The Boxer and the Bar Tabs

Reading Jake’s description of former college boxer Robert Cohn in the first chapter of The Sun Also Rises reminded me instantly of Nick Carraway and The Great Gatsby. Here was a narrator who must be an observer-type—yet not quite a wallflower—who would spend the better part of the story describing what he saw others do. To some degree, the connection was accurate: neither Nick nor Jake were ostentatious, attention-seeking, or overly self-confident men, but Jake directly revealed information regarding himself and his background even less than Nick.

            Of course, masculinity—or lack thereof—has always been a theme in Hemingway’s stories. That we are introduced, in the very beginning, to a man who took up boxing only to “counteract the feeling of inferiority and shyness…at Princeton” (but is no longer remembered as a boxer by anybody) suggests that a void of masculinity, as well as the prominence of falsities, are major themes in The Sun Also Rises (11). In some ways, starting with a description of Cohn almost says more about Jake and his Lost Generation than the boxer himself: Jake literally became impotent as a result of an injury from the Great War, representing the breakdown of young men and their purposes after experiencing such a horrific, destructive event. He is well aware and ashamed of his loss—I think that’s partly why he chooses to begin with describing another man’s insecurities. Men find some confidence via another’s shortcomings, and Robert is hardly manly: he finds joy in just being loved (it seems as if the lover per se does not matter much), gains confidence from one editor appreciating his novel, and cannot stand up to, or agree to marry, his current girlfriend, Frances. But really, Robert Cohn’s story, and the fact that Jake mentions him first, speaks for more than just Jake or any of the other main characters in The Sun Also Rises. And perhaps, if the Lost Generation is appropriately named, then Jake has a better chance at “finding himself,” through observation of, and comparison to, the people around him.

            Jake’s recitation of their expatriated group’s dozens and dozens of bar tabs only serve to emphasize the state of these lost, not-so-virile men. They have already “escaped” to another country, and then to the fiesta, yet they still must constantly drink to forget their problems. It’s true that Lady Brett Ashley drinks as much as the men, but that likely says something negative about the men’s masculinity than Brett’s femininity. Perhaps the men see drinking as a masculine activity to cover up their other inabilities (only the young bullfighter Romero succeeds in seducing Brett), and Jake’s somewhat pathetic listing of every single drink they consume only renders the drinking more futile, and reveals its true motivations. The surge of powerful confidence they receive while drunk (Robert beats up his “friends,” Mike hurls malicious insults at Robert) only result in more broken men afterward: Robert is left crying in his room, and begging for forgiveness.