No Fluff Please! My name is Hemingway. "What's up?""The sun."

          Ernest Hemingway's writing style is one of simplicity and directness. Like parkour, Hemingway figures out the most efficient way to get from point A to point B, even if point B is a fictional, ambiguous place. He cuts the fluff and the s-curl pattern of his story and just keeps it straight. His diction is concrete and even in the meat of The Sun Also Rises, though philosophical and theoretical ideas are approached Hemingway he eludes hitting it head on, as they are not concrete enough. He heavily writes, what a thespian would call, cleaned realistic dialogue; it slices away the stutters and ramblings of real dialogue while keeping the essence, the bone and marrow, of the actual storyline. The sentences are short, sharp, crisp.  By cutting away at the extra blubber of the novel he is actually delineating the most important parts and ideas of it. This is a man who doesn't need any sprinkles or fudge on his ice cream stuff; he knows that the best stuff is kept natural.
          Hemingway's only instances of marshmallow-iness are in his conclusions and his narrative views. What was the point, the lesson? One might ask themselves this after finishing up. None of the character have developed, making them at most 2 dimensional, not at all dynamic. They are in the exact same situations and mindsets that they start with, except for maybe the character, Robert Cohn who is the main character of the first part of the story through a background anecdote. The novel is told in a rather laid-backed, calm, and spectatorial way just like in the anecdote of Robert Cohn. It is found out late who the actual narrator is and the main character doesn't take any initiative or attempt to control the story. Anything including the characters' directions and views is left unclear, ambiguous.
 I was gone. I was high out my mind. I walked back into the cabin. Mike was on the couch. He had a massive bong in hand.. I turned around.

"Wait up Jake," he said.

I turned back. I was dizzy.

"Brett, that thot. She's somewhere bangin' the yoga instructor."

"No way."

"Of course. She looked for you to say goodbye. They found a motel somewhere and made off."


"Whatever, it's just a fling." Mike said. "She's just stupid. She'll come back to me, but she might have to work a little bit harder for it."

"Want a puff? Wait while I relight it."

"I'mstoned," I said. "I'm out for the count."

"Are you slow? I hit the munchies already.

"Yes," I said, "I'm feeling out of it."

"Crap," Mike said. "Alright, hit the sheets!"

I walked past him to my door. I slumped right there and let go. Whatever; this is how it is. Bill and Mike got me later to ransack the fridge. I acted like I was out. The rave raged on outside.
Work Cited
Hemingway, Ernest. The Sun Also Rises. New York: Scribner, 2006. Print.