Hemingway’s Demonstration of Gaze through For Whom the Bell Tolls
Adam Soto
For Whom the Bells Tolls tells the story of Robert Jordan, an American fighting
with a group of guerilla militants in the Spanish countryside against the fascist regime
during the Spanish Civil War. It is about the birth of a natural worldview in the death of
an ideal through the shift of narrative gaze. Hemingway illustrates this fundamental
transition from narrow objective focus to all encompassing reverence by drawing from
his own personal development of craft and philosophy during his time in Paris and
Africa, studying art and primitive civilization; fortifying a stronger understanding of the
natural world and his place in it.
Robert Jordan begins his work in Spain with a narrow focus, a strict rhetoric, and
abides by social and military constructs. The novel opens with Robert Jordan evaluating
his vantage point atop a great mountain. Hemingway notes “high overhead the wind blew
in the tops of the pine trees,” and that “The mountainside sloped gently where he lay” (1).
However, Robert Jordan pays little attention to his environment and instead he asks his
guide, Anselmo, from which point he will be able to see the bridge, his objective. He
averts his gaze from the gorge and spreads a “military map on the forest floor” (1), a
synthetic, man-made representation of the land he stands on, thus ignoring the natural
world in favor of a tool that aides in the manipulation and control of the environment for
the sake of his mission. Here, Hemingway’s narrative gaze is narrowed and focused;
lending itself to a military objective rather than the awe inspiring country Robert Jordan
is fighting for.
This narrowed gaze not only affects the way Robert Jordan perceives things but
the way he feels, communicates, and acts as well. Even after sparking a love affair with
Maria, Robert is incapable of drawing his attention away from the objective of blowing
up the bridge. Hemingway writes, “He was walking beside her but his mind was thinking
of the problem of the bridge now and it was all clear and hard and sharp as when a
camera lens is brought into focus” (161). His usage of the camera metaphor pulls Robert
and the reader further away from the natural world, describing the biological process of
sight as a highly mechanized and technical operation, disregarding the natural subject that
may exist within the gaze, and building the importance of Robert’s control of his faculties
instead.
Robert Jordan is capable of such efficiency through his usage of rhetoric that
prevents his mind from wandering, and placing new weight on things that exist outside of
his objective. His rhetoric is not associated with any creeds that may convince him that he
is fighting for people, freedom, or ideology, but rather to stop a force that the collective
conscience of his time deemed an enemy. He describes himself not as a Communist, but
as an “anti-fascist” (66), prescribing to a sentiment that has more to do with the
immediate elimination of a threat than the prospect of building a hopeful future,
demonstrating a gaze that is not only limited in width of perspective but depth as well,
focusing only on the present foreground of existence.
Hemingway’s usage of dialogue demonstrates these limitations as well. When
Andrés asks him if believes “in the possibility of a man seeing ahead what is to happen to
him” (250), Robert immediately responds, no, and proceeds to bring attention to the
objective at hand. He is incapable of understanding, has no tolerance for superstition, and
nearly exclusively discusses his rhetoric and mission. These limitations of
communication prevent camaraderie, trust, and unification. In this sense, the group
functions on two different planes, the guerillas, flexible, improvisational, and passionate,
and Robert Jordan, structured, independent, and objective oriented. Robert Jordan is
fighting a battle while the Spaniards are fighting a war.
This divide, based on the fundamental differences of perspective, lends itself to
many complications throughout the operation. Early on, when faced with the reality that
Pablo was incapable of leadership due to his disillusionment with the resistance, and
disgust for his own blood lust, Robert Jordan struggles with the decision of whether or
not to kill the once fearless leader in an act of power upheaval (53). Abiding by military
constructs that demand discipline, determination, and consistency, Robert must evaluate a
human life; a man, a husband, and a hero of the resistance using a narrow set of
qualifiers. In the same scene, the Spaniards encourage Robert Jordan to kill Pablo, falling
in line with his effective and promising leadership, fearing that Pablo’s weakness may
prove damaging to their efforts. However, their perspective is more aligned with the
theory of natural selection than military constructs, much in the same way that a herd will
leave the weak behind to be eaten in an effort to ensure the success of the larger group.
Ultimately, Robert does not kill Pablo and continues to struggle with this question of
morality over efficiency, hinting at the early widening of his gaze, peering into the
history of the resistance and the role that Pablo played in it, thus opening his perspective
and increasing his depth of understanding of not only Pablo’s place in the movement, but
his own as well.
Robert Jordan is also stricken by his struggle with social constructs and their
limitations of his gaze as well. The strict male-over-female dominance, a reactionary
stance in light of his father’s submissive relationship with his mother, describing his
disappointment with his father and fear of his own personal trajectory in saying, “if he
wasn’t a coward he would have stood up to that woman and not let her bully him. I
wonder what I would have been like if he had married a different woman” (339), plays
into his own understanding of woman, relationships, and love. The submissive Maria
becomes an instant tool in quieting his thoughts and increasing his efficiency as a soldier.
These same limitations that plague Robert’s understanding of Maria affect his
understanding of his father, compassion, and forgiveness as well. Incapable of forgiving
his father for committing suicide, Robert remembers, when in a symbolic act of defiance
against his family’s legacy, he dropped his father’s suicide weapon, a revolver passed
down for generations, in a Lake near the Bear Tooth plateau, “and saw it go down
making bubbles until it was just as big as a watch charm in that clear water, and then it
was out of sight” (337). He refuses to have compassion for his father, calls him a coward,
and devotes the rest of his life to doing things his father shied away from, eliminating his
fears and weaknesses. In turn, this becomes the largest issue in regards to Hemingway’s
message on gaze and the overall meaning of his novel. Robert’s struggle in understanding
his father is a metaphor for the way people view life, purpose, mortality, and ultimately,
death. Hemingway comments on the way that humans validate their lives and existence,
using Robert’s perspective as a symbol of how contemporary social constructs such as
religion and virtue can narrowly objectify one’s existence; disregarding the ethereal,
existential, and spiritual aspects of one’s life that play a larger role in qualifying existence
than the tangible accomplishments our society seems to focus so heavily on, such as
blowing up a bridge.
Hemingway uses these scenes of limited gaze to set up the status quo. Then through
the usage of sentence construction and the opening of Robert Jordan’s focus, he begins to
widen the narrative gaze, working towards the greater meaning of the piece as a whole. In
order to recognize the weight of these shifts and their function in demonstrating gaze, one
must first understand their metaphorical meanings, the same meanings Hemingway,
himself prescribed to during his time in Paris and Africa, seeking an understanding of self
and perspective. During a conversation held on May 20, 1954, fourteen years after the
publication of For Whom the Bell Tolls, Picasso, too a student of Parisian and African
culture, said, “I have a model, it’s a thing I’ve never gone in before! Fortunately I can
work alone, because I can see only into myself; I cannot see into other people; the model
serves as a screen” (de la Souchére 23), presenting artistic creation as a demonstration of
the self; a representation of one’s own perspective and understanding of subject as a
reflection of the self, much in the same way Hemingway did.
Ernest Hemingway arrived in Africa on December 2, 1933, and in his first letter
written for Esquire Magazine said, “Nothing that I have ever read has given any idea of
the beauty of the country or the still remaining quantity of game” (Mellow 430).
Hemingway would stay a month on safari, studying the art of big game hunting, African
culture, and perspective.
In his novel, The Green Hills of Africa, a non-fiction recount of his time on safari,
Hemingway wrote:
I saw something moving over the shoulder of one of the valleys… In the
glasses it was a rhino, showing very clear and minute at the distance… Then there
were three more… pushing head-on, fighting in front of a clump of bushes while we
watched them and the light failed. It was too dark to get down the hill, across the
valley… So we went back to camp… until we saw the firelight in the trees. (51)
Hunting in Africa taught Hemingway the discipline of judging distance, spaciality,
temporality, and patience. He fine tuned his natural gaze; the ability to diminish and
augment it as he demonstrates so in his craft and his character, Robert Jordan. Much like
a painter’s ability to generate the illusion of depth, perspective, and dimension,
Hemingway’s widening gaze in For Whom the Bell Tolls functions as the primary literary
device in aiding in the progression of narrative, character development, and meaning.
Hemingway renders these qualities in Robert Jordan, who begins to learn from the
band of guerillas he lives with for four days. Their technique is ad-hoc; without a clear
definition of leadership, they use a natural, niche based construction of responsibility. For
example, Anselmo, although old and feeble, is depended upon for guidance in traversing
the wilderness because of his knowledge of the terrain (1). In turn, as the bridge blowing
operation goes underway, Robert Jordan relies heavily on improvisation, and the
spreading of responsibility based on capability. He allows Pablo responsibility despite his
treason and when told that the bridge would not be blown if he was beneath it, he
responds, “‘Take no account of me. Blow if thou needest to. I fix the other wire and come
back. Then we will blow it together’” (440). His ability to compensate for their handicaps
and think outside of protocol is a demonstration of this more natural, and in many ways,
more logical approach. His foresight to revise his plan, similar to Hemingway’s
acceptance of his inability to chase after the rhino and go in for the kill, is a clear
example of the widening of perspective. His gaze now accounts for the advantage of
having Pablo on his team despite his previous failures, and the need to revisit the
operation even after it has gone underway. These adjustments are part of a larger
objective, one that takes trust, understanding, and sacrifice in mind.
Aiding in this acceptance of a larger objective is Maria, and the true love he
develops for her. Although originally, their love is superficial and one of commensalism,
Robert begins to recognize the importance of moving towards the domestic and chooses
to embody a more primitive manifestation of romance, where love can exist to supply
inspiration, compassion, and companionship. In turn, Maria becomes the symbol of
victory, a representation of a free and natural world where two beings, despite their
differences, can coexist equally and in harmony. In placing Maria in this position,
Robert’s rhetoric is changed. He says that until her he never thought of anything but the
war and admits, “I love thee as I love liberty and dignity and the rights of all men to work
and not be hungry. I love thee as I love Madrid that we have defended and as I love all
my comrades that have died” (348).
Hemingway moves into this perspective immediately after describing her body like
landscape, he describes Robert Jordan’s exploration of her body: “her breasts like two
small hills that rise out of the long plain where there is a well, and the far country beyond
the hills was the valley of her throat where his lips were” (341). Robert is able to see
Maria as the symbol of freedom because of his new acceptance of the importance of his
environment. Hemingway opens his gaze and builds an inventory of landscape
descriptions from Robert’s perspective, which in turn diverts his attention from the bridge
in an effort to absorb the natural world and its inspiration to fight for a more natural
existence, the opposite of the fascists’ vision, rather than his stereotypical, American-bred
hatred of fascism, and blind faith in such unfounded and unsuccessful postulates as life,
liberty, and the pursuit of happiness (305).
This perspective comes from Hemingway’s own reverence for the natural world, its
purity, innocence, and reliability. He wrote of this in reference to his time in Africa, he
said, “I loved the country so that I was happy as you are after you been with a woman
that you really love” (Mellow 437). The energy and drive Robert Jordan experiences
from understanding the greater purpose of the war is a metaphor for Hemingway’s own
understanding of the pursuit. In Green Hills he wrote, “The way to hunt is for as long as
you live against and as long as there is such and such an animal; just as the way to paint
is as long… and to write as long as you can live” (12). Hemingway and Robert Jordan’s
pursuits become that of seeking a connection with nature, the discovery of the underlying
currents of existence, and the unifying force of natural growth and freedom that we must
all attain to gain full understanding of our world and existence.
A similar parallel exists between Robert’s relationship with Pilar, the matriarchal
leader of their guerrilla group, and Hemingway’s relationship with Gertrude Stein during
his stay in Paris. While in Paris, Stein helped cultivate Hemingway’s raw talent and
generate a new, and more natural and honest approach to the structural makeup of story.
In A Moveable Feast, he wrote support for his “new theory that you could omit anything
if you knew that you omitted and the omitted part would strengthen the story and make
people feel something more than they understood” (74). This maturation of Hemingway’s
craft, which lent itself directly to the stylistic development of For Whom the Bell Tolls
works in the same way that Pilar’s efforts did in the cleansing of Robert Jordan’s gaze.
She offers a spiritual perspective, describing his fate at the whims of nature which in turn
inspires him to turn his gaze in reverence of the natural world.
Robert Jordan’s gaze and Hemingway’s omission theory collide in the final chapter
of For Whom the Bell Tolls. In the scene in which the bridge explodes, Hemingway
wrote, “and then there was a cracking roar and the middle of the bridge rose up in the air
like a wave breaking and he felt the blast… His face was down against the pebbles as the
bridge settled… and the familiar yellow smell of it rolled over him” (445), thus limiting
Robert’s gaze and perspective to the Earth. In this concise and equally cathartic scene, the
omission of detail in regards to the visual explosion gives way to other sensory details,
such as the feeling and smell of the explosion, absorbing its meaning further. In doing so,
Hemingway not only blows up the bridge but buries it as a dead symbol, for by this time
it has already lost its central function as the representation of victory in the narrative,
replaced by Maria. This sophisticated manipulation of language and perspective is one of
the final notions towards Robert’s larger objective: to develop a stronger gaze, one that
will allow him to understand his own purpose, which in turn affects the greater meaning
of the novel as a whole.
In the final scene of the novel, Robert Jordan offers his life to ensure the safety and
escape of his comrades. Although in many ways Robert Jordan may be the most valuable
member of the militia, he recognizes that his role in the war and his purpose in life are
only instrumental in moving towards mutualism and freedom through a process of
devolution; approaching a more natural state of existence, anti-intellectual and antivirtuosic, retreating from a world of military and social constructs, that do more for the
imprisonment of the mind and spirit, and to propel the cultivation and conquest of the
Earth, than the facilitation of happiness and purpose. He recognizes the evils of human
construction and in many ways the impossibility of destroying it, symbolized by the
endless supply of fascist troops and their unrelenting pursuit into the mountains. Through
his self-sacrifice he not only widens his perspective of his own purpose but faces the
same decision his father had to make years ago. Where at first Hemingway described
Robert’s perspective on his father half-heartedly in writing, “He understood his father
and he forgave him everything and he pitied him but he was ashamed of him” (340), he
later rendered a scene in which, although Robert denies it, places both father and son
parallel to one another.
This phenomenon and the resentment that preceded is rampant in Hemingway’s
work and life. He once wrote to Sylvia Beach, “My father shot himself in December, so
now – after having left my family when I was 14 and never taking anything from them I
now finally have the responsibility of them. He left practically nothing except my mother
and two children still in school” (Mellow 372). Hemingway perceived his father’s suicide
as an act of cowardice just as Robert does.
In an ultimate struggle over searching for the validity and sanctity of human life,
Hemingway used his theory of gaze to move towards discovering his own perspective on
it. In Africa, immersed in a primitive worldview, Hemingway developed an intimate
relationship with death. In Green Hills he reflected and wrote:
But the great joke of all, the thing M’Cola waved his hands across his face about…
and laughed, ashamed even of the hyena; the pinnacle of hyenic humor… that hit
too far back while running, would circle madly, snapping and tearing at himself
until he pulled his own intestines out, then stood there, jerking them out and eating
them with relish. (37-8)
This grotesque scene illustrated how Hemingway learned to see through M’Cola, his
guide’s eyes. For M’Cola, the hyena was a metaphor, a fatalistic and dark humored
understanding of life and mortality. In turn, Hemingway learned to work with death
differently, with less severity that generated the same careful metaphor the hyena did
while disemboweling itself. With this sophisticated and paradoxically, basic approach
towards writing about death, Robert Jordan’s gaze is expanded to understand the
Spaniard’s histories, and experiences, such as Pablo’s bloodlust that led to his own
destruction. It is as if Hemingway recognized an internal mechanism within the hyena, a
device that allowed the beast to evaluate itself and its surroundings, then happily destroy
itself when it understood that its existence was futile; as if within this tragic animal laid
the secret to the ultimate worldview, one that was fully conscious of the self and its place
in the world.
Hemingway worked towards this in his final version of For Whom the Bell Tolls
and placed Robert in a final act of self-sacrifice, recognizing the futility of the ideal, that
he will serve no greater purpose in a resistance that is destined to fail, incapable of
competing with the awesome military might of the fascist regime. Much in the same way
that the hyena recognizes, however unconsciously, that his body may serve a greater
purpose in the perpetuation of life by offering it back to the Earth, Robert Jordan, too,
turns his gaze to the soil. Juxtaposed against Robert’s initial gaze when surveying from
the top of the mountain that overlooked the mill on the first page of the novel,
Hemingway places him on the same exact mountain and writes, “He was waiting until the
officer reached the sunlit place… He could feel his heart beating against the pine needle
floor of the forest” (471), omitting the impending firefight, focusing on his connection
with the Earth, generating the ultimate shift in gaze.
In doing so, Hemingway presented a thesis that likens Robert’s recognition of his
purpose in life as the same as any other organism in the ecological energy cycle,
returning to the Earth in order to create a new life. In this case, for Maria. This in turn,
allows Robert to come full circle with his father in realizing that suicide is not always an
act of cowardice and escape, but rather holds the possibility of heroism in the recognition
of one’s own limitations in the ongoing war against ignorance and imperialism.
For Hemingway, this may have been his way of pulling from the natural texts and
the teachings of fellow artists in an effort to open his perspective on his own father’s
suicide. Perhaps both fathers, wounded like the hyena to the point of being invalids by a
world that ignored the most important, primitive, and basic essence of existence (Robert’s
grandfather’s collection of Native-American artifacts ignored by society (336), and the
destruction of Hemingway’s father’s collection of natural and primitive wonders by his
mother (Mellow 19)), found their existences no longer useful to modern society, and in
act of defiance, took their own lives, shaking their families, and the social constructs they
were built upon, to the core.
To develop this theory that he implemented in For Whom the Bell Tolls to not only
indict the limitations of modern society, but combat them as well, Hemingway had to first
understand the nature of perspective. As a student of the zeitgeist, he not only engrossed
himself in his own exploration of perspective, but the explorations of his fellow artists as
well.
During his time in Paris, and work with Gertrude Stein, Hemingway absorbed the
eye of the artist, both post-impressionistic and cubist. In A Moveable Feast, Hemingway
described Stein’s studio, “like one of the best rooms in the finest museums” (13) filled
with a wonderful collection of contemporary art. It was here that he fell in love with
Cézanne and Picasso. In Russel I. Johnson’s review of Ernest Hemingway and the Arts,
he reflects in writing:
The concatenation of the influences of the Dadaists, the surrealists, and the
imagist poets, irrespective of their difference, was all towards synaesthetia.
Hemingway immersed himself in this environment, enthusiastically attended to
these influences, noted the manifestos, and studied the particular manifestation.
(138)
In regards to Cézanne specifically, and his method of “infinitely patient repetition of one
stroke laid next to another” (Mellow 150), Hemingway, ala Stein’s guidance, learned “the
sense of overall composition in which each part, each sentence, was as significant as any
other part… in which nothing seemed to happen, but… through reiterative phrases and
shifting emphases, moved forward to the culminating paragraph” (Mellow 150). His
emulation of this technique gave way to the momentum of For Whom the Bell Tolls, a
novel, that despite its physical length, lasts only four days with little action and
progression. However, the novel and its overall message of moving to a natural
worldview are given weight by these shifts of emphases from the bridge to the country;
from sex to love. This understanding and control of the amount of physical representation
a perspective gets on the page was Hemingway’s written interpretation of Cézannes
practice of omission and insertion of natural elements that lent itself to the impression of
absolute truth, his ultimate goal at the end of his novel. In Kenneth J. Johnston’s essay,
“Hemingway and Cézanne: The Country,” he argues that:
The oblique rendering of more than meets the eye; the repetition of line, color, and
motif; the fusion of simplicity and complexity; the union of abstraction and reality;
the elimination of non-essential details – the ‘secret’ of Cézanne may also be
discovered in Hemingway’s landscapes. (3)
Hemingway’s retreat into the primitive worldview, and finding absolute honesty
within it was a part of a larger art movement based in anti-intellectualism and antivirtuosity. He discovered this movement through Picasso. In Picasso’s art, “Ideological
and rhythmical considerations have combined to produce a simplification,” and “The
general tendency is always in the direction of sobriety free from aridity” (de la Souchére
19). Hemingway’s approach towards the development of a natural gaze worked under the
same pretenses: to create a balanced and honest representation of Robert’s developing
perspective that resolved in a calm realization without undermining the narrative and its
responsibility to take the reader to the final resolution. In doing so, Hemingway was not
only able render a clear illustration of what this idealized gaze would be, but how one
could achieve it as well.
In the same vein of influence, Picasso’s devolution of influence during his ‘Negro
Period’ and the execution of Les Demoiselles d’ Avignon’, a painting that implemented
the images of ancient African masks for the faces of whores, mirrors Hemingway’s same
yearning for the primitive gaze. Although Picasso denied this African influence in fear of
being an imitator, scholars emphasize his “gesture in going back to Iberian bronzes,
Negro fetishes or Carthaginian masks as a necessary point of departure… it is a return to
the sculpture; it is also a return to an art of spirituality” (de la Souchére 20). Hemingway
saw the early movements to such gestures while Picasso was in Paris, and continued to
follow his work while recognizing the validity and absolute honesty of the primitive gaze.
In turn, he made it his goal to implement the same primitive gaze to attain the same level
of spiritual understanding through text in a theory he called “The Fifth Dimension”
(Green Hills 27).
In order to develop this level of perception and its accompanying theory in a way
that he could implement it effectively in For Whom the Bell Tolls, Hemingway had to
first develop his own humbled state of existence. Although his behavior amongst most of
humankind proves contradictory, his reverence for nature began at an early age. As a boy,
Hemingway spent his summer in the wilderness of Michigan, co-existing with the
Ojibway Indians, absorbing their culture and worldview early on (Mellow 28-9). At the
same time, his mother, grew interested in the architectural designs of Frank Lloyd
Wright, and modeled their new home after his sketches.
Wright believed that the building should not conquer its environment but rather
trace the roots of architectural design to civilizations that erected buildings that coexisted
with their environment (219). He commented that, “Our resources were being used to
ruin the significance of any true architecture of the life of our own day… ancient
buildings ruined by so-called “modern” ideas” (33) and later wrote on the nature of
primitive design and that by embracing such design, “Thus man was made into, built into,
living harmony with surrounding mountains by the physical might of primitive man”
(Wright 112).
In watching the planning and erection of a home that prescribed to such ideologies
and in turn, compromised the contemporary man-over-nature sentiments of design and
personality, Hemingway was able to build parallel arguments between the Ojibway’s way
of life and the capacity of modesty in modern design, that propelled his understanding of
the importance of subtlety in the realm of aesthetics, and the crucial role reverence played
in man’s relationship with nature. This incredible focus on construction lent itself his
perspective on the development of the sentence; clean simple lines that elicit truth from
the environment like a Wright home that may exist in the forest, a ranch style made up of
the same timber that exists in the woods, piously enveloped in trees. As Hemingway and
Robert Jordan would come to see it, man existing humbly in equal awe of nature, in safe
distance from war and the manly constructs that inspire us to divide, rank, and conquer
ourselves and our world.
For Whom the Bells Tolls is a literary demonstration of the evolution of gaze.
Beginning with a narrow focus, moving towards an ever increasing understanding of the
natural world and our place in it, which in the end diminishes the already dying
importance of the sociopolitical differences amongst men. Hemingway conducted such a
demonstration through years of tracing the human gaze back to its primitive roots by
studying art and early civilization. In Africa, after watching M’Cola observe a Muslim
unable to swallow his spit before sundown, Hemingway concluded, that “This was
something that [M’Cola] could not laugh about openly but that he felt superior and
wondered at the silliness of it,” and although the Muslims were of a higher class than
M’Cola, Hemingway recognized that the religious practice “was something that gave
caste, something to believe in, something fashionable and god-giving to suffer a little
each year, something that made you superior to other people… something that I [he]
understood and M’Cola did not understand, nor care about” (Green Hills 38-9). A
beautiful representation of the simplification of gaze, that gives way to the stripping away
of social constructs that confine our understanding of, and relationship with, self, nature,
and existence, as well as cut us from our anthropological roots that unite us all. Here,
Hemingway recognized M’Cola’s ignorance as a gift, the same gift Robert Jordan was
granted when he fell in love with an illiterate and sexually abused Spanish girl, when he
befriended a gypsy, when he found a mentor in a woman of old world superstition, and
when he learned to trust and respect a coward. This was Hemingway’s revolution.
Work Cited
de la Souchére, Dor. Picasso in Antibes. New York: Pantheon Books, 1960.
Hemingway, Ernest. A Moveable Feast. New York: Scriber, 1964.
---. For Whom the Bell Tolls. New York: Scribner, 1940.
---. Green Hills of Africa. New York: Scribner, 1935.
Johnson, Russel I. Rev. of Ernest Hemingway and the Arts, by Emily S. Watts. The
Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Autumn, 1972: 138-139.
Johnston, Kenneth G. “Hemingway and Cézanne: Doing the Country,” American
Literature 56 (1984): 28-37.
Mellow, James R. Hemingway A Life Without Consequences. De Capo Press, 1992.
Wright, Frank Lloyd. A Testament. New York: Bramhall House, 1957.