Because the sun also rises, and for Hemingway

7 years ago Shaili Desai 1

The sun also rises by Ernest Hemingway is not one of his books that he is renowned for. Released in 1926, it received mixed reviews, although since then, it has often been hailed as Hemingway’s most meaningful work. Now, I have tried (and failed) to read this book thrice. However, I have an excuse for it now. ‘I was too young, I say!’

I think one has to have a decent amount of maturity to appreciate literature which is totally and absolutely about what life in reality is, without any drama. How most things in life are so utterly mundane that you stop thinking something great will happen. The sun also rises, for the first few pages, did not seem to have the subtle profundity of A Farewell to Arms or the drama heightened by the thought of the earth moving in For Whom the Bell Tolls.

Now, you’d ask me, why are we discussing this book? There comes a time, or rather multiple points in life when you start being all existential and ponder about your purpose in life and what you have done for yourself until this moment (This is suspiciously sounding like a mid life crisis, although I hope it is far from it). However all it takes, are small unrelated events that start things rolling. Something as simple as discussing Midnight in Paris and Ernest Hemingway with a stranger or a friend liking an old blog post and a trip to Goa. That is what it took to realize how neglected this space has been. The soul needs nourishment and what better way but to feed it with books, music and art!

Lately, that had gone a little missing, largely due to some misplaced priorities in life. So what does this mean? This means that I go back to reading and feeding my starved under nourished soul. This also means that I read what interests me, no more book reviews but random thoughts about what I read and what I saw and what I understood.

And this is what I choose to start with – The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway, the book that I could never finish because the last thing that I want in life is regret, regret for not having read the ‘most meaningful book’ written by one of my favorite writers.

Adios, till I finish reading it, or till I find something interesting to say!