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Ahead of His Time: Jake Barnes as Expatriate

In a November 1926 review of Ernest Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises, Herbert Gorman writes, "'The Sun Also Rises' is, therefore, the tale of a great spiritual debacle, of a generation that has lost its guiding purpose and has been driven by time, fate or nerves (whatever one desires to call it) into the feverish atmosphere of strained passions."¹ Almost seventy-five years later and this characterization of the "lost generation" is still extremely prevalent in academia and justifiably so. Hemingway was writing of a so-called "lost generation" (and nearly titled The Sun Also Rises as such²), of a post World War I era profusely populated with American expatriates. A vagrant group owing allegiance to none, the loosely moralistic expatriates found solace in the transitory pleasures of drink and sex. If they had any ambition in life, it was to escape the perpetual heartaches of their disconcerting society by immersing themselves in a drunken fog of apathy and disillusionment.

At first glance, Jake Barnes would seem the ideal spokesperson for the "lost generation." This is partly because of his assigned narrative role as observer, surveyor, a human window through which the reader views the reckless behavior of the expatriates, and partly because he is, as Robert A. Martin notes, "typical of a character who is defined to a large extent by loss."³ Jake is the only of the expatriates to which the war has inflicted a physical trauma.⁴ The hurt of the other expatriates exists on a more emotional level. The war has not deprived them of a physical ability. Instead it has served to enhance their defeatist outlooks. If anyone has the right to feel lost, confused, and disenchanted, Jake has, for the war has robbed him of a distinctive physical resource. It is the loss of his manhood that allows Jake, as Martin explains, "to know himself without any encumbrances and to pass through the world semi-detached, without need of permanent attachments and meanings."⁵

This is not to suggest that Jake's life is meaningless or purposeless. On the contrary, in several instances throughout Martin's essay, he describes Jake as being on a "quest," as are many protagonists of modernist novels. For Martin, "Jake's expatriate status does not so much denote a physical quest as an inward quest for self-knowledge or, more likely, simply coming to terms with the burden of oneself."⁶ It is Jake's quest that defines him as a character of purpose further separating him from a generation "that has lost its guiding purpose" to re-quote Herbert Gorman. Jake's purpose in this novel is not necessarily to find his clichéd "place in this world" (for the war has already decided his place), but to regain some measure of control in his life. As with many of Hemingway's male characters, Jake will be compelled to test his level of control as a means of confronting the dark core of his inadequacies, to search not for physical rectification, but for plain knowledge on how to survive, how to endure, "how to live in it."⁷

Thomas Cornellier has stated: "Hemingway's expatriates in The Sun Also Rises each seek out ways to escape, to find a form of fulfillment the war and society has left void in them.…"⁸ Cornellier's statement can be only partially applied to Jake Barnes. Escape for Jake is not a self-enriching process. It will not teach him "how to live in it" nor will it repair his sexual imparity. Jake recognizes the short-term therapeutic value of escape. It is the needed change of scenery that he and Bill enjoy while fishing in Burguete, Spain. It is not a long-term solution to the restlessness brought about by a confined existence as Jake explains to Robert Cohn: "Listen, Robert, going to another country doesn't make any difference. I've tried all that. You can't get away from yourself by moving from one place to another. There's nothing to that" (11). Jake portrays himself, in this instance, as the voice of experience, reason, implying to Cohn that no amount of travelling will help you to escape the burden of yourself.

Jake also doesn't attempt to escape from his occupational responsibilities. Amidst the excessive boozing and inactivity of his fellow expatriates, Jake maintains a exceedingly conscientious work ethic: ".…the Editor and Publisher and I worked hard for two hours. Then I sorted out the carbons, stamped on a by-line, put the stuff in a couple of big manila envelopes and rang for a boy to take them to the Gare St. Lazare" (12). After Jake has finished his work, he finds Robert Cohn, who has accompanied him to the office, "asleep in the big chair" (12), a further emphasis of the inactivity of his compatriots. One night the spontaneous Brett Ashley visits Jake at his flat and invites him to come out drinking with herself and Count Mippipopolous. He declines the offer, insisting that he has "to work in the morning" and that he is "too far behind" (referring to Brett's drunkenness) "to catch up and be any fun" (33). True to his responsible form, Jake stands behind his statement to Brett. In the morning, he goes to the office and after reading the French papers and having a smoke, he sits "at the typewriter" and gets "off a good morning's work" (36). Productivity gives Jake a sense of order, duty, and control in his life.

Some may consider allegiance to work as an escape within itself and Jake has no problem admitting this: "I had discovered that was the best way to get rid of friends. Once you had a drink all you had to say was: 'Well, I've got to get back and get off some cables,' and it was done." (11). Jake, however, does not make a habit of using work as an excuse to displace himself from uncomfortable situations. In fact, Jake seems to deliberately insert himself in situations that are uncomfortable to him and his unique predicament, as if to test his level of control in these situations.

Having been unmanned in the war, Jake finds himself needing to test his level of control most in the presence of sexually attractive women. Riding in a taxi cab with Georgette, a French prostitute he picked up "because of a vague sentimental idea that it would be nice to eat with some one" (16), the situation soon becomes physical. Jake does not hesitate in putting "her hand away." He does not want this degree of physicality, and even if he wanted it, he couldn't have it because of his sexual deficiencies. This puts Jake in a very unique position. His wound acts as an instrument for control, preventing him from making what conventional society might deem a morally reprehensible decision (having sex with a prostitute). Jake's attempts at control are most evident in his interaction with Lady Brett Ashley. He may love Brett but recognizes that love is doomed because of his inability to perform sexually. Once again, Jake's wound acts as an instrument for control, in this case controlling the fate of his relationship with Brett. Jackson J. Benson confirms the controlling nature of Jake's wound: "He cannot have her; therefore he wants her. However, the lover here is not frustrated by circumstances that have committed his loved one to someone else (she is extremely available), but rather by his own physical disability."⁹

Jake's ultimate test of control comes at the end of the novel. The reader finds both parties in a taxi: "We sat close against each other. I put my arm around her and she rested against me comfortably" (247). As Brett recalls what might have been, her sexual desire for him is the most intense: "Oh, Jake," Brett said, "we could have had such a damned good time together" (247). Jake responds, "Isn't it pretty to think so?" (247). The statement suggests not misguided wish-fulfillment on Jake's part but rather a conscious and final acknowledgement that what he and Brett could have had will always be impossible. Jake's acknowledgement is a heroic one, for as Leo Gurko reminds us: "The hero is not saving society or an ethical ideal or a damsel in distress. He is saving himself."¹⁰

Jake is the typical existential Hemingway hero. From an existential point of view, it's the responsibility of an individual to create his or her own essence, to realize that if the world is meaningless, if it doesn't mean anything to be good or bad, if there are no heavenly rewards, if all is permitted, you can curl up in a drunken stupor and do nothing, let Nature take it's course, let yourself succumb to your biological trap, or you can act as if something does have meaning and create a type of moral code. Jake Barnes attempts to create such a meaningful code for himself despite the fact that his wound defines his limitations. He knows that all is hopeless, that he will never have a "normal" relationship with any woman, yet he continues to test the waters so to speak, to probe his emotional consciousness, at times engaging in expressive behavior, at other times stoically retreating into a state of passive detachment. As a man, Jake has lost everything there is to lose, and this loss ironically shields him from further injury and disappointment, thus giving him the freedom to act in sometimes disparate, contradicting ways.

What Jake Barnes is not is an "expatriate" in the true sense of the word, or better stated, in the sense of the word as it is defined in this novel. He is not a man who drinks himself "to death" nor he is "obsessed by sex" nor does he spend all his time "talking, not working" as Bill Gorton proclaims. These are pursuits of the "lost generation." A more accurate representation of Jake Barnes is a character, who after hearing the loaded accusations of his friend, can respond with only one question, "When do I work?" (115). Jake Barnes is not lost. He has found inner control in his uncontrolled outer surroundings. He has accepted his damning fate without thoroughly damning himself. He learns, as Hemingway has intended him to, "how to live in it."