Aline Smith
The Iceberg of Lady Brett Ashley: Criticisms, Praise, and Misinterpretations
The works of Ernest Hemingway have generated an impressive array of scholarly scrutiny, praise, and criticism since their publication. The past twenty years have been no exception, with a wide spectrum of works being published that discuss his novels and short stories, as well as the biographies written about the author himself. Interestingly, a notable portion of the pieces written about his first novel, The Sun Also Rises, deals with interpretations not of the supposedly chauvinistic writer’s male characters but rather, the main female character, Lady Brett Ashley. This shows a promising development in Hemingway scholarship and a broadened understanding of the complexity of his writing, a style which he coined the “iceberg theory” of writing, which invites analysis as only one-eighth of the meaning lies on the surface of the text. The scholars analyzing Lady Brett Ashley have discovered that this iceberg style is relevant in the analysis not only of Hemingway’s male heroes but also of his female characters that are too often superficially read and dismissed.
The readings of Brett are diverse and passionate. Several of the character analyses are crafted and evidenced in such a way as to make them credible. While the pieces reviewed for this essay all contain at least bits of intriguing insights into Lady Brett Ashley and The Sun Also Rises, some scholars seem to be far more adept than others in their understanding of her character and the novel as a whole.
A common technique used in a few of the analyses of Lady Brett Ashley is that of comparing her to a figure from ancient times. The weakest of such parallels is that which is developed in Milton A. Cohen’s “Circe and Her Swine” in which he defends the accuracy of Robert Cohn’s assertion about Brett, which is articulated by Hemingway’s character, Mike Campbell, “He calls her Circe … He claims she turns men into swine” (Hemingway 149). Cohen states that this insight by Cohn has long been overlooked because of the dismissal of the speaker. He argues, “even if it comes from an unappealing mouth. For the Circe myth not only informs Brett’s beguiling characterization, it redefines her status … relegating her to a Manichean pole of evil, whose only counterweight of Hemingwayesque good is Pedro Romero” (Cohen 157). This thesis establishes Cohen’s central argument that Brett is very similar to Circe, a destructive force who continuously debases and emasculates men. While Cohen makes some interesting connections between Circe and Brett, his overall argument seems rather weak, and Cohen acknowledges its weakness in the article writing, “certainly the Circe myth does not account for all aspects of Brett’s complex characterization; nor does it ravel all of the story’s thematic strands” (Cohen 158). However, even some of the few aspects which Cohen feels do connect Brett and Circe are not completely credible.
The most apparent of the similarities between Hemingway’s leading lady and the enchantress is their control over men using their sexuality. However, as Cohen concedes, “Where Brett most differs from her mythic model concerns control and intent” (Cohen 159). While this is an accurate notation of one of the main differences between the two, the explanation that follows is not correct. Cohen states that Circe has “cool, calculated self-control. Brett is passion’s slave” (Cohen 159). Brett certainly does not have the cool control of Circe, but it is definitely an exaggeration to label her passion’s slave. Had she been entirely controlled by passion, she would have stayed with Pedro Romero and acquiesced when he “really wanted to marry me [her] …. He wanted to make it sure I [she] could never go away from him. After I’d [she’d] gotten more womanly of course” (Hemingway 246). Cohen cites Brett’s declaration that she could not help herself from going to Romero as evidence that she was passion’s slave. However, when that statement is taken in light of her eventual decision to forsake her passion in order to retain her autonomy, it is clear that Brett is slave to nothing but her own struggle to maintain her authentic self. Brett also has ethical reasons for ending her relationship with Pedro Romero saying that she will not be “one of these bitches that ruins children” (Hemingway 247). Had she simply been blinded by her uncontrollable passion, she would not heed these moral concerns but rather, enslaved by passion, would have just followed her desire.
Cohen makes an interesting point: when the reader is first introduced to Brett, Hemingway compares the homosexuals that surround her to the debased lions and wolves that fawn helplessly around Circe. Both are, Cohen asserts, symbols of emasculation. While Circe has directly and purposefully emasculated the animals, Brett has in no way contributed to the effeminacy of the homosexuals. Cohen also carries this animalistic symbolism over to Brett when he discusses Brett’s relationship to Robert Cohn as being similar to that of the bull to the steer. Cohn, himself, seems to realize that he is a steer when he sympathizes with the steers, as Cohen observes. Cohen explains, “The steer acts as buffer to the bulls to quiet them and keep them from fighting each other; for its efforts it draws the bulls’ wrath and is gored repeatedly.… Like the steer, Cohn accepts this abuse as due, the price of his devotion to Brett” (Cohen 160). Just as Circe’s emasculation of men is symbolized by the fawning wolves and lions, Brett’s emasculation of Cohn is metaphorically paralleled by the goring of steers by the bulls.
Cohen’s argument of Brett’s debasement of men being similar to that of Circe’s also contains some insightful examples such as Jake’s betrayal of his passion for bullfighting when he assists her in becoming Pedro Romero’s lover and Brett’s own accusation that Mike acts like a swine. However, the argument that “Romero’s machismo is proof against Brett’s magic” (Cohen 162) is undermined by Cohen’s own observation that Romero “is not enough to conquer and dominate this Circe” (Cohen 163). This is another major point of difference between Circe and Brett. While Circe was dominated by Odysseus, Brett refuses to be controlled by any man. Cohen is correct in observing the one connection that both Circe and Brett dominate men, often causing their debasement. However, the rest of the argument is very weak and does not substantiate his accusation of Brett as “sexual menace, the vampire who drains the sexual life of her victims” (Cohen 164). In his discussion of the parallel between Circe and Brett in such a harsh light, he overlooks many of Brett’s more complicated characteristics and sensibilities.
In addition, Cohen attributes Brett with occult powers similar to those held by Circe. This does not seem to be credible in the context of the novel. He cites the scene in which the dancers surround her at the festival as an example of Brett as a “pagan queen” (Cohen 159). While Brett is not religious and does seem to have a magic about her in her beauty and charms with men, it is rather extreme to claim that she has occult powers like those of the powerful sorceress. The dancing scene is used more to establish Brett as a beauty who inspires a worshipful adoration rather than to show her as some sort of pagan goddess or sorceress.
Another article that discusses Brett Ashley in terms of her similarities to an ancient woman is Kathleen Morgan’s “Between Two Worlds: Hemingway’s Brett Ashley and Homer’s Helen of Troy.” Morgan’s argument in this article is more credible than “Circe and Her Swine.” Morgan correctly establishes that the “most striking similarity between the two heroines is the unique place each occupies in terms of activities and behavior that have been designated by society as male or female prerogatives” (Morgan 169). Both Brett and Helen reject the traditional role of the woman as subordinate and belonging in the domain of the home. Morgan asserts, “Brett and Helen are women whose visions of themselves go far beyond the world of home and family” (Morgan 170). Brett does not seem to be concerned with settling down or resigning herself to the world of the proper housewife, just as Helen refused to be relegated only to the domain of the home.
Unlike Cohen, who interprets the homosexual men surrounding Brett in her first scene as symbolic of her ability to emasculate men, Morgan interprets the group as “the perfect foil for Brett, the woman who rejects the traditional female world and is trying to adopt the manners of men” (Morgan 171). Morgan discusses the problem of both Helen and Brett: they live in both a man’s and a woman’s world without really belonging to either. However, Morgan incorrectly asserts that Brett and Helen are incapable of controlling their sexual behavior and being loyal to only one man. It is not Brett’s inability to be monogamous that leaves her constantly searching but rather her unfortunate romantic circumstances. Her “true love had just kicked off with the dysentery” (Hemingway 46) when Brett met Jake; she then had a loveless marriage and an abusive husband. The man she loves is unavailable to her, and she continues searching for someone whom she can love and with whom she can also have a sexual relationship.
Another intriguing observation that connects Helen and Brett is that they are both so harshly judged by their own sex and held virtually blameless by the men. Both women are also interested in their lovers as following a heroic code, as Brett is attracted to Romero and Jake for their dedication to a code of some sort and the Hemingway definition of courage, grace under pressure. Furthermore, Morgan observes that neither woman has any emotional support system to encourage her under such scrutiny other than a man who is sexually unavailable to her, Jake for Brett and Hector for Helen.
Morgan also observes that Brett and Helen nurture the young. However, Morgan is mistaken in her conviction that Brett ended her affair with Pedro Romero because of her concern that she is too old for him. This is definitely Brett’s most fervently declared reason for ending the relationship, but there is also the aforementioned passage in which she discusses Romero’s recommendation that she become more womanly. Thus, Morgan neglects to consider that the ending of the relationship was not only because of Brett’s concern for Romero as a child but also her need for independence. Overall, however, this article is convincing, concluding that, “Their [Brett and Helen’s] attempts to become integrated within the world of men … may ultimately be doomed, but they have nowhere else to turn” (Morgan 180). Brett, as depicted in this article, is a sympathetic character who seems unable to find a place for herself, shifting between the worlds of the feminine and the masculine, perhaps tragically, without hope of being able to settle in either.
Kathy G. Willingham draws yet another comparison between Brett Ashley and a figure of ancient times, comparing her to Dionysius in “The Sun Hasn’t Set Yet: Brett Ashley and the Code Hero Debate.” This article is the most cohesively credible of the articles reviewed for this essay, establishing an insightful and complex characterization of Brett. In the article, the author responds not only to negative characterization of Brett but also to the critical dismissal of the Hemingway code hero. Willingham asserts, “The code hero has much to offer readers today and particularly to any woman who resists criticisms or pressures to perform according to another’s standards and insists on defining her own authentic self, as does Brett Ashley” (Willingham 34). Willingham sets Brett up as a heroine, retaining her own independent individuality and refusing to conform to societal norms.
Willingham discusses the past misinterpretations in articles that characterize Brett as Circe and insists that the ancient figure whom she resembles is not a deceptive sorceress but the androgynous god Dionysus. Willingham explains, “What the genealogy of Dionysus appears to reveal, therefore, is a highly over-determined trope linking the sun, the slaying of bulls, intoxicative and transgressive behaviors and gender ambiguity in one associative chain” (Willingham 40). This explanation of Dionysus contains evident links to Brett Ashley. The relation to the sun is that indicated in the title and the epigraph from Ecclesiastes emphasizing regeneration and repetition. Furthermore, Brett’s gender ambiguity and her transgression of social norms are also notable aspects of her character. Jake Barnes describes Brett in her first appearance in the novel, “her hair was brushed back like a boy’s. She started all that. She was built with curves like the hull of a racing yacht and you missed none of it with that wool jersey” (Hemingway 30). In this description of Brett, her masculine and feminine attributes are combined, with the juxtaposition of the description of her hair being like that of a boy and the description of her curves. Interestingly, Jake describes even the most feminine aspect of Brett’s body, her feminine curves, in an unorthodox and semi-masculine way, comparing her to a yacht.
The parallel constructed between Brett and Dionysus is also highlighted by another argument in Willingham’s article. Contrasting with Cohen’s analysis, Willingham observes that Brett does not embody the characteristics of a bull but rather those of the matador. Brett’s grace under pressure and at least superficial smooth control of her life as well as the descriptions of her beauty parallel the grace of Pedro Romero’s bullfighting technique support this association of Brett as matador.
Discussing the folkloric and literary history of bullfighting, Willingham draws a parallel between The Sun Also Rises and Vincente Blasco Ibanez’s novel, Blood and Sound. In this novel, a masculine, independent woman seduces a younger bull-fighter. Interestingly, both the bull-fighter and the woman exhibit androgynous characteristics and often seem to switch gender roles. Thus, the parallel is drawn not only to the relationship between Brett and Romero but also to that between Jake and Brett. Willingham is careful to point out that Hemingway’s characterization of Brett is quite different than that of the female protagonist in Blood and Sound in that while Ibanez’s character is a purely destructive force, ruining the life and career of her younger lover, “much evidence exists to say that Hemingway actually celebrated or endorsed Brett’s behavior” (Willingham 42).
This is a very intriguing statement, but Willingham does not expound upon this statement nor does he give any specifics of this evidence. Willingham’s analysis of the relationship between Brett and Jake is the best interpretation of their relationship among the articles discussed in this essay. She writes, “Jake and Brett constitute a symbolic couple or union, a hermaphroditic pair, and, as such, one that closely resembles the kind Hemingway himself sought to create or realize in his private life” (Willingham 43). This is a fascinating interpretation of the two, and one that seems very accurate. Brett, with her female gender designation intermingled with her masculine characteristics, and Jake, with his masculinity traumatized by his emasculating injury and the repercussions, do indeed create a hermaphroditic pair.
Furthermore, Willingham identifies Jake as being the picador character compared to Brett’s matador character. This is an insight found in none of the other articles. Jake is often identified as a steer to be marred by Brett, the bull. However, Willingham identifies Jake as the picador, the assistant to the matador who wears down the bulls so they are easier for the matador to handle. This is an interesting reading of their relationship, as the matador can only perform so gracefully and is in less danger because of the picador’s undervalued, tireless efforts on the matador’s behalf. Thus, the relationship mirrors that of Jake and Brett. Jake is constantly there for Brett to ease her problems and to get her out of bad situations, even bringing her to Romero. Jake sacrifices his own well-being and self-respect for the benefit of Brett, just as the picador works hard to tire out the bulls without any hope of high-esteem for this work that benefits the matador.
In addition, Willingham declares Brett the main character of The Sun Also Rises. Willingham writes, “The novel unequivocally sets Brett at center stage, thus making a strong case that she is the central protagonist as well as hero of the book. While Jake may be the narrator, Brett provides the overriding subject of interest” (Willingham 45). This is a rather bold and untraditional reading of the book, but one to which evidence lends credence, as the focal point of the action of the book is often Brett. However, it is a stretch to declare Brett the sole protagonist and reduce Jake to the narrator, since his struggles and psychological trauma as he works to regain his masculine identity, if at all possible after his injury, is as central to the novel. While Brett is as important to the novel as Jake, she does not override him. Overall, however, this article gives excellent insights into Brett Ashley’s character.
One of the articles referenced in Willingham’s article is “Brett Ashley as New Woman in The Sun Also Rises” by Wendy Martin. This article discusses Martin’s interpretation of Brett Ashley in terms of the historical and cultural context, in which the novel was written. Martin discusses the changing image of women in the 1920s by using the famous icon of the flapper, and writes, “The new woman’s radical challenge to the traditional social structure is seen in Lady Brett Ashley, who has stepped off the pedestal and now roams the world … she dares to frequent places and events previously off limits to her, such as the bar and the bullfight” (Martin 50). This is similar to the discussion of Brett entering the masculine world that is found in Morgan’s comparison between Brett and Helen of Troy.
Martin sees Brett, not only as the embodiment of a new kind of woman emerging after World War I, but also as a representative of the psychological trauma being experienced by the public because of the war. She observes, “Brett’s loose disordered relationships reflect the shattered unity and contradictions of the modern world” (Martin 51). While this is true, all of the characters reflect the chaotic trauma of World War I. Jake reflects the disorder created by World War I at least as much as Brett. Martin neglects this by phrasing her argument in such a way as to make it sound as if Brett was the character most representative of the aftermath disorder of World War I.
Martin not only historicizes Brett, but she also looks at her interactions with others in terms of economics, noting, “by retaining the interest of multiple suitors, Brett keeps her options open, diversifies the investment of social and sexual energy, and thereby maximizes her opportunities”(Martin 52). Interestingly, Martin’s reading of the relationships in The Sun Also Rises in terms of economics not only relates to Jake’s contemplation of the cost of his and Brett’s relationship for Brett. In addition, her argument could also be applied to Jake as he considers life in terms of exchange, reflecting, “Enjoying living was learning to get your money’s worth and knowing when you had it. You could get your money’s worth. The world was a good place to buy in” (Hemingway 152).
Like Willingham, Martin stresses the conception of Brett and Jake as a pair: “Brett and Jake emerge as the paradigmatic couple who best represent the shift in the perception of gender following World War I” (Martin 47). Martin develops this differently than Willingham, focusing on the two characters’ opposite emotional struggles rather than their symbolic representatives in bull-fighting. She explains, “Jake must learn to accept the discomfort and uncertainty that come with his loss of authority, and Brett must learn to make choices for herself and to take responsibility for those choices” (Martin 56). While the concept of this argument is interesting, the explanation does not seem to be entirely correct. Jake is not coping in The Sun Also Rises Jake is coping with his loss of masculinity, not his loss of authority. Furthermore, Brett is not just learning to take responsibility for her own choices, but has been paying for them, as Jake realizes, “I had been having Brett for a friend. I had not been thinking about her side of it…I thought I had paid for everything. Not like the woman pays and pays and pays” (Hemingway 152). Jake realizes that Brett has been paying heartily for her choices all along, even though he thought that he had been the one feeling the brunt of the suffering.
Another flaw in Martin’s logic is her examination of the ending of the novel and view of it as a positive ending, one which “signals the possibility of new kinds of relationships for women and men in the twentieth century” (Martin 60). Brett and Jake’s conversation is in no way one that contains seeds of hope for the future, but rather indicates that they can never find fulfillment; their struggle will constantly be repeated, as is indicated by the epigraph. The Sun Also Rises is not a novel of hope or happiness in the possibility of new friendships between men and women, but it is rather a tragedy. Hemingway himself explicitly stated this saying that this novel is not “a hollow or bitter satire, but a damn tragedy” (Rudat 173). With the authorial intent that the book be read as a tragedy, which was so explicitly stated, there can be no confusion as to the pessimistic tones of the entire novel, and especially the concluding scene. Wolfgang E.H. Rudat acknowledges The Sun Also Rises as a tragedy, but views the tragedy of Brett in psychosexual terms in “Brett’s Problem.” Rudat’s reading of Brett is that her struggle in this novel is based on her fruitless search for a lover who can fully satisfy her sexually. Rudat explains that the name “Brett” comes from the German word for ‘board,’ novel: Lady Brett is a plank nailed down by many men, but not nailed down for good by any of them” (Rudat 166). Rudat also points out that Hemingway wrote much of his draft at a ski resort and that “Brett” is similar to the Austrian word for ‘ski’. Rudat concludes from this, “Lady Brett is a ski which is set foot by many men-but not by Jake Barnes, whom she truly loves but who is impotent as the result of a war injury” (Rudat 166). While Rudat’s explanation of the origin of Brett’s name is interesting, he may be missing some deeper resonations between Brett’s name and her character by looking at her purely in terms of her sexuality. Brett is like a ‘board’ not in that she is nailed down by many men, but in that she seems apparently in control and strong, but is in fact splintered and soft on the inside, as is the case with a board.
Rudat also describes Brett’s curves as being similar to that of a racing yacht and as evidence of her inability to find a lover who fulfills her sexual needs. Referencing Ovid’s Art of Love, he asserts, “Brett is a “racing yacht” which, ironically, is all too often “left behind”…Brett is a ski which no man is able to stand on long enough” (Rudat 168). Once again, Rudat overlooks other aspects of this description of Brett. By describing Brett’s curves as being like a racing yacht, Hemingway puts even her most feminine attributes in masculine terms. Furthermore, like the hull of a yacht, Brett is beautifully carved, but is rather hollow on the inside as she searches for fulfillment, not purely sexual, but also emotional.
Unsurprisingly, Rudat also sees the final scene in terms of sexuality, reading Brett in a rather cruel light by saying that Brett leans on Jake in the taxi in order to remind Jake, “of what could have been had he been sexually functional” (Rudat 171). Instead of heartlessly reminding Jake of what could have been, Brett is mourning the fact that they can never be fully together, and, exhausted, she “rested against me [Jake] comfortably” (Hemingway 251). This scene is undoubtedly sexual, but Rudat focuses on Brett as leaning against Jake to further hurt him rather than examining the context of this scene and the clearly phallic symbol of the policeman raising his baton right before, “the car slowed suddenly pressing Brett against me [Jake]” (Hemingway 251). Brett is not purposely being callous, but rather everything around Jake and Brett both pushes them together and reminds them of what can never be. Further misreading Brett, Rudat compares this scene with the one in the beginning of the novel with Georgette and Jake in the cab when Georgette tried to engage Jake physically and he pushed her hand away. Rudat explains what he views as the parallel between the two scenes, “Brett is doing to Jake intentionally what Georgette had done to him unintentionally” (Rudat 169). For the reasons discussed in the paragraph above, this is incorrect.
Rudat also examines Jake’s biblical name and his relationship to religion as well as Brett’s isolation from it. He argues that Jake’s religious nature is demonstrated when he goes to the church during the festival, as well as his statements in conversations with Brett such as, “I’m pretty religious” (Hemingway 213) and his countering of Brett’s assertion that she has no feeling like a bitch instead of God with, “Some people have God … Quite a lot” (Hemingway 249). Rudat observes that Brett, however, never really gives religion a chance, avoiding religious conversation with Jake by ordering more drinks and leaving the church because she feels suffocated. Also, this reading of Jake as a religious and Brett as not religious is too superficial. Jake, in fact, also struggles with religion. When he goes to the cathedral to pray he finds that he cannot and notes, “ I was a little ashamed, and regretted being such a rotten Catholic … I only wished I felt religious and maybe I would the next time” (Hemingway 103). Hemingway’s characters, Jake included, do not have anything that solidly grounds them to the world around them, like a strong belief in religion. World War I has turned the entire world upside down, upsetting all balances to the point where nothing can be completely trusted. Jake feels this doubt even in regards to religion as he finds himself unable to feel religious or find focus while praying. To label Jake as a character who has religion, setting him in direct contrast to Brett’s lack of religion, undermines the complexity of his struggles.
While Rudat criticizes Brett’s treatment of Jake, Lorie Watkins Fulton analyzes the negative bias with which Jake depicts Brett. In Fulton’s article, “Reading Around Jake’s Narration: Brett Ashley and The Sun Also Rises,” Fulton argues that the reason that most scholars have analyzed Brett in very negative terms, a cruel tormentor who victimizes the men around her, is that readers do not look past the biases with which Brett is seen through Jake’s narration.
Fulton correctly describes the depth of Brett’s character and is very insightful in delving into her character in all its complexities. She observes that Brett’s, “personality gradually emerges as an intriguing mix of femininity and masculinity, strength and vulnerability, morality and dissolution” (Fulton 62). This is the best summation of Brett’s character found in the articles reviewed in this essay, for it does not blindly criticize her as Circe, nor does it perhaps too boldly name her as the sole hero of The Sun Also Rises. Understanding the contradictions that lie at the heart of all of the characters, Fulton notes that Brett, too, is a mess of conflicting and contradicting emotions and attributes. Fulton’s observation could also be further granted credibility by Jake’s description of Brett’s stare: “She looked as though there were nothing on earth she would not look at like that, and really she was afraid of so many things” (Hemingway 34). Jake thus demonstrates one of the conflicting aspects of Brett: her apparent courage and strength, which are but a mask for the fearful battles raging inside of her.
Fulton argues that Brett is not seen in all her complexity, as she is viewed as a purely destructive force because “Jake holds Brett responsible for his unhappiness” (Fulton). While it is true that there is undoubtedly a bias in Jake’s illustration of Brett, it is inaccurate to say that Jake blames Brett for his unhappiness. He does not blame Brett; he is aware that her presence makes him feel the loss of his physical masculinity more sharply, but he does not hold her responsible for his state. Rather, Jake blames World War I for the cause of his impotence and ensuing unhappiness. After seeing Brett, Jake is deeply depressed and lays awake thinking, “Well, it was a rotten way to be wounded and flying on a joke front like the Italian…I never used to realize it, I guess. I try and play it along and just not make trouble for people. Probably I never would have had any trouble if I hadn’t run into Brett when they shipped me to England” (Hemingway 39). Jake realizes that Brett is not the cause of his unhappiness, but she exacerbates it. He would have been unhappy regardless of Brett, but Brett has made his injury more severely felt.
This undue criticism of Jake is one of many that are found throughout Fulton’s article. While her observations about Brett’s character are very insightful, she is overly critical of Jake, blaming him for the misreadings of Brett. She asserts that Jake is prejudiced against women and sees them as inherently manipulative, an argument she supports by his observation of women arranging things in stores as he walks down the street. There is no credible evidence for this understanding of Jake. Furthermore, she accuses Jake of painting a picture of Brett as being mentally unstable while ignoring the fact that, “Brett hardly appears more psychologically affected than Jake” (Fulton). Jake, however, does not insist upon his own stability, nor does he lead the reader to believe that Brett is any more or less of a mess than he is. Rather, both characters are shown as representational of the psychological traumas resulting from World War I.
Fulton also incorrectly attributes Jake’s problems to his non analytical nature, which she claims contrasts with Brett’s in such a way that Brett will be able to work through her problems while, “until Jake can analyze both his needs and the choices that he makes, he will probably continue to search unsuccessfully for a mode of living that satisfies him” (Fulton). Jake’s unhappiness does not result from his lack of analytical abilities, but rather from his difficulty in coping with a problem that has no solution. He is impotent, and apparently, will be for the rest of his life. Thus, he is stuck in a tragic cycle with Brett, in which they are both constantly tormented. There is no amount of analysis which will ever bring him to a conclusive solution to this problem, as there is no solution.
Therein lies the key tragedy for Brett and Jake: their problem has no solution. Fulton, however, feels that the “real tragedy is the likelihood that if Jake possessed full sexual capabilities, his deep connection to Brett could not exist” (Fulton). She uses the final scene as evidence of this, especially focusing on Jake’s response to the suggestion that he and Brett could “have had such a damned good time together” with “Isn’t it pretty to think so?” (Hemingway 251). This is a misreading of the scene. Rather, Brett’s lamentation that they could have had happiness together, but are not able to, because of Jake’s impotence and Jake’s response, show that they know they could have been happy, but all they can do is think about it. They will forever want one another without ever being able to hope for the attainment of happiness or a fulfilling relationship. In Lady Brett Ashley, Hemingway created a complex female character; however, many view him as not capable of this feat because he is viewed as a writer that only understands the masculine point of.
The debate over Lady Brett Ashley has heightened in the past twenty years, producing scholarship and analysis that invites a variety of readings of Lady Ashley, ranging from Circe to Code Hero, and from insightful observations to superficial misreadings. As scholars continue to analyze this novel and its central female protagonist, the conversation of literature and criticism will continue to grow, leading deeper into Hemingway’s proverbial iceberg than many have ventured and possibly finding out more of Hemingway’s view on the feminine point of view.
Works Cited
Cohen, Milton A. "Circe and Her Swine." Brett Ashley. Ed. Harold Bloom. New York: Chelsea House, 1991. 157-165.
Fulton, Lorie. "Reading Around Jake's Narration: Brett Ashley and the Sun Also Rises." Hemingway Review 24.1 (2004): 61-80. ProQuest. Penn State University, University Park. 29 Nov. 2006. <http://proquest.umi.com/pqd.web?index>.
Hemingway, Ernest. The Sun Also Rises. New York: Scribner Paperback Fiction, 1926.
Martin, Wendy. "Brett Ashley as New Woman in the Sun Also Rises."Ernest Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises: a Casebook. Ed. Linda Wagner-Martin. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2002. 47-60.
Morgan, Kathleen. "Between Two Worlds: Hemingway's Brett Ashley and Homer's Helen of Troy." Classical and Modern Literature: a Quarterly 11 (1991): 169-180.
Rudat, Wolfgang E.H. "Brett's Problem." Brett Ashley. Ed. Harold Bloom. New York: Chelsea House, 1991. 166-174.
Willingham, Kathy G. "The Sun Hasn't Set Yet: Brett Ashley and the Code Hero Debate." Hemingway and Women. Eds. Lawrence R. Broer and Gloria Holland. Tuscaloosa, AL: The University of Alabama Press, 2002. 33-53.