Hemingway paints a beautiful picture with his lengthy descriptions especially of France. He uses local color effectively as if he wrote this novel while sitting outside of a Bistro in the middle of a French courtyard.
"It was a warm spring night and I sat at a table on the terrace of the Napolitain after Robrt had gone, watching it get dark andt he electric signs come on, and the red and green stop-and-go traffic-signal, and the crowd going by, and the horse-cabs clippety-clopping along at the edge of the solid taxi traffic, and the poules going by, singly and in pairs, looking for the evening meal," [page 22].
There is also an onomatopoeia in this little paragraph that explains the sound in words that the horses make rather than a dull description. [clippety-clopping]
I think I admire Hemingway in the way he paints a picture with his words rather than his story-telling skills, because honestly, I feel like this story has no plot to it. Yes, it is full of unrequited love in many cases [ie. Jake and Lady Brett, Mike and Lady Brett, and Cohn and Lady Brett], but then again so is almost every other story. I like to entertain the thought that Hemingway was sitting in France actually writing this because if he could do this from memory...well he is an even more articulate drunk than I thought.
:]
"It was a warm spring night and I sat at a table on the terrace of the Napolitain after Robrt had gone, watching it get dark andt he electric signs come on, and the red and green stop-and-go traffic-signal, and the crowd going by, and the horse-cabs clippety-clopping along at the edge of the solid taxi traffic, and the poules going by, singly and in pairs, looking for the evening meal," [page 22].
There is also an onomatopoeia in this little paragraph that explains the sound in words that the horses make rather than a dull description. [clippety-clopping]
I think I admire Hemingway in the way he paints a picture with his words rather than his story-telling skills, because honestly, I feel like this story has no plot to it. Yes, it is full of unrequited love in many cases [ie. Jake and Lady Brett, Mike and Lady Brett, and Cohn and Lady Brett], but then again so is almost every other story. I like to entertain the thought that Hemingway was sitting in France actually writing this because if he could do this from memory...well he is an even more articulate drunk than I thought.
:]
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