Friday, January 19, 2007
Of Hemingway
Last night I read Ernest Hemingway’s story A Clean, Well-Lighted Place and was taken aback by this beautiful passage:
They sat together at a table that was close against the wall near the door of the café and looked at the terrace where the tables were all empty except where the old man sat in the shadow of the leaves of the tree that moved slightly in the wind. A girl and a soldier went by in the street. The street light shone on the brass number on his collar. The girl wore no head covering and hurried beside him.
Reading this made me smile. It’s not often you see such contrast as Hemingway was capable of producing. He starts out with this long run-on sentence that would make most writing gurus faint and then follows it up with three shorter—almost staccato—sentences that shift the focus of the scene, allowing for a smooth transition back to the two waiters having a conversation inside of the café.
“The guard will pick him up,” one waiter said.
“What does it matter if he gets what he’s after?”
To me, it’s dramatically cinematic in a modern sense, which is ironic in that the story was written over 70 years ago.