific example of Jake having suspicions of Robert. It is interesting that although he relays having suspicions of Robert, he ends this beginning chapter by stating “I rather liked him and evidently she led him quite a life” (Hemingway 15). Although Jake claims to like Robert, he speaks about him in a condescending tone. This tone gives the reader a sense that Robert’s weakness(es) will play out in the remainder of the novel, and his struggles with women are indeed revealed.

            I found myself immersed in the partial summary of Robert’s life in the first chapter and yet at the same time wondering who exactly our narrator was and what a summary of his life would like. The fact that we do not learn the narrator’s name until the very end of the first chapter and the way in which Jake reports about Robert gives Jake a certain authorial and reporter-like voice which I feel represents his character. Because Jake does not reveal much about himself directly, the readers are forced to learn indirectly about Jake through his observations and perception of others. I think opening with Robert Cohn is an appropriate way to introduce the reader to learning about Jake more indirectly and more specifically revealing the journalist within him.   

Contemplating Cohn

To repeat the cliche of my classmates (which I suppose stems equally from the prompt and the lateness of my post), why begin the novel with Cohn? My first reaction is that starting with Cohn allows Hemingway to give the reader a larger scope of time. He gives the reader a short history of Cohn's life, moving across a much larger section of time than he does in the subsequent story. When I was reading the book, I felt like I was rushing through Cohn's story in the first chapter. Once Jake took over and the story followed his daily adventures through Paris, I felt like the story slowed down and I was much more aware of place and the placement of characters (though we get very little descriptions, other than the names of places). The scenes of conversation and action were more sharply focused because of the contrast from description into action, or expository summary to dramatic scene.

I also think that giving Cohn's life in the first chapters makes the reader feel comfortable in the world of the story. By knowing one character very well, the reader is able to relate to him when Jake takes over the story because Cohn is still in the story. Having a character that the reader knows very well who is not the main character also makes the story tricky for the reader because it is easy to project the descriptions of Cohn onto Jake. A story like The Great Gatsby, for example, revolves around both the narrator and Gatsby, forcing the reader to yield to one character or another based on the action. We cannot write off Cohn because he appears in the story and has interests that come into conflict with Jake. What giving a description of Cohn allows us to do as readers is to predict or understand how Cohn acts. When he gets frustrated at Jake for telling him to go to hell, for example, his fit of anger is strange but the reader understands it because of his inferiority complex during his college years.

The description of Cohn's mannerisms also come from the perspective of Jake, complicating how much the reader can trust the account. Although Jake appears to be accurate, there is also room for doubt because they are friends. Had the history come from an omniscient narrator, it would be less in question. Hemingway does not let us know Jake is the narrator until late in the first chapter, allowing us to think Jake himself is all knowing.

Why bother with Cohn?

Why does Hemingway open the novel with Robert Cohn?

The Sun Also Rises begins with a wry biographical sketch of Jake Barnes’ somewhat-friend, Robert Cohn. What is clear from the first few chapters is that Cohn is a significant foil to our narrator and protagonist, and it brings us to the murky moral ground that the novel trudges through. The values Hemingway is contrasting with these characters are both social and narrative, pitting pre-war sentimentality against cold, drunken cynicism. The effect of this beginning focusing on Cohn, for me, made me read Jake Barnes as trying to be everything this resentful, reluctant outcast isn’t.

What better way for Jacob Barnes to assert this new ex-pat identity than by ridiculing an old American identity first? He experience friendship with in Europe, away from American values (“I couldn’t tell you that in New York. It’d mean I was a faggot.”) Barnes aims to reject a national identity, while Cohn has always felt an outcast and struggles to be valued by an in-group. In his introduction, Barnes mocks Cohn bitterly, inferring that his status as an outcast led him to boxing and a hasty first marriage.  The comparison with the steer who is outcast after being gored in the bullfight is clear to the reader before Mike drunkenly announces it. Hemingway’s narrator wants a critical reader for his novel, not a passive one who accepts the text as literal truth. We shouldn’t look to someone’s novel for a system of values to give meaning to the world—then we’d just be like the steer begging to rejoin the herd. Barnes’ “accident” also contrasts him with the steer, in a way. Though wounded in the same place, Barnes seeks acceptance in Europe rather than return to his American “herd”.

Barnes’ perspective is narrated with blunt normative statements (“____ was good”, “the best-looking boy”) and a clear implication of the details he conveniently leaves out, with the exposition seldom departing the time and place of his travels for long. It reads as an almost dialectical response to a reader or writer as vain as Cohn, who cares only about belonging to the dominant classes in America. By beginning with Cohn, and keeping this character interesting enough to keep around but annoying enough to dislike, Hemingway satirizes the kind of old-fashioned reader he doesn’t want. Cohn finds self-serving meaning in anything—he can’t believe that his fling with Brett meant nothing to her. The kind of reader Barnes wants is not interested in learning accurate facts from a moral authority, as Cohn does with The Purple Land; such a reader may end up worrying of boredom at a bullfight. If one reads books to learn how to value the world, Hemingway cautions against that by showing us the kind of narrow-minded person we could become.

The Presentation of Robert Cohn

Before the fiesta of San Fermin begins in Pamplona, the bulls are run through the town to be presented to both those who will participate in their deaths and those who will witness them. It is, first and foremost, a chance for the “aficionados” to size up the opponents of their favorite bullfighters, opponents that are certainly to be respected. At the same time, however, this showing of the bulls is a sad display of the most pathetic kind of creatures. Everybody knows they are doomed to die, no matter their strength or the size of their horns. Yes, the bulls are respected for their sheer power, but there is no real fear that accompanies such observations. This is demonstrated by the carelessness with which people taunt the bulls by running from them down the streets of Pamplona. The lives of the bulls are completely out of their control, and held in the hands of their assigned bullfighters. What is especially ironic about this situation is the complete lack of knowledge from the bulls. They have no idea how ridiculous they are, for they have no notion of their guaranteed doom. 

The introduction of The Sun Also Rises is the presentation of another creature to be pitied for his absolute ignorance of his ridiculousness and certain destruction, Robert Cohn. Like the bulls of Pamplona, the description of Robert is not one of a weakling to be ignored. He was, after all, “once middleweight boxing champion of Princeton.” There are hints, however, at certain qualities that will later undermine him. He is powerless against women and deceived in his perception of what he means to them. As Jake tells us, his second major relationship begins because “he had been taken in hand by a lady who hoped to rise with the magazine.” He exerts no choice over his romantic life, but rather accepts what the world gives him. Women are to Robert as the red cape is to a bull. They render him powerless and are ultimately the cause of his ruination. 

The pathetic nature of Cohn’s romantic relationships foreshadows what will later happen to him with Lady Brett Ashley. To Brett, Robert is as disposable as one of the bullfighter’s bulls. Some bullfighters have literally killed thousands of animals. Brett has certainly enchanted her fair share of men. Like the bull mesmerized by color, Cohn appears ridiculous and pathetic to his peers as he follows her desperately around Europe, even in front of Jake and her fiancé, Mike Campbell. The shared knowledge of Cohn’s weakness makes him not an opponent to Mike, but a man to be taunted, just like the bulls who chase the runners through Pamplona. The only interactions between Robert and Mike involve cruel insults and jokes that deal explicitly with Robert’s love for Brett. So in love is he that he cannot even muster the strength to defend himself, instead pleading for kindness from a man who will not give it. In this way, all the power belongs to both Brett and Mike. Robert is a powerless actor in a choreographed bullfight. 

Crucial to Cohn is that he really does have the power to defend himself. As mentioned earlier, he knows how to throw a punch, and eventually uses this skill against Jake, Mike, and one of Brett’s young lovers. Similarly, one of the taunting runners is killed by an angered bull. The tragedy of Cohn’s situation is that he is not powerless due to conditions outside his control, but due to his own choice. He chooses to run for the red cape instead of the bullfighter himself. Perhaps this is what makes Robert so pathetic to his peers and to readers. His situation is supremely ironic because he is the only one who cannot see how his involvement with Brett will lead to his destruction. Jake knows, Mike knows, and we as readers know. It is only a matter of time until his assigned fate is handed out, just as a bull fights blindly until he finally receives death at the hands of the bullfighter. It is for this reason that Robert is presented at the beginning of the novel. We wait through hundreds of pages for his assigned doom. 

Sun Also Rises

Why start with Robert Cohn?

I cannot say I have a satisfying answer to this question myself, but I can imagine some reasons others might put forward. An obvious one is that Jake Barnes is a journalist, and so he is either naturally or professionally inclined to prioritize observation over reflection. Cohn then becomes an object of study for Jake, who finds Cohn fascinatingly hopeless, in which case Jake would want to open with a description of Cohn so as to disorient us into thinking we’re reading a case study of Robert Cohn, deflecting the attention away from Jake. 

A slightly weaker (but more contentious) argument could be made that Cohn functions as the pseudo-protagonist: he’s a likable guy pining after a girl he can’t have (every romantic comedy ever will tell you that this type = protagonist). Opening the novel with a rundown of Cohn filtered through Jake’s bitter cynicism thus conditions us to sympathize with, or at least pity, Cohn. Still, I would say that Jake has his fair share of pining, and even perhaps likability, if you relate to him despite the guard he puts up, so the protagnoist-antagonist argument is a shaky one.

Why the attention to bar tabs?

As a novel that seems intent upon portraying the disillusionment of the lost generation, this book would be nothing if it did not mention alcohol. In some senses, everything the figures of this milieu felt was reflected in their relationship with alcohol. I’ve already mentioned disillusionment, which, on a grand scale, generally refers to their intellectual and philosophical disillusionment with the postwar era. However, it could easily be embodied (symbolically or otherwise) in the physiological disorientation of intoxication. Furthermore, the culture around their alcohol consumption – one of spontaneity and myopic decisions and “just stay for one more, come on” – lies at the heart of their ennui. Quite simply, there’s nothing else to stimulate them, so might as well try drinking.

Because of the centrality of alcohol in this cultural context, it seems only logical that Hemingway would include detailed and frequent bar tab enumerations. It is just something that Jake has to hold onto, something he can track as an accomplishment in the very bare bones sense that he has at least done something.

Does Jake grow or change?

No, and I don’t think he’s supposed to. I guess this could dredge up what I mentioned early about who the protagonist is/isn’t, but either way I think it’s precisely the point that Jake makes no major change that is visible to us or to him. The tension lies in an unspoken, but constant, desire on his part (and on the part of a lot of these characters) to change themselves meaningfully. I should back up and say that I really have no basis on which to justify saying that Jake wishes to change, other than my sense that he seems dissatisfied currently. While it may be a modern assumption that unhappiness effects a desire for change, I still feel it. I think we are meant to leave the novel with an awareness that this generation is stunted (I believe someone – Count Mippipopolous maybe? – mentions arrested development early on) and knows not how or wants not to grow.

Oh, Jake. (Rebeca Felix)

            I suppose I’m on the fence about whether or not Jake changes throughout this story. He has obvious feelings for Brett, but from the very beginning of the book he does not throw himself at her feet in any way. Yes, he shows up to every café she tells him to, even though it is likely he will be stood up, but Jake also knows when to let Brett have her way by going off with some man or another and waiting until she comes back for help.

Jake knows Brett is planning on marrying Mike and though many men around them seem to know this, it does not stop them from entertaining the fantasy of being involved with her. As more and more people, including Cohn, become enamored of Brett’s witty, flaky ways, Jake seems to both back off and step closer to Brett. Although he doesn’t pursue her outright, he know that they have the type of relationship where she will ask him for help when she needs it, a fact Jake is both aware of and proud of. When we first meet Brett, she enters a café surrounded by young men, but she gravitates toward Jake and they end up leaving together. Jake is adamant about getting some work done and getting to bed, so he leaves Brett. Jakey boy, playing it cool. Except that Jake openly tells Brett that he loves her. But when Brett brings Mike to spend time with Jake and her friends, Jake does not stop the couple from carrying on.

By the time we get to the bull fight scene, Mike has been giving Cohn crap about hanging out with them all the damn time, because isn’t it clear that Brett doesn’t want him here? Nothing to twist a plot around like tossing in a young bullfighter. Brett leaves with Romero, as they have fallen in love, and Cohn has knocked out both Jake and Mike. Jake forgives Cohn, which is something he would have done at the beginning of the book in my opinion. Later on, Brett contacts Jake for help because, alas! She has left Romero and wants to return to Mike! Jake being Jake, he goes to get her, as it is something of a point of pride for him to be the one to save her all the time. When Brett mentions that they could have had a great time in Spain together, Jake replies, “Yes, isn’t it pretty to think so?”

I think that Jake has remained unreadable in some ways to the reader. He has always had this flirtatious tension between himself and Brett, and he is very good at letting her come to him for help. However, toward the end of the book Jake knows how many people are after Brett and that she has the strings of multiple hearts wrapped around her fingers. At the end, when Brett offers him bait to maybe stay in Spain to have that damned good time she was talking about, Jake coos to her, almost cruelly, “isn’t it pretty to think so?” as if she doesn’t understand what it is she is capable of, but that Jake is choosing not to be involved with. I think that there were points toward the middle of the book where Jake was more desperate for Brett’s attention and yes, he went and helped her in Spain, but Jake shut down the crack in the door Brett left, hoping he would wander in.

[Rebeca Felix] 

Beginning with Cohn

The question as to why Hemingway begins with Cohn character is an interesting one that finds its source in the themes of the book. Cohn’s life examined in detail shows the reader an in depth snapshot the main themes of the novel epitomized in the descriptions by Jake of Cohn. Cohn is lost; he does not know where his life is going. This is an idea that is reflected throughout the novel, but is really best seen though the eyes of an outside observer. Further, the ideas of fidelity and sex can also be seen just as clearly in this examination. By starting with Cohn and his desire to go to South America we can see the spirit that drive the whole book is not just limited to the main character it is already established that is universal, that it affects many others.

               In terms of the partial of Cohn’s relationship we can see even more clearly in the scene where Jake talks about a trip and a girl. Cohn’s girlfriend gets mad and he reveals that she forbids him from going on any trips involving girls. This type of interaction shows the idea of infidelity and sex in way that frames it for the rest of the novel, by showing us the prospective of a character able to still have sex. This allows us to understand later Brett character better, by starting the story with Cohn prospective.

               The listlessness in the novel is a hard concept to relate to and by showing the build up to Cohn’s desire to travel from his prospective it allows the reader to understand this idea and theme in a more profound way. If the story just began with Jake and had his friend show up and randomly say he wanted to go to South America the scene would lose a lot of its depth as we would not understand the force motivating it. This understanding of the listless nature of the time allows the reader to understand the other characters later in the novel as they show up.  

               However starting with Cohn does not just serve to help the reader understand the themes at play it also helps the reader understand Cohn. Cohn’s actions when he punches various people later on are humanized and carry a much greater meaning because the readers understand who Cohn is. In fact this is true for all of Cohn’s actions. Cohn is in many ways a strange character he does many things that seem ration or extreme, like how he follows Brett so loyally and doggedly. It helps show why he goes so far as to resort to physical violence and then ask to be forgiven soon after. He is a character of conflicting actions. He hits then apologizes, he want to be accepted, but puts himself in conflict with the other characters. It is because we can see him from Jake's narration in detail at the beginning that we can understand this complicated complex character and all the themes and ideas of the novel he represents.

Jake's Deflection and Hemingway's Style: Starting the Novel with Cohn

It makes sense for The Sun Also Rises to begin with Robert Cohn for two major reasons. On the level of the author and his narrative choices, the depiction of Cohn through Jake's lens of narration allows for more economical exposition in that by describing one major character through the perspective of another, we find out a lot about both. Even though the first chapter centers around Cohn, we get a good sense of Jake – his values, his relationships, his way of seeing the world – through his narration. For example, Jake tells us, “I mistrust all frank and simple people” (12). It introduces Jake as an observant narrator that does not shy away from injecting his own subjective judgements and claims into the text, such as his claim that Cohn learned to box “to counteract the feeling of inferiority and shyness he had felt on being treated as a Jew at Princeton” (11). Finally, it introduces Jake's conflicted attitude toward Cohn that continues as a thread throughout the novel. Jake occasionally portrays Cohn with disgust and pity, and yet says, “I rather liked him” (15). It's ironic that later in the novel Jake wonders how people “could say such terrible things to Robert Cohn” (56), when he occasionally engages in or complacently allows such terrible things to be said, such as the encounter with Harvey Stone.

On the level of character within the story, I believe the first two chapters of The Sun Also Rises are Jake's attempt to divert the story's attention away from himself. In many ways, this novel is about Jake's trauma, and people (and therefore characters) will always avoid confronting their pain, their fear, and their vulnerability. Jake is incredibly evasive about his injury, and does not like to discuss the war in general. Therefore it might not matter who the novel begins with necessarily, as long as it is not Jake himself because Jake wants to avoid self-examination and self-analysis whenever possible. We see this throughout the book – a focus on the external actions and dialogue of other people, rather than directly identifying and conveying his interior thoughts or emotions.

Why begin with Cohn?

By beginning the novel with Jake’s perception of Robert Cohn, Hemingway establishes Jake’s status as a passive narrator and, through this fact, conveys a theme and feeling of hopelessness derived from an inability to take action. In the second line of the story we see the word “I,” indicating right away that the story is told from the first person. This bizarre fact—that there is a first person narrator but that the story does not begin with anything about him—really emphasizes Jake’s status as a narrator, a passive re-teller, rather than as a character. This idea is furthered throughout the book, beginning in Chapter II with his indifferent refusal to go to South America. We especially see it in regards to Brett, first in Chapter III but really throughout the story. Furthermore, the vague allusions to Jake’s impotence are a physical manifestation of this theme of inaction leading to misery. Overall, throughout the story Jake Barnes, despite being the narrator, never seems to do anything of consequence, and this is emphasized by beginning the book with a description of Robert Cohn.

Another reason for opening The Sun Also Rises with Robert Cohn—but also having a first person narrator—is that it causes the reader to pay attention to Cohn throughout the story and to draw parallels between Cohn and Jake. Cohn is constantly described as weak and passive, and yet, as I stated above, Cohn is just as guilty of these attributes. This is really highlighted by the fact that both characters have an obsessive, pathetic relationship with Brett. Neither character will, in the kind words of Mike, “Go away” (195). This fact is not as apparent in regards to Jake because the narration stems from him, but by linking Cohn and Jake together from the beginning, the similarities are made more obvious to the reader. If anything, the fact that Cohn successfully sleeps with Brett while Jake physically cannot makes Jake even more pathetic than Cohn.

Both of these factors contribute to the book’s overall sense of hopelessness. It truly is the novel of the Lost Generation. In the final scene of the story, Brett laments to Jake, “We could have had such a damned good time together” and Jake replies, “Isn’t it pretty to think so?” (251). This dialogue is the epitome of passiveness, of a would-have, could-have, should-have type of attitude. Cohn, Jake, and even Brett fail to take action in their lives that leads to happiness. People are always “miserable” and really never having fun unless they’re drunk. Cohn and Jake encapsulate this hopelessness, and by highlighting the two of them at the novel’s beginning Hemingway makes this fact more clear.

robert cohn

The Sun Also Rises has to begin with Robert.  To start with Robert is to redeem him.  He’s constantly and aggressively shat upon.  Michael gives him the same hard time many times.  And although Bill, Brett, and Jake feel badly about Michael’s meanness, and wish he wasn’t so mean, all three of them acknowledge their disliking of Robert.  In fact, each of them in their own way make it clear to Robert that he isn’t wanted.  It’s a pleasant and surprising thing when Robert isn’t overbearingly pathetic and clingy and blind to his own social ineptitude.  So that The Sun Also Rises begins with Robert in many ways confirms his existence and the weight of his existence.  We ought not to write Robert away like Michael, Bill, Brett, and Jake do.  (And perhaps Jake, as narrator, doesn’t write him away.  But in the moment, in scene, all four of them do.)

Jake must feel the weight of Robert’s existence the most.  It’s reflective of Jake’s psychology that Robert, as a suitor and self-identified lover of Brett’s, is a threat.  Jake as narrator pays an almost undue amount of attention to Robert’s character at the start of the novel.  It’s almost as if Jake’s struggling to see in Robert what Brett might see in him, to validate Brett’s albeit temporary choice to be with him, to give Brett the benefit of the doubt because he loves her so much.  Part of Jake’s intense analysis of Robert must relate to Jake’s impotency.  Jake fails where Robert succeeds.  And even if Robert was an awful, terrible, disgusting person, Robert would still be able to be intimate with Brett, and could therefore be with Brett in a more permanent and sexually satisfying way than Jake could.  This has to tear Jake apart.  Even if he’s resigned himself to being alone, to not having Brett, to watching her go off with other men, to helping her go off with them, it must sting him that Robert – blind, burdensome Robert – is more of a romantic option than he is.  Robert even beats him up.  And so Robert’s boxing history comes full circle. 

There’s a complex set of thoughts hovering around Robert and Jake’s portrayal of Robert, which is less tinged with jealousy and bitterness than one might expect, coming from Jake.  I’m going so far as to say that Jake’s narration redeems Robert by putting him first because if Jake didn’t, and Robert were a small insignificant pest of a character, Robert simply wouldn’t obtain reality.  He’d be a cardboard cutout.  Jake pays him respect by starting with Robert, and cardboard cutouts can’t demand respect – only people can.  Jake establishes Robert as a person first and foremost, flaws and all, because Robert’s realness forces Jake to confront his own worldview, his own moral system, his own self.  Jake’s ability to identify with Robert, or at the very least to see him far more clearly than many of the other characters have the patience or will to, is absolutely psychologically necessary for him to be able to relate the events of the novel and their significance.  

Cohny Cohny Cohn

By starting off the novel with Robert Cohn, Hemingway creates an intense sense of tension that increases throughout the novel. We get a sense that Cohn is different from the narrator. Almost immediately we learn that Cohn is used to feeling like an outsider. He received a Princeton education, which should have instilled in him a feeling of superiority, yet we figure out that Cohn has gotten used to feeling excluded from the group. His Jewish heritage immediately sets him apart from his schoolmates, and further in the story it sets him apart from his fellow travelers. We also learn that Cohn is the only one in the group of travelers who did not experience the devastation of World War 1, and because of this his values seem somewhat ancient and are easily contrasted with the personalities of his friends. He follows a code of honor that no other character follows. Due to these differences, the reader is able to place Cohn in “the outgroup” much like his fellow travellers do. His personality sticks out like a sore thumb among the drunks in his group, and this is noticed by the reader as well as the other characters who continuously poke fun at Cohn, and incessantly give him a hard time. This is a clever tactic used by Hemingway. He creates a character so different from the rest in order to allow the other characters a constant source of conflict.

I believe another reason that Hemingway starts the novel with Cohn, is to highlight, above all other characters, his relationship with Brett. This relationship was a huge source of tension for me as a reader, and it sparked my love of Robert Cohn and my hate of various characters.  In the beginning of the story, we see how Jake, the narrator, interacts with Brett. Their relationship immediately feels intimate, yet their is constant talk of Brett’s engagement. They kiss multiple times, and even speak of the love they have for one another, while intermittently bringing up her engagement. The source of tension comes later in the story when we see how the other characters respond to Cohn’s outward show of his desire for Brett. Sure, he does follow Brett around like a little puppy dog, but is this any different from the thoughts we hear firsthand from Jake? Cohn’s ancient values lead him to pursue Brett in hopes of rekindling the romantic intimacy they once shared, while Jake’s cynical attitude leads him to ignore the love he has for Brett that he himself admits. It seems that every male in this story has the hots for Brett, but Cohn is the only one whose actions obviously reflect this.  For this reason, the other characters constantly detest Cohn’s show of love and desire, while internally dealing with their own. The illusive Brett only enhances this tension by playfully toying with multiple character’s hearts. In my mind, the other characters constantly show their hate for Cohn’s wooing, because they have an internal hate for their own love for Brett, and their inability to obtain her. In a way, Hemingway has created a scapegoat out of Cohn, in which the other characters can externalize and project their own repugnance towards their hate for the desires they feel for Brett.

Tabs for the Past

We are given Jack Barnes’s tabs for a couple of reasons. The first is because it gives a concrete dollar amount to the emotion pain that the war has taken on him. It is heavily implied throughout the novel that during the war, Jack suffered permanent damage to his reproductive organs – a wound he hasn’t quite gotten over. Drinking helps him to forget his disability, but it will never actually repair it. By giving his bar tabs, we can see just how much this damage has taken it toll on him in a more societal matter. The drinks serve as a sort of temporary therapy for Jack, and his tabs are the bills for this service.

The second reason Jack gives us his tabs is to impress us with his drinking capabilities. Because of his war injury, Jack also questions his masculine worth. Being unable to have sex and constantly being rejected by the love of his life puts an enormous blow into his ego, and in order for him to recuperate, Jack must find other ways of establishing his masculinity. So he turns to his ability to drink and he does so gallantly that we can’t help but wonder what other sorts of wounds he may be hiding under his drunken stupor.

The third reason Jack shares his tabs (related to the second) is to show his wealth and success as a foreign correspondent journalist, which also sets his dominance as a male figure. He often offers to pay the tabs for his friends (except the count). Again, this helps to solidify his status as a man.

Finally, Jack shares his tabs so that we might have a way of associating him with something other than the war and his disability. It keeps our attention away from his trauma and in the present of the story where he doesn’t have to worry about anything other than what is happening before him. The tabs serve as bookmarks for the past so that he might never have to revisit or remember what he’s gone through since the war has ended. And they give us a sense of how much time has passed during his evenings out. Unfortunately for Jack, they also reveal his inability to move on since they do serve as bookmarks into his past and show how much everything has taken a toll on his person.