Published in 1940, Ernest Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls is a rich novel set within the chaos of the Spanish Civil War. The plot revolves around Robert Jordan, an American volunteer, and his mission to dynamite a bridge. Around this simple premise, Hemingway weaves a masterful story that chronicles Jordan’s conflict between duty and love for a girl named Maria, his relationship with the members of an unpredictable guerilla band who either help or hinder him, and his ultimate and inescapable fate. The allusion in the title to John Donne’s piece is no mistake. When the last page is turned, Hemingway has produced a masterful novel that has come in a full circle–but does not end with the final sentence.

I must confess that when I had finished the first third of this sizeable book, I had no intention of writing a laudatory review. Indeed, I had every intention of cheerfully shredding this book from fore to aft as a gross blight on the face of good literature. I was primed to compare it scathingly to The Old Man and the Sea, and to condemn Hemingway forever to shorter works. However, the ponderous beginning is thoroughly redeemed by the end of the book. In fact, in retrospect, Hemingway created a very interesting effect–I was really and honestly impatient for the bridge to be dynamited already. He managed to create within his critical audience some of the same emotions present within the characters themselves. Without this tension, I would not have enjoyed the second half nearly so well. Whether or not this is a singularly subjective perception is up in the air, but it’s fairly indisputable that the first part of the novel moves slowly.

In the end, it is the characters themselves that leave a lasting impression, after the cover of the book has closed. Hence I would like to examine the main cast a little more closely: namely, Robert Jordan, Maria, Pilar, Pablo, and Anselmo, who all exist in various shades of contrast to each other.

Robert Jordan is the main protagonist: he is an American volunteer. Most of the book is from his point of view. However, his voice becomes more and more disoriented as the plot progresses, reflecting the intrusion of love on his formerly war-oriented mentality. We see less and less of rationality, and more and more of a schizophrenic obsession with both Maria and destroying the bridge–two contradictory goals. This slow disintegration of one of the primary characters is skillfully written, and very much in keeping with the darker themes of this novel. Perhaps the primary question we might ask concerning Mr. Jordan is this: why is he fighting? It is a question that is never thoroughly answered in the course of the novel, but ultimately he appears to be bound by a duty I suspect he himself would not be able to put into words.

Maria is the source of change in Robert Jordan’s life. She knocks over his chess pieces, so to speak: even though he constantly warns himself against love, it’s evident from her first entry into the book that he has fallen for her. Maria herself is a complex character–she was rescued by the guerilla group after having suffered abuse at the hands of the enemy soldiers and watching her family violently slain. Her experiences continue to haunt her throughout the novel, and perhaps this is the reason that she attaches herself so completely (and disastrously) to Jordan. They are in many ways completely opposite: she is a victim of the war, while he is a volunteer; she is as submissive as he is authoritative.

Ultimately, one of the most skillfully characterized people in this novel is that of Pilar, a complete contrast to Maria. As Hemingway slowly unfolds Pilar’s history–much like a battle-scarred tapestry–we come to understand the many facets her character. She is older, uglier, and far more authoritative than Maria, as she is the accepted head of the gypsy band. However, they have one thing in common: Pilar once knew the kind of earth-shaking love that Maria has with Jordan, which is a strong theme throughout the novel. She is protective of Maria–she loves her–but she is also jealous. The scenes between Pilar, Maria, and Jordan are some of the most poignant ones in the whole book. She is also one of the few trustworthy characters in the entire cast.

Pilar’s husband, Pablo, could not present a starker contrast. He is the epitome of a broken drunkard, and the protagonist in the most violent scene of the book, which consists of a mass murder. He also defined by inconsistency. Loyalty has no hold on him–he alternately supports and abuses Jordan’s goals. He is liable to turn whichever way the wind blows, much like a weathervane.

The last character I would like to briefly discuss is that of Anselmo. His first role is that of a guide for Jordan, and this is a function that he drifts in and out of on more figurative terms during the remainder of the book. He is one of the oldest characters–faithful, loyal, and wise. And it’s very telling that he is far more concerned with killing other people than in being killed himself. In many ways, he is actually similar to one of Hemingway’s most famous characters, Santiago, from The Old Man and the Sea. Both possess a unique brand of inner peace.

Having now examined the characters more closely, it would be productive to examine the predominant themes in this novel from their eyes. Certainly one of the strongest themes is that of whether or not it is right or justifiable to kill other people. Almost all of the characters, at one point or another, consider this issue. Anselmo is ready enough for his own death, but abhors the idea of killing other people. Pilar is characteristically complacent about the matter, while Pablo thrives on murder. Jordan remarks that he is ready enough to kill people, if he has a good reason–but he doesn’t like it. In a later passage, it becomes evident that he is much more conflicted about the matter, however–in one of his more schizophrenic episodes, the following conversation occurs:

“But I won’t keep a count of people I have killed as though it were a trophy record…I have a right not to keep count and I have a right to forget them.

No, himself said. You have no right to forget anything. You have no right to shut your eyes to any of it nor any right to forget any of it nor to soften it nor to change it.”

By repeatedly discussing the issue from so many points of view–and arriving at so many different potential answers–Hemingway can hardly fail to provoke some sort of opinion from his audience. Because he never conclusively answers the question, he leaves it in our laps, even if we would much rather not answer.

A second prevailing theme in this novel is that of fate. It is evident from the beginning that Jordan is not going to end up tanning on a beach in California with a piña colada for each hand when all is said and done. This knowledge is always lurking right around the corner of every chapter. Jordan appears at first to accept this with remarkable poise, although as has already been observed, he becomes less rational as the novel progresses. Interestingly, although other characters, especially Pilar, deal on some level with fate, Jordan is the only character Hemingway chooses to lay so relentless a destiny for. Other themes present include a persistent tension between reality and imagination, the attitude of carpe diem, man vs. nature, and of course love, although I won’t put them under the microscope here.

It would be impossible to discuss this novel without addressing some of the characteristic symbolism Hemingway has woven into it. Perhaps the most obvious symbol of all is that of the bridge. It is present throughout the novel, from the opening chapter to the end, and Hemingway never allows us to forget about it completely. It exists as a multi-layered symbol–it is certainly very much a bridge. However, Jordan cannot destroy it without also destroying any hope of a life spent with Maria: a classic conflict of duty vs. love. At the same time, the bridge is a barrier between them, consistently invading Jordan’s thoughts even when he and Maria are, um, occupied. Hence, I would submit that the bridge represents, on at least one level, a duality of good and evil. Bridges are curious, malleable things–useful, if you’re transporting your own soldiers across, but equally disastrous if your enemy takes advantage of them. It was the bridge that effectively brought Jordan and Maria together, and if accomplished, the destruction of the bridge would eventually tear them apart.

A second, much more specific instance of symbolism occurs about halfway through the novel, on page 274. Here, one of Jordan’s compatriots temporarily deserted his post to kill a pair of hares. From the language consistently used throughout the passage, it is evident that these hares represented Jordan and Maria. Consider, for example, this quotation–

“Never would such an opportunity as the two hares present itself again. Not in the life of one man.”

This sort of terminology, if only referencing a pair of hares, would be somewhat absurd. But it has been consistently emphasized throughout the novel that Jordan and Maria’s relationship is something unique–something that only a few people will experience, and then only once. This minor event foreshadows the ultimate fate of these characters, although it is not quite as simple as this would lead you to expect.

Overall, after plowing through the slow beginning, I found this book to be well worth the effort. As a disclaimer I feel obligated to add before closing this out, there are quite a few sensual scenes which are doubtless far beyond my scope to critique. Shall it suffice to say that my wry amusement was probably not the desired reaction. Don’t read this novel to find moral instruction–Maria and Jordan’s relationship is based on lust, not love. And the foul language was really in ridiculous excess–it’s rare to find a passage of dialogue that’s not ornamented with it, and on some occasions it’s pretty darn offensive, to put it mildly. However, while I could pick bones over the morality et all, this is still a novel I can appreciate, even if not whole heartedly approve. It’s beautifully written and thought-provoking: a real Hemingway through and through.