So I’m sitting there, thinking I’ll read some Hemingway, get all intellectual, and feel like I’m drinking whiskey at a Paris café.
I pick up A Farewell to Arms and, well, by the end of it, I wasn’t thinking about whiskey.
I was thinking about how I could’ve used the time better—like watching paint dry or trying to read the back of a cereal box.
Hemingway’s supposed to be a literary legend, but this book?
It’s like he took a couple of vodka shots and wrote a book while spinning around in a chair.
Here’s why this book is the weakest thing I’ve picked up this year—maybe in a while.
1. The Plot is a Snooze-Fest
Alright, let’s break down the plot. You’ve got this guy, Frederic Henry, an American ambulance driver stuck in Italy during World War I.
He falls in love with Catherine Barkley, a nurse, and they do that whole tragic love thing.
It’s like watching grass grow in slow motion. The plot barely moves, and what does happen is more about them moping around, deciding whether or not they want to be miserable together.
I kept waiting for something to happen—anything. Instead, I got a relationship that’s as deep as a puddle.
It’s a love story without love, a war story without war.
The only thing that moves is the clock as you drag yourself through page after page.
2. Hemingway’s Writing Style is Like a Bad Hangover
So, Hemingway’s famous for his minimalism, right? Well, here it’s less “elegantly sparse” and more “doesn’t give a damn.”
He strips everything down to the bone, like he’s trying to write a book on a budget.
Every sentence is like a slap in the face. Not the fun kind of slap—the annoying one where you wish the person would just leave you alone.
It’s short, clipped, and joyless.
If I wanted to read like I was skimming through an instruction manual, I’d have picked up a toolbox.
There’s no flavor to the writing. No emotion.
Just a guy who’s bored and trying to pretend he’s deep because he doesn’t use too many words. It’s like drinking water when what you really need is whiskey.
Sure, it’s liquid, but it’s missing the punch.
3. Characters Who Can’t Decide if They’re Alive or Not
Frederic Henry is a walking, talking example of a guy who’s checked out of life.
The dude’s practically an alcoholic from the first chapter, knocking back drinks like he’s on a mission to drown his personality.
There’s nothing inspiring about him—he’s not even the kind of drunk that’s fun at a party.
He’s just… there. You don’t get any sense that he feels anything beyond a mild, empty annoyance.
He’s an ambulance driver who looks at the wreckage around him like it’s just another Tuesday.
Catherine, the so-called love interest, is so flat and passive that she could be a cardboard cutout for all the impact she has.
Together, they create the emotional depth of a puddle on a dry day.
You’ll be waiting for them to have a “moment,” but instead, you’ll find yourself staring at the pages, wondering when someone will kick them both into gear.
4. It’s War—But Not the Kind You’d Expect
A Farewell to Arms is supposed to be a war novel. But there’s no real sense of war in it.
Oh sure, there are some soldiers, some gunfire, but it’s all secondary to Frederic and Catherine’s love story—like the war is just the backdrop to their mopey, lifeless drama.
Where’s the chaos, the blood, the fear? Where’s the gut-wrenching reality of a man surviving in a world gone to hell?
Instead, the war is treated like some annoying neighbor who keeps yelling outside, but you can’t even be bothered to care.
The war exists in the book as a thing to move the plot along, not to create the emotional tension you’d expect in a story set during a global catastrophe.
It’s the kind of war you’d experience if you were too drunk to notice what was happening around you.
5. The Tragic Ending Feels Like a Cheap Trick
Now, let’s talk about the ending. Hemingway pulls the “tragic” card so hard it feels like he’s trying to impress you with how sad he can make you feel.
But the thing is, it doesn’t work. By the time the ending rolls around, you’re just thinking, “Really? This is the big finish?”
It feels so forced, so completely pointless. Everything that happens in the last pages is like an afterthought—a “let’s wrap this up” kind of moment.
It’s as if Hemingway decided that to make the book “important,” he needed to pull some emotional heartstrings, but instead, it just feels like a cheap trick.
The whole build-up to it doesn’t pay off. It’s not a tragic end; it’s just… there. You read it, and it’s like a punch that misses.
6. It’s All Just One Big ‘Ugh’
Reading this book is like walking through a fog. It’s not even that it’s a bad read—it’s just so boring.
Every page feels like a wasted opportunity. There’s no pace, no urgency, no reason to care about anything happening.
You find yourself flipping through the pages wondering if it’ll ever get interesting or if this is just the part of the book where nothing happens.
Nothing truly grips you. The characters don’t make you feel anything; the plot doesn’t make you want to read faster.
It’s like a long, slow road trip with no destination. You just keep wondering when the hell you’ll reach the end.
7. It’s So Overhyped, It Hurts
And let’s talk about the hype for a second.
People act like A Farewell to Arms is some holy grail of literature, like Hemingway unlocked the secret to the human soul with this one.
But after reading it, you feel like someone just shoved you in a closet and told you it was a party.
This book is so overhyped that when you finally read it, you’re just sitting there wondering what the hell everyone’s on about.
Sure, Hemingway’s got a reputation, but this book doesn’t deserve all the adoration it gets.
It’s like everyone else is in on some big joke, and you’re just standing there, looking like a fool because you don’t get the punchline.
Summary Table
| Reason | Why It’s Weak |
|---|---|
| Plot | Dull, predictable, and dragging |
| Writing Style | Too minimalistic, bordering on lazy |
| Characters | Lifeless and one-dimensional |
| War | War is just a backdrop; no real depth |
| Ending | Overblown and melodramatic |
| General Tone | Boring, empty, and unengaging |
| Hype | Massively overhyped for no reason |
In conclusion, Hemingway tried to write a masterpiece, but what he ended up with was a book that reads like a bad hangover.
A love story as dead as death.
You might be tempted to read this because it’s considered “high literature,” but trust me, you’ll be wishing you were reading clothing labels instead.
If this is what being a literary genius looks like, then maybe I’ll just stick to reading the side of a whiskey bottle.
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