This study investigates how minimalist narrative techniques in American modernist literature oblige us, as readers and critics, to be self-reflexive about the ethical basis of interpretation. Through a concentrated narratological analysis of Hemingway’s and Cather’s fiction, I identify three major elements of what I term the “simple text”—thinness, smoothness, and spaciousness—and I show how each category engages a hermeneutic ethics. By gesturing towards accessibility and straightforward comprehension while also producing moments of indeterminacy that subtly resist the reader’s inferences, the simple text challenges the reader to conceive interpretation both as a positive exercise of individuation and imagination and, simultaneously, as a potentially unethical mode of critical violation and imposition. My introduction contemplates the ethical foundations of Hemingway’s and Cather’s famous aesthetics of omission to argue that such simplicity conveys a complex theory of reader engagement. Chapter One defines “thinness” by examining “thin characters” in A Farewell to Arms and My Ántonia—characters whose simplicity makes them paradoxically unreadable in a way that foregrounds the nature of our accountability towards others. The second chapter, focusing on In Our Time and Death Comes for the Archbishop, defines “smoothness” as a simple paratactic patterning that challenges our critical desire to generalize meanings from particular experiences. While the smooth surface invites our interpretive touch, its structural integrity resists marking and inscription. The final chapter details the element of “spaciousness,” showing how open and simple settings in The Old Man and the Sea and The Professor’s House inspire, in the protagonists, moments of self-conscious interpretation of the nonhuman other and solicit a practice of accountable freedom. I argue that the foregrounding of such spaces proffers a subtle yet pointed critique of American individualism, but this critique is learned only through our encounter with the text’s interpretive limits. The study concludes by suggesting how these strategies both respond to and participate in specific criticisms of American democracy that circulated during the modernist period.

This study investigates how minimalist narrative techniques in American modernist literature oblige us, as readers and critics, to be self-reflexive about the ethical basis of interpretation. Through a concentrated narratological analysis of Hemingway’s and Cather’s fiction, I identify three major elements of what I term the “simple text”—thinness, smoothness, and spaciousness—and I show how each category engages a hermeneutic ethics. By gesturing towards accessibility and straightforward comprehension while also producing moments of indeterminacy that subtly resist the reader’s inferences, the simple text challenges the reader to conceive interpretation both as a positive exercise of individuation and imagination and, simultaneously, as a potentially unethical mode of critical violation and imposition. My introduction contemplates the ethical foundations of Hemingway’s and Cather’s famous aesthetics of omission to argue that such simplicity conveys a complex theory of reader engagement. Chapter One defines “thinness” by examining “thin characters” in A Farewell to Arms and My Ántonia—characters whose simplicity makes them paradoxically unreadable in a way that foregrounds the nature of our accountability towards others. The second chapter, focusing on In Our Time and Death Comes for the Archbishop, defines “smoothness” as a simple paratactic patterning that challenges our critical desire to generalize meanings from particular experiences. While the smooth surface invites our interpretive touch, its structural integrity resists marking and inscription. The final chapter details the element of “spaciousness,” showing how open and simple settings in The Old Man and the Sea and The Professor’s House inspire, in the protagonists, moments of self-conscious interpretation of the nonhuman other and solicit a practice of accountable freedom. I argue that the foregrounding of such spaces proffers a subtle yet pointed critique of American individualism, but this critique is learned only through our encounter with the text’s interpretive limits. The study concludes by suggesting how these strategies both respond to and participate in specific criticisms of American democracy that circulated during the modernist period.

Hemingway's dialogue and the texts of politeness and literature -- Brown and Levinson's politeness strategies -- The face of honesty in "The Doctor and the Doctor's Wife -- The face of bravery in "The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber" -- The face of love in "Hills Like White Elephants" -- Interpretive implications of politeness theory.

"Isn't it pretty to think so?" The ambiguity of this question, posed by Jake Barnes in the last line of The Sun Also Rises, is a reflection of the novel's evolving definition of what constitutes a relationship. As the focus of Hemingway criticism has slowly broken from tired discussions of misogyny a space has opened for considering the complex ways his writings address questions of gendered identity. Through this lens critics have asked exactly what kind of man and women Jake Barnes and Lady Brett Ashley represent. For decades critics and scholars have viewed this final line as having a negative connotation, signifying the death of love not only in the novel, but in the era. However, this reading fails to take into account the evolving gender roles the Brett and Jake represent. My essay looks at the novel's protagonists not simply as Brett or Jake, but also as Brett and Jake. Through this lens it becomes clear that Hemingway's portrayal of these characters is not one of the "bitch-goddess" and a defeated male, but of two people who, through their rapidly evolving gender roles and sexuality, are uniquely suited to be side by side when the rubble of the fiesta comes crashing down around them, not merely as friends, but as the only relationship that can truly exist.

A basic premise of this paper is Hemingway's definition of bullfighting as a tragic art form. Americans have been so conditioned to view any sort of contest as sport that it is virtually impossible for us to consider the bullfight in other terms. Once accepted as tragedy, however, the implications of the bullfight as an influence upon Hemingway become manifold. It must be understood that this paper is not meant to imply that the bullfight is the only influence, or even the most paramount, for it is to be recognized that any artist derives from many sources, both external and psychic. I will show that Hemingway was subjected to an intense association with the bullfight at an age and a period in his life when he would have been greatly impressed by the things he found there. To be an afficianado conveys more than interest. It has the connotation of passionate devotion. Becoming so concerned that one cannot talk to another on a lower plane. Hemingway was an afficianado. He probably holds the Anglo-Saxon record for watching bullfights-- some fifteen hundred over a period of ten years.

It will be the purpose of this study to begin such a consideration by treating but one aspect of Hemingway’s art, that of the relationship between Hemingway’s view of the world, as seen in his short stories, and the diction he uses to create this fictional world. In effect, the problem resolves itself around these three basic questions: (1) What is the world like that Hemingway creates in his short stories?; (2) What is the diction like that he uses to portray this world?; and finally and most importantly, (3) How well suited is the diction for revealing Hemingway’s fictional world? I.e., is there an organic relationship between this basic element of style and vision.

No description available.

No description available.

One rarely sees the names James Joyce and Ernest Hemingway together in the same sentence. Their obvious differences in writing styles, nationalities, and lifestyles prevent any automatic comparison from being made. But when one compares their early short story collections, Dubliners and In Our Time, many surprisingly similarities appear. Both are collections of short stories unified in some way, written by expatriates who knew each other in Paris. A mood of despair and hopelessness pervades the stories as the characters are trapped in the human condition. By examining the commonalities found in their methods of organization, handling of point of view, attitudes toward their subjects, stylistic techniques, and modes of writing, one is continually brought back to the differences between Joyce and Hemingway in each of these areas. For it is their differences that make these artists important; how each author chose to develop his craft gives him a significant place in literature.

No description available.