I was supposed to read this book in high school. I did start, but after reading something between twenty and thirty percent of the novel I stopped, convinced that the school year would end before we had a test on the book. My gamble paid off, and I happy returned the little paperback copy in nearly the same condition I received it, unconcerned that the pristine state of the book would betray my lack of interest.

This year, after having read more about World War I, and about Italy (through World War I), I decided to revisit the novel. So many people have had so much to say about Hemingway, and I felt that his books deserved a fresh look. After all, there are many other books I now enjoy that I would have hated had I been forced to read them in school. It almost always works that way, actually. I felt perhaps the intervening years would change my assessment of the book.

About halfway through my read - I can't call it a re-read because I had already gotten farther into the book than I did in school - one thought kept running through my mind, "How could they assign this book to high school students? Who the fuck was stupid enough to put this book on the reading list?" I can't imagine a book less suited to high school students. The romance angle is far too tainted with cynicism to appeal to the girls, and the war and sex angles are far too unconventionally presented to appeal to the boys. The run-on style takes getting used to, and there is an incredible amount of background information that the reader probably should have to really understand what's going on. In other words, it's not like reading a Bronte or Mark Twain, or even Steinbeck.

I have now read the entire book, and it was a fairly short and easy read. After I got used to Hemingway's style, I found that I did enjoy it a bit, and his descriptions seemed effortless and vivid. In fact, the style is probably the high point of the book. The story is a decent one, though it is clear that the author went through the horrors of World War I. There is a slight detachment that at times made the story feel a bit flat, though the overall effect is to depict a generation's demons faithfully, and so even the flatness didn't bother me. It seemed to enhance things at time.

The detachment did make it hard for me to feel something passionate about the book, however. I can understand the draw of Hemingway, I can appreciate his style, I can even envy him a flawlessly simple manner that portrays scenes as vividly as it does, but I cannot imagine that I would go to a party and rave about him while downing my third vodka. Even so, I have a newfound respect for his work, and I think that I shall have to read more. I find myself finishing the books that I have about the First World War, and so as I move to reading about the period between the wars I will probably read something else of his - For Whom the Bell Tolls, or maybe The Sun Also Rises, or both.

I think that ultimately I would recommend the book to people who enjoy vivid prose, though I would also recommend that they first read at least briefly about the Italian Front in the First World War, paying emphasis on General Cadorna and his brutal tactics and the Battle of Caporetto, which I saw earlier this year through the eyes of Erwin Rommel (Infanterie Greift An). The background provided will help the reader immensely. A bit of Italian also helps at times, especially when Hemingway translates the Italian pescecane literally as "dogfish", when the more common understanding is "shark" (both literally and figuratively).