By Ernest Hemingway
The easiest American novel to emerge from international conflict I, A Farewell to Arms is the unforgettable tale of an American ambulance motive force at the Italian entrance and his ardour for a stunning English nurse. Hemingway's frank portrayal of the affection among Lieutenant Henry and Catherine Barkley, stuck within the inexorable sweep of conflict, glows with an depth unmatched in smooth literature, whereas his description of the German assault on Caporetto -- of traces of fired males marching within the rain, hungry, weary, and demoralized -- is without doubt one of the maximum moments in literary background. a narrative of affection and soreness, of loyalty and desertion, A Farewell to Arms, written whilst he was once 30 years outdated, represents a brand new romanticism for Hemingway.
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Extra info for A Farewell To Arms
Oh, for a moment of that youth now! Beans make me fart, milk curdles in my stomach and too much wine goes to my head. At fifteen, I could go straight from fear and terror to eating without passing through any intervening stages. I remember how good the cheese was. ‘Have some wine, virgin,’ Laodon said, handing me his cup. He got to his feet. ’ I sat on a big rock by the stream and drank wine from his horn cup. He was an important man and a famous warrior, and to be allowed to drink from his cup was a compliment.
At any rate, we sat through lessons together with Aristotle in the Gardens of Midas, and sometimes, when I was the favoured one, I sat beside Alexander on the stone bench – colder than you can imagine on an autumn morning – while the old oligarch explained exactly what Plato meant in the Gorgias, or the proper conduct of a gentleman in a symposium. Aristotle was one of us, or close enough – he knew what we were – but he’d been away a long time, with foreigners on Lesbos, and he could be quite naive.
He was executing the steps faster and faster, and then he began to throw cuts with his wooden sword as he moved his feet – one, two, three. The master hadn’t taught us cuts yet – at least, not the cuts that went with the steps. It was always difficult to learn anything from Alexander – he learned things by observation, usually in one or two repetitions, and he never really understood that the rest of us needed to be shown things slowly and precisely. I had the steps in ten repetitions. Alexander grinned at me, and we started to do them together, like peasants dancing for the gods, and I picked up his sword cuts just for the joy of doing them in perfect unison.
A Farewell To Arms by Ernest Hemingway