Jake also Ariseth Belatedly

"One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh; but the earth abideth forever...The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to the place where he arose...All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full; unto the place from whence the rivers come, thither they return again."

-Ecclesiastes

       It isn't surprising that "The Sun Also Rises" ends where it began. In a way the circularity is symptomatic of the fact that neither Brett nor Jake have grown much; we've been through this. However, the ambivalence of the ending itself makes me wonder if this circularity could be more intrinsically related to the fact that life goes on. Wouldn't Hemingway have made it limpidly, brutally clear to us that the characters hadn't changed, that there's no hope? If we consider the fact that this was his first novel, perhaps we might soften our perception of his worldview. Take, for instance, the ending of "Farewell to Arms." Holy Jesus, now there's a heart-rending Hemingway for you. We don't see that devastation here. There's a poignant serenity to Jake's last moments in the third book; the descriptions are beautiful, there are no more scenes of tormented longing and questioning, and I felt like Jake had found solace in the peace surrounding him. It reminded me of Meursault in The Stranger, ebbing to the rhythm of physical pleasure, especially in the scenes on the beach and the swimming. This is not to say that he has surpassed his trauma, no - it is evident he will carry the psychological and physical burden until the end of his days, but it is precisely because of the sheer weight of his impotency that makes me feel he's changed. It's said earlier in the book: "You, a foreigner, an Englishman, have given more than your life."(39) Throughout the book he endures continual emasculation: Georgette dancing with homosexuals, Brett leaving with Cohn, Mike's drunken claims to her heart, even helping her with Pedro Romero, and later offering, time after time, a transient shoulder to mend her until the next man swoops her off. He deals with all of this torment, and still manages to face Brett and help her when she needs him. Besides the fact that he drinks quite a bit in their last dinner (which we should expect), he remains rather stoic.  In the first cab ride, he asks her: "Isn't their anything we can do about it?" and the rest of the book is him dealing with the fact that they can't. There are myriad instances of him outwardly denouncing Brett, of suffering for her, of constantly being reminded that he could be the one with her, if only he had a penis. The last line, however, at least to me, shows that he's changed: "Isn't it pretty to think so?" He understands the inevitability of his fate with her, knows that there is nothing he can do about it, and seems strong enough to be able to be near her without longing - she is the one that proposes it, even. Another detail I found revealing was the fact that in the first ride, they "were sitting apart and we jolted close together," (33) whereas in the last cab ride "the car slowed suddenly pressing Brett against me." (251) I felt this subtle change in who moved alluding to the fact that, if anything, Brett is the one that hasn't grown - but Jake has.