Is This The Book For Men?
The insecure man packaged in a story with equal amounts of sunshine and bad blood. And true male female friendship.
Do you remember Paulie and Sil going to town on the Jewish-Orthodox motel owner Ariel? They’d been hired by his in-law, Schlomo, to extract a divorce seettlement.
It didn’t take long before they realized that Ariel wasn’t budging. No amount of pummeling seemed to do the trick with him, and they thought he was willing to die.
“If we don’t kill this prick”, Silvio pants finally, “we should put him to work.”
In the end, they threaten to cut of his penis, as per the advice of Hesh, another Jewish businessman. “I know one thing that no man wants to go through life without”, Hesh counceled.
Being without organ makes life not just unpleasureable, but without higher index.
It works. Ariel budges.
Many men would earnestly agree that this is one of the worst punishments to be given as a male. Being without organ makes life not just unpleasureable, but without higher index.
No place is the phallos made more practical than in The Sun Also Rises. Hemingway takes the idea of the castrated man far into a pacifist and diplomatic dance between two paramours. The man, Jake Barnes, was made impotent in the war. He still has desire, he just cannot consummate it. Because of this, he cannot be together with the love of his life, Lady Bret Ashley.
Bret feels for Jake. She is present by his side as much as youth allows male and female friendships to be profound without sex. They share late nights, drunkenness, grievances and laughs. They respect each other like few.
Bret, of course, sleeps with other men. In the game of musical chairs that constitutes the life of single thirty-year olds, she is on the lookout for fun, but with the long-term desire to settle for stability in marriage, although even this is put into question by her revelrous behavior.
At one point, she seduces a nineteen-year old bullfighter, then prompts him to leave her side, for fear that she will corrupt him.
On this goes. Brett and Jake never fight outrightly. They always have a silent understanding and acceptance of one another. Theirs is a love weighted by grief. But from this grief a friendship can come.
Jake keeps getting drunk. In the last scene, he is pouring down three bottles of wine. Bret tells him he doesn’t need to do this — he does not need to turn his phallos inward, in a fit of self-destruction, to show her his power.
This is not the only thing Jake is doing, however. He is also distancing himself from Brett, finally. “You learn a lot about a woman by not sleeping with her”, Hemingway said.
Jake is the ring bearer because he carries the burden of vision. All his male friends are either douchebags, boasters or boys — only he can dance on the verge of Parisian debauchery — an inauthentic processing of life — and the appreciation of Spanish Bullfighting, where real courage and emotion are processed.
Is Jake’s phallos a sincere one?
Yes. Potentially. Jake can take a step back from the pursuit of sex on account of his injury. This allows him to seek the deeper meanings of life which lie beyond the flesh. At the same time, he is no longer human, because he cannot procreate. He is not putting anything on the line, he feels.
In the book, the last uncorrupted male is presented in the bullfighter Romero, with whom Bret runs away. Romero is an artist; innocent, strong, dedicated, without distraction. To him, the frosting of life comes as a side-effect to living out his calling. The drink, the women, the enjoyment and community are all side dishes to his sacred way of living. What the other men in the book desperately hunt for but cannot seem to fully get, or at least appreciate, Romero is having effortlessly.
What is the message?
Meaningful work. Jake is still plagued by the Christian idea that suffering is not only inevitable but desireable. He is the only one of his crowd who works a regular job and he keeps picking up the tab for his friends and Bret when they, dried to the bones by partying, are broke and cannot do so.
Hemingway poses the phallos as something else than mere thrusting ahead. He wants to see if this male energy can be used for something of scale. He explores what goes wrong when this attempt fails or else when there is fear that it will fail. Alcohol is of course the dillutant of purpose, and the sleeping agent standing in as the mother, lulling the grown man to kip and safety.
But the point is perhaps another — it is that men genereally fear castration, but the wrong kind. It is evidently possible to live and thrust meaningfully without a sex organ. It is, on the other hand, impossible to live fearing that one will never get what one wants.
Selah.
