Spring in Paris and John Dos Passos

In A Movable Feast by Hemingway, he starts off the chapter entitled 'People of the Seine' by speaking about his first thoughts of the appearance of the neighboring areas around the Seine. Specifically the beginning of Boulevard Saint Germain. 

"This was not like any other Paris market but was a sort of bonded warehouse where wine was stored against the payment of taxes and was as cheerless from the outside as a military depot or a prison camp."

This style of descriptive writing is undoubtedly Hemingway's signature. However, the writer John Dos Passos employs a similar technique in the excerpt from his novel, Three Soldiers. The very paragraph of this excerpt begins with he sentence " Henslowe poured wine from a brown earthen crock into the glasses, where it shimmered a bright thin red, the color of currants." 

The most notable difference between these two authors is their heavy-handed or lack there of use of adjectives. Passos uses these phrases: brown earthen crock, shimmered a bright thin red, and the color of currents, whereas Hemingway uses such phrases as cheerless from the outside as a military depot or prison camp." In the same amount of time require to comprehend a P.P. or Passos passage, you are able to blaze through scenes of Hemingway's novel. Whether or not this is a positive attribute of Hemingway's writing, it does allow for a much quicker comprehension. It may even be said that Hemingway's sparing use of adjectives is due to his uncanny ability to understand how to relay information in the least cumbersome manner. 

Andrews:

In the excerpt of The Three Soldiers by John Dos Passos, Andrews is presented as a man whom is displeased with his life at home. Currently stationed overseas in Paris, Andrews meets a young couple at a restaurant. The boy is a craftsman who creates 'animals for Naoh's Ark' and after Andrews hears of this and leaves the restaurant he laments and speaks words of longing. 

"What a wonderful life that would be to live up here in a small room that would overlook the great rosy grey expanse of the city, to have some absurd work like that to live on, and to spend all your spare time working and going to concerts.... A quiet mellow existence...." Andrews later mentions the brutality of his home, New York City and how he wished to live in such a place as Paris. 

Later on in the except as Andrews is walking around Paris, it becomes clear that not only is he oddly obsessed with the frail boy and bareheaded girl, but he is also dragging his feet while he makes his way to the station. 

"He wandered aimlessly for a while about the silent village hoping to find a cafe where he could sit for a few minutes to take a last look at himself before plunging again into the grovelling promiscuity of the army." 

His memories from childhood remind of him of a time when he was getting ready to head off to school. Savoring his last bits of freedom, he would take the longest road to get to school. Here in Paris, Andrews speaks about staying in one place. It appears that all Andrews longs for is the opportunity to get used to a single place where solitude exists. However, his friend Henslowe holds a different attitude towards life and longs to travel as frequently as possible. 

As Andrews heads back to the office, he catches wind of news that the Y.M.C.A. is supposedly helping to send soldiers to French universities in order to start or complete their education. Andrews later speaks with his new found acquaintance to whom he may be related. Andrews speaks of wanting to attend Sorbonne and finishing his education. It is difficult for me to surmise how Andrews drive to continue his education reflects on the American's point of view on the war, but it seems that rather than focus on winning the war, Andrews is more concerned with using his time, which he sees as prison, to continue his studies. One would hope that a soldiers mission aligned with the country they are fighting for, but it is quite clear that Andrews does not favor the countries involvement in thew war.

The People - Other female figures in FEAST

Hemingway:

In the early days of Hemingway's life in Paris, he lived with little money and an address of 74 rue Cardinal Lemoine, which instantly classified his existence in Paris as a poor one. In search of books to borrow, Hemingway nervously entered the popular library and bookstore known as Shakespeare and Company. His nerves came from the lack of money he had for a library subscription, but to his surprise, the owner, Sylvia Beach was generous, kind and most importantly, trusting. 

Hemingway recorded his first interaction with Sylvia and wrote "No one that I ever knew was nicer to me." Whether or not she was able to instantly judge his character, Hemingway recalled that there was absolutely no reason for her to trust him and given his address, the reasoning only weakened. 

Not only did she offer this stranger a handful of books to borrow, she later on invited he and his wife to dinner at their home. Within this short passage, summarizing Hemingway's interaction with Sylvia, he has given his readers a warm description with such clarity that one may feel as welcome to Sylvia's store as he did. 


Sylvia: 

In Sylvia's later life, around 1956, she wrote a memoir entitled Shakespeare and Company. Within this book, she recounts her interactions with many poignant writers of her time, including Hemingway. In this instance, we are able to compare Hemingway's initial reaction to Sylvia, while reading her own words as she writes of the war. 

From Hemingway's brief profile of Sylvia, an image of a bright, youthful woman with "pretty legs" and a warm heart, effortlessly defines my impression of this woman. However, in her memoirs, more specifically around the time of Nazi occupation in Paris, her actions with Hemingway begin to make sense. Before the occupation, the United States strongly urged all Americans living in Paris to return. Sylvia strongly opposed the idea, and "settled down to share life in Nazi-occupied Paris with (her) friends." Forced to comply with many of the restrictions that her Jewish friends were given, her love for Paris and culture of the French became apparent. 

Within the letters from James Joyce to Sylvia Beach, more specifically an unsent letter from Sylvia, her true character, hidden behind the brief description Hemingway gave, becomes clear. 

Within the unsent letter, Sylvia outlines the stress and complications that Joyce has placed on her shoulders and takes a firm stance against his seemingly exploitative approach. Although, having chosen to withhold the letter, I believe that this better demonstrates her character than any sentence that Hemingway composed.

Her strong will to oppose Nazi occupation, America's pressure on its citizens to return, and Joyce's constant demands, demonstrate her ability to thrive in numerous situations while doing her best to forward the careers and lives of her friends. 

JPHS In Paris (Henry James in Paris)

The young gentleman sat outside the esteemed cafe, Au Rocher De Cancale. For two stagnant hours he sat alone, surrounded by strangers and a constant stream of conscious tones emanating from the geometrically patterned streets.

With the addition of loud whispers of his neighboring companions, intricate stories began to form. 

The young fellow, 3 paces back and one to the right spoke of uncommon regions in Paris with, loosely translated of course, bread as fresh as ever. His adventures seemed to revolve around the coast town of Fecamp and long trail that goes between Fecamp and Etretat. 

Unfortunately it appears that on this mans previous adventure between these two towns, his short term companion of 4 hours, a young and slender teen abruptly named Eaky by her unsuspecting parents, was lost due to inclement weather and the constsnt gusts of wind which ever so often throw the unprepared traveler over the cliffs and into the English Channel. 

Matthieu as we will call our young   outside of the cafe, decided that at this moment of his unfortunate neighbors story, that he should refocus his acute attention back onto his own thoughts. The dim afternoon light had turned into a black cavern illuminated by the heat lamps that line even the most unadorned cafes. 

His day had been uneventful to say the least and after wandering the streets of Paris with heels oozing from his newly purchased shoes, keep in mind that this was his first shoe purchase in the last 5 years, he decided to wander down Rue Montorguiel until he happened upon the cafe that he currently resides at. 

This was a common scenario for his weekends in Paris, but as each week continued, he found his attention drifting more and more to his surrounding neighbors, finding comfort in their diverse stories which allowed his mind to imagine his life as something different. 

Eventually, Mathieu believed that his life would not longer exist as solely his own, but a collection of other lives that he integrated into his memory. 

The waiter came to table as he finished his last drop of red wine, only leaving a hint of stain on the bottom of the glass. He asked for the check and payed with no hint of sadness for his fastly approaching departure of his adopted home. 

He stood up, stretched his back, sighed with the increased tension on his heels and continued his slow and misinformed journey through the streets. At some point he must head home, but he felt that his feet would guide him to where he was meant to go. He accepted any excuse to keep his Sunday evenings from ending, allowing the postponement of his work week to continue. 

Before the End

not a prostitute -  © 2015 Jordan P. H. Stein 

Have you ever expected to be slapped by a prostitute? Hopefully you have not, but I imagine there a few situations where this could be expected. For some reason or another, mine was not the case. 

Walking down the dank and dirty streets of Rue de Saint Denis, it yields itself as a wonderful place to photograph. 

Something to keep in mind is the difficulty a photographer is faced with in Paris. This is of course, the sweeping volumes of photographic information which has clouded our minds and labeled Paris as the most romantic city. This has lead to the overtly cliche nature of all things photographic in Paris. 

In the beginning of the afternoon, around 12:00, men are running along the streets carrying rugs, garbage, and pushing ice from the fish markets into the sewers. Along the streets of Saint Denis women are by no means absent, however the working women of Saint Denis are actually 'working the streets.' Door after door, women stand draped in fur coats, which usually one would wrap around their body to keep themselves warm, but these just so happen to leave a wide gap below their necks, accentuating the size of their bossisms. 

Moving on, as I was walking down Saint Denis, yielding my vintage Mamiya C33, I stopped to photograph a middle aged man, skinny, with a posture that suggested malnourishment. As you must with a camera like the Mamiya C33, you must bend your neck slightly to look through the viewfinder. After focusing my camera, I pressed the textured metal shutter and 'click.' Relying on my faulty memory, I believe my next move was to remove my light meter from my pocket and obtain another reading before creating a second image. As I held my light meter up, my focus pushed passed my hand and onto a woman, approximately 50 feet away. She looked at me, and then began to scream words in French. Unable to understand, I lowered my light meter and began to walk away. Unfortunately, this did not satisfy the lovely woman, and instead, she began to charge. Like a fur covered bull with large breasts and high heels. Her next move was to  continue yelling at me and once I started to move away from her, she grabbed the camera strap around my neck and pulled in a way that led to a lack of air reaching my lungs. I immediately attempted to push her away, but apparently her intuitive response is to slap. And slap she did. This continued on for a few minutes until a young guitarist decided to help alleviate the situation. 

As I walked away from the situation, disfigured camera in hand, I noticed a police car around the corner. I debated wether or not it was worth involving them, and eventually I agreed that was the right choice. Unfortunately, it appears that the French police do not take kindly to foreigners. Although this may have been unique to these officers, two separate cars consisting of six men and women appeared. A certified diverse crowd. 

In reference to A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway, Hemingway starts off his first chapter, by titling it, "A Good Cafe. . ." and in the processing of finding such a good cafe, Hemingway happens upon cafes filled with filth, wreaking of booze and fumes. Walking the withered and slanted streets of Paris is no different from his quest or documentation of finding such cafe. The streets of Paris are unique, but different in a way that London and New York City fail to resemble. Each street has a culture, an economy, and natives. Rue de Saint Denis is no different from the cesspool of rue Mouffetard mentioned by Hemingway. Fortunately for the piétons of Paris wearing white shoes, when it rains, as Hemingway has mentioned, the sadness of the city flocks indoors and the windows and doors of homes shut when the rain begins to fall. This is of course true for my beloved street, oh sweet and savory Saint Denis, and when it rains, my street becomes passable.