Spring in Paris and John Dos Passos

I believe that it could be argued that the writing styles of Hemingway and John Dos Passos are relatable. One can relate to them by the way they both attempt to depict the world. For me, Hemingway in particular touches a place where it is simpler to see eye to eye, mostly because I too, am living in Paris as a wandering artist. However, a theme that is present within the work of the two authors, to me at least is loss.

            In A Moveable Feast, Hemingway is as much of a wanderer as anyone who has moved to a new place. Visiting places such as cafes, bookstores and the Seine river, he seems to always find himself having interaction’s with people who engage in different, but working lifestyles and some ingest the idea of loss into his mind. However, having such a simplistic, though ambiguous literary style, this could be hard to tell, or might not be seen to others in this interpretation at all. In the chapter, People of the Seine, there is a theme of gambling that is brought up; gambling of books. There is a sense of lost here such as the woman who is selling him books infers how books in English are worthless. While Hemingway being a writer himself, it is felt that there might a loss of hope within him, as he continuously recites throughout the novel how money for him and his wife is tough, especially while trying to base his career as a writer. After this interaction, the next scene he decides to place for us is of him interacting with The Fishermen of the Seine. He states, “Most of the Fishermen were men who had small pensions, which they did not know then would become worthless with inflation, or keen fishermen who worked on their days or half days off from work”. It is questionable why Hemingway decided to include this part of the chapter. Continuing with the theme of loss, it is interesting how he decides to socialize with retired people who do not have much left of their lives. Hemingway then attempts to progress into a happier subject of the spring but does so in a way that loss is present. He speaks enlightened thoughts of spring being such a happy time, but sadness overflows it by how sometimes it is thought spring will never come because of the cold winds. He states, “This was the only truly sad time in Paris because it was unnatural. You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold wintry light…. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason”.

            Unlike Hemingway, John Dos Passos records in a way that the reader can see, feel, smell exactly how he wants it to be. In the excerpt of his novel, Three Soldiers, Passos is documenting social inequity and hardships of World War I through one of the main character’s, Andrews. Passos portrays the character of Andrews with emotions full of loss and anxiety. When I say loss, one-way to look at is could be a loss of emotional feeling. There is a sense of him wanting a way out, out of the war, and out of his old life. Passos states, “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…Think of my life beside it. Slaving in that iron, metallic, brazen New York to write ineptitudes about music in the Sunday paper. God! And this”. If erasing the idea of war, Passos uses a realistic literary style to place the reader in the eyes of the character. “I want to wander about alone, not that I scorn Berthe’s friends, but I am so greedy for solitude.” Hemingway and Passos both provide the reader with characters in need of searching, which I interpret as, are caused from an inner loss. Although they are placed in extremely opposite situations, both authors are giving us a chance to try and experience the ride along with them, but in very different ways. Hemingway’s style is more left for interpretation because it reads so effortless that one might just breeze right over it while Passos, although every work of art could be left to interpretation in the end, is more straight-forward in painting the picture of what he attempts to reveal.  

Henry James in Paris

I am not a writer, nor Would I ever consider myself as one. HOWEVER, today I am writing, as I will call it, "The Outsider," for I feel nothing more or less than Such. I am an outsider in a way That Which everyone surrounding me semble To Understand and recounts, while I am a cast in the shadows Attempting to slip off half of the mask. The past weeks-have-been ones of exploration and searching of the soul purpose the results are Reviews some of disappointment while others achievement. New York City is a world of comfort; hence it is a place Where I feel the Opportunity of choice. New York City is one to Be in the bones, Where icts of experience is pure confidence, qui masks the ultimate bliss. I, now in Paris, yet-have to experience this bliss masks confidence That goal injustement bliss That masks confidence. Eugene Lang of New York City is pure freedom while Parsons of Paris has-been, to me at least so far, claustrophobic. This claustrophobia, Caused by minute selection of shopping and Opportunity, feels as if There Is No freedom of choice, and is one of my reasoning's of feeling as the outsider.

Henry James Was the author of the past week reading and It Was as alien to me as Paris Itself, for I have never read in Such Ways That he writes. Henry James: has a style of complication. His literary style of realism is more of one of dense, poetic symbolism- One That disturbed my mind in grasping. There is a connection to the writing style of James and of Hemingway, They Produce for life on paper through Their perception. DESPITE this comparison, Hemingway's style is more of simplistic and live goal aussi Extremely visual. James too, is His purpose visual optical is one of philosophy. Yet, the two approach Identifying Ways in not just life, purpose life in Paris.

As Mentioned Earlier, the results since my arrival in Paris-have-been ones of disappointment and achievement. Achievements Their way-have made in my life Bombarding of the new. Squares, art, food, people, language, architecture, and way of living- it is all new. New is of One That excited me the most. Purpose what is this disappointment? There semble to Be a dark hole That is lying Beneath this electric flesh That Is barricading what-have-been shoulds the confidence and bliss That Was expected. Maybe it is the act of expecting. ALTHOUGH with only twenty years of life, it has occurred to me when one abides by the act of prediction, negative positive or, the aftermath always fails to triumph.

Now, this pessimism shoulds not and tells Does not Itself to Paris, for the city is full of beauty, and when to one is cornered by beauty, happiness OCCURS. It is not that There Is No happiness being white felt, for it is That Is being white lacked confidence, and when to one Lacks confidence, one Lacks independence. As I am writing this, the root of the problem HAS finally Become clear in ict path. It is fear. The dark hole lying beneath my electric flesh is fear. Is it possible, That it is the fear That fears me? Is it fear That is holding back the light That Was Prepared to take advantage of Every Opportunity of the new city this HAS to offer? What if it is fear of the new, fear of letting go of What Was ounce convenient and being white now forced to appreciate the excruciating awkwardness?  What is ironic about this current state Is That This Was the reasoning of leaving New York City, That Place is so familiar now being white milliers of miles away.

Fear, disappointment, discomfort, are what my body swarm When I Am Placed in a position Where I feel as if I do not understand, do not Belong. This is true in the case That It is intimidating to Attempt to speak French because i do not, ALTHOUGH know enough and Could Easily put sentences together, aim INSTEAD stick to English and you still feel a fool. This is why aussi going out alone, other than familiar places, Has not Happened yet. My disappointment is now the equivalent of Lack of confidence and independence. When reading this is so, for example, Henry James; One Whose literary style Appears Unfamiliar, is difficulty to Understand, and requires full consideration. Feeling as a fool. This is yet Reviews another That falls under the genre of my disappointment, Even a subgenre of my fear. Purpose maybe this is the reasoning of coming to Paris, to learn not to feel as a fool Even When wrong or clueless. What is wrong with being white wrong or clueless? It is not okay to Be and Knowledgeable of everything, right? These are things, qui need to Log Become an acceptance and a closure, for, confidence and independence And Then Will Be Regained and the outsider Will Be Diminished.     

Beginning The Feast

January in Paris. Many had said that all I could expect was rain and darkness, but I knew that 2015 was going to be different. The seventeenth of January was my first true day in the city of love; at least I think it was, for I felt as if I was having an out of body experience. Although jet lag had taken over my body, my soul was alive as the sun glistened through the marshmallow clouds swirling in pink and purple shades as if the sky had turned into cotton candy. My friend Dave whom I attend school with back in New York City, but originally from London, had planned to be in the city for the day to meet up with me. Now, when I say that this day felt like an out of body experience, surreal it was by the way things had just happened to work out and fall into place. You see, my best friend Jacqueline, also from New York, decided to come to Paris with me for the week to move me in and get a small feel of the love, the art and the history this magical place has to offer. At the start of the day, I had to attend orientation at Parsons, the art school I am attending for the semester, for why I am here in the first place. Might I add, since it is my first day here in the city, I have no phone, no way of contact with the world of technology for the time being. Before I left, I told Jacqueline that I believed I would be able to get WIFI at the school and I would let her know when I was done so she could come and meet me and then we could meet up with Dave. Little did I know that once I had arrived at school, my phone wouldn’t connect to WIFI, I had no idea the area I was in, spoke no French and had no way of contacting Jacqueline. So then I began to panic; you see, the past six months I developed an issue with anxiety. I don’t know why or what had triggered this, especially since I am now twenty years old and have never dealt with anything like this ever in my life, but it is what it is. What usually triggers this anxiety is when I am out of my comfort zone, so the situation I was in at the time explains it all. As I am beginning to panic, the security guard from downstairs comes to the room to tell me I have a friend waiting for me in the lobby. I am calm and full of faith. I went downstairs and there she is, Jacqueline waiting for me, as she somehow knew to come to me.

            After orientation, one of the program leaders decided to take the group to a “home goods” store to buy things for our dorms or apartments. She claims that it is very close by, so I call Dave, using Jacqueline’s phone, telling him to meet us at the Pyramides stations in fifteen minutes, for he claimed he was almost by the school anyways. As we’re walking with the group, Elena, our program leader takes us down into the metro station because the store is off of Chatelet, one stop from Pyramides. Jacqueline and I are now conflicted with what to do about Dave since we did not know we would be taking the train to this store. As we are trying to figure out what to do, I turn around and who is standing there smiling, waiting to greet me, Dave. This was the second thing that had just happened to work out today.

            As we got off the metro at Chatelet, there it was; so beautiful and unreal, The Seine. It was like nothing I had ever seen before. I felt as if I was in an old French film. Dave, Jacqueline and I decided to then not waste this perfect day and to explore. We began by stopping to get a bite to eat at a restaurant nearby. Jacqueline claimed she had another friend from New York that just also happened to be in Paris, was trying to have him meet up with us but his phone died. So there we sat at this restaurant, ordering espresso and avocat- crevettes, avocado and shrimp. Within fifteen minutes, another miracle happened, Jacqueline’s friend, Joseph, just happened to find us and join our main dish of saumon fume, smoked salmon. After our dejeuner, it was time to explore. I still could not believe how perfect the weather was for I was simply wearing a denim jacket on top of a grey sweater. Our exploring was simply to walk along the Seine. We started on one side until we decided to explore the other. The more we walked the more stands we passed. People selling old literature, records, art, flowers, and of course the typical touristy items. Jacqueline walked with Joseph, an old friend whom she had not seen in a long time, while I walked with Dave. I had never thought of Dave in a romantic sense but today was different; it was the happiest I had felt in maybe over a year. I don’t know if it was because we were on the Seine surrounded by the most beautiful architecture I have ever seen in my life, because Dave spoke perfect French, because the sun was shining golden on my hair while the wind was giving it a twirl, or maybe because Dave had me smiling and laughing nonstop while my best friend was on her own journey right behind me. I don’t know. But what I do know is that in this moment I was falling in love with the place that I was going to spend the next four and a half months of my life living in and I couldn’t be any happier. This was ultimate bliss.

            As Dave, Jacqueline, Joseph and I continued our journey along the Seine, the serenity continued. It was as if almost everything I had wanted to see that made me think of Paris had just come to us on our own. There it was, The Louvre. It was as if it had just jumped out at us and we didn’t see it coming. I thought to myself, this is how my life is going to be the next several months, I am going to be walking along on my way somewhere and nonchalantly the Louvre will be right there. There were kids playing futbol, in the grass in front of the museum like it was just an ordinary building. That is another thing, the grass. Every patch of grass I came upon was so green and fresh. The air was a heavenly scent I couldn’t even begin to describe. What a change from the thickness of pollution that fills the New York City skies. Because of the freshness in the grass and air, I allowed my nose to lead the group of where we should adventure next and we ended up in Les Jardin Tuilleries, another place that I couldn’t wait to see. Along my left and right, people were picnicking, dancing, reading, painting and loving. The inspiration I had hoped to find in Paris was this spot. One of many more I believe will come. As we walked along the Tuilleries, directly in front of us was a Ferris Wheel that I had no knowledge of existing in Paris. La Grand Roue stood tall and majestic. I’m not sure why but I’ve always had a love of the way Ferris wheels appear to be. I think they are beautiful but it is something that I do not think I could ever really explain why. 

            The sun was beginning to set and the air began to reach a chill but I was still in a sort of trance and continued to walk along with everyone else until we had reached the biggest iconic figure of Paris, The Eiffel tower. I felt as if I was in the heart of Paris, with no worries and surrounded by beauty. It was then that daylight turned into night. Dave went to buy a pain au chocolat, chocolate croissant, which warmed me. As we walked back up the seine to find the metro, Dave turned me around and it was a sight I will hold with me forever, the Eiffel Tower sparkling in gold and white. I then looked back along the Seine and couldn’t understand how Paris could be so absolutely stunningly mind blowing during the day and the night. It was then that I snapped back to reality trying to figure out what even happened that day, because it was the first time I have ever been surrounded by such history and art that it did not feel real and it was then clear to me that I came here to Paris for a reason and that I will have to figure out.