Great Artists Don’t Stop at “Fine”

A good writer will use an image you’re familiar with to get you to feel a certain way. A great writer will do the same, except she will use the picture you already know as a metaphor for something else.

In The Sun Also Rises, Ernest Hemingway demonstrates both the strength and aimlessness of his post-WWI generation, often at the same time. The friend group around Jake Barnes, consisting of Robert Cohn, Bill Gorton, Mike Campbell, and Lady Brett Ashley, travels from Paris to Pamplona to watch the running of the bulls. As at least three of the four men are in love with Brett, she makes for the emotional dynamite in the gang, and sure enough, things rarely fail to get awkward when she enters the room.

During one of many alcohol-infused lunches, a drunk Mike—Brett’s current elected suitor—verbally attacks Robert, who went on a steamy vacation with Brett before, for now following her around like a lapdog. The situation escalates and stops just short of a fist fight, yet everyone finds themselves at the same table again for dinner. Ugh, just imagining the thickness of the air makes me shudder.

To his surprise as much as everyone else’s, narrator Jake notes that dinner went better than expected:

“Brett wore a black, sleeveless evening dress. She looked quite beautiful. Mike acted as though nothing had happened. I had to go up and bring Robert Cohn down. He was reserved and formal, and his face was still taut and sallow, but he cheered up finally. […] Bill was very funny. So was Michael. They were good together.”

This is where a good writer would stop. We’ve all sat through awkward dinners. We all know that conflicting mix of feelings. But Hemingway continues and, with just four more sentences, reminds us why we still read his work today:

“It was like certain dinners I remember from the war. There was much wine, an ignored tension, and a feeling of things coming that you could not prevent happening. Under the wine I lost the disgusted feeling and was happy. It seemed they were all such nice people.”

When I read these lines, I instantly saw it: Hemingway in uniform, sitting around a fire with his comrades. The whole company has just had their first enemy encounter. So far, they’ve gotten away with a scare but their lives and limbs intact, but in secret, they all know it won’t last. Discussion topics turn trivial, there’s laughter and canned beans, and before long, everyone’s asleep—but tomorrow’s another day of war, and no one knows who’ll be alive by the end of it.

It only took four sentences to add this second, much deeper layer to my reaction to Hemingway’s writing. The scene would have been fine without it—but great artists don’t stop at “fine.” It is exactly this kind of attention to detail that separates them from the good. Now, the emotional turmoil of the dinner is much richer, and I’ll likely remember both images for a long time.

Look at your work. Find the line where you reach “fine.” Then, cross it and don’t look back. Choose quality, make art.