
The world is broken, the drinks are too strong, and the men are not as tough as they want you to believe.
Welcome to The Sun Also Rises, a novel where Hemingway doesn’t just write about love—he takes it apart piece by piece, leaving you with a bitter taste in your mouth.
You won’t find any tidy endings here, only the raw and disillusioned aftermath of the First World War.
These characters don’t fall in love; they crash into it, mess up, and walk away wondering why they ever tried in the first place.
Hemingway—never one to shy away from his demons—introduces us to a band of expatriates living in Paris during the roaring 1920s.
They’re on a quest to find meaning in a world that’s been shattered by the Great War. But don’t be fooled. Love in Hemingway’s world is not some fairy tale. It’s ugly, sometimes funny, but always human.
Historical Context
Published in 1926, The Sun Also Rises captured the spirit of the Lost Generation—a group of writers and artists who were deeply affected by the aftermath of World War I.
The war had left an indelible mark on the generation that came of age during it, and Hemingway’s novel was an exploration of the psychological and emotional scars left by that conflict.
The expatriate lifestyle in Paris was a response to the disillusionment many felt with the American dream and Western ideals, forcing them to confront the ambiguity of their place in the world.
5 Ways The Sun Also Rises Explores the Complexities of Love and Masculinity
1. Jake Barnes’ “Impotence” and the War-Torn Body
Jake Barnes, our main man, is a soldier who’s been irrevocably changed by the war. His injury—castrating him both physically and emotionally—becomes the novel’s haunting symbol.
Jake can’t physically satisfy Brett Ashley, the woman he loves, which creates a deeper conflict: his masculinity has been severed.
In a world where men are supposed to be strong, virile, and dominant, Jake’s injury leaves him asking, What am I now?
His sense of masculinity is so tied to his ability to “perform” that this injury becomes an existential wound.
His inability to be with Brett doesn’t just break his heart—it breaks his idea of what a man should be. His love for her is torturous, not because of the woman herself, but because of what he cannot provide. The question then becomes: Can a man love without his masculinity intact?
2. Brett Ashley: The Woman Who Breaks Men
Brett Ashley is a whirlwind of beauty and chaos. The kind of woman who’s got men wrapped around her finger, but ultimately, she’s a woman who can’t commit.
She’s passionate, unpredictable, and sometimes cruel. She loves Jake, but her physical need for men complicates things. She’s the quintessential femme fatale, but her love isn’t enough to satisfy Jake’s deep-rooted need for masculinity.
Brett’s behavior isn’t just a reflection of her sexual desires—she too is struggling with the post-war world, seeking a way to cope with the confusion of love, sex, and identity.
Hemingway’s portrayal of Brett complicates the typical gender roles: She’s not the passive woman waiting to be rescued. She’s the one doing the damage. Her love for Jake is real, but so is her inability to fully commit to him.
3. Masculinity as a Performance: Bullfighting as Metaphor
Hemingway’s famous bullfighting scenes in Spain don’t just serve as a backdrop for the characters’ travels—they’re a stage for masculinity.
The bullfighters in the novel are the epitome of machismo, risking their lives in a performance that showcases both physical and emotional control.
But it’s not just the bullfighters who are playing roles. Everyone in the novel is performing some aspect of their identity, especially when it comes to gender and love.
Jake’s masculinity is fragile, much like a bullfighter’s ability to control a raging bull. The difference? While the bullfighter can prove his strength through skill, Jake is left to wrestle with the existential question of how to prove his worth when he can’t “perform” in the traditional sense.
Love, like bullfighting, becomes a brutal and bloody game, where only those who know how to play with the right amount of control—without losing their dignity—survive.
4. The Empty Pursuit of Love: Brett’s Relationships
Brett’s relationships with men throughout the novel represent the empty pursuit of love and masculinity.
She moves from one man to another—each relationship a temporary solution to the underlying problem of her unmet emotional needs.
Brett is a woman trapped in a world that reduces her to her sexual allure, and in the end, the men who love her (and whom she loves) can’t provide what she truly needs. She’s a tragic figure, seeking connection, but ultimately destroying everything in her path.
The men who fall in love with Brett are also looking for something in her that they can’t have: a pure, untouchable love that transcends the rules of masculinity.
Instead, Brett leaves them bruised, confused, and wondering whether love is worth the damage it causes.
5. The Myth of the “Man’s Man”: The Letdown of Heroism
At the heart of The Sun Also Rises is a bitter critique of the myth of the “man’s man.” The novel shows us that even the most heroic, supposedly “virile” men are emotionally fragile, uncertain, and broken.
These men are heroes only by their own desperate attempts to prove themselves. In the end, masculinity in Hemingway’s world is a performance, a myth that collapses under the weight of reality.
Jake may be the protagonist, but his failure to fulfill the role of a traditional man—both physically and emotionally—leaves him questioning his own worth.
It’s not just Jake, though; every male character in the novel is struggling to live up to an impossible standard. The result is a series of failed attempts at love, relationships, and identity.
Conclusion: The Last Laugh of Masculinity
You think you’ve got masculinity figured out, huh? That clean, shiny image of a man who knows exactly who he is, what he wants, and how to get it?
Well, throw it in the trash. Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises shows you the truth: masculinity is a joke. Not a funny one—more like a cruel, dark punchline to a life that never turns out the way you hope.
In the end, Jake Barnes doesn’t get Brett. He doesn’t even get closure. What he gets is the quiet acceptance that some things are broken beyond repair.
His masculinity isn’t just a wound—it’s the joke.
But, at the end of the day, you’re left staring into the void. Love, masculinity, and the meaning of it all? They’re just a bunch of bulls chasing their own tails, and you? You’re just waiting for the next round.
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