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A Clean Well-Lighted Place
"A Clean, Well-Lighted Place" is a short story by American author Ernest Hemingway, first published in Scribner's Magazine in 1933; it was also included in his collection Winner Take Nothing (1933).
James Joyce once remarked: "He [Hemingway] has reduced the veil between literature and life, which is what every writer strives to do. Have you read 'A Clean Well-Lighted Place'?... It is masterly. Indeed, it is one of the best short stories ever written..."
James Joyce once remarked: "He [Hemingway] has reduced the veil between literature and life, which is what every writer strives to do. Have you read 'A Clean Well-Lighted Place'?... It is masterly. Indeed, it is one of the best short stories ever written..."
30 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1933
About the author
Ernest Hemingway
2,159 books33.5k followersErnest Miller Hemingway was an American novelist, short-story writer and journalist. Best known for an economical, understated style that significantly influenced later 20th-century writers, he is often romanticized for his adventurous lifestyle, and outspoken and blunt public image. Most of Hemingway's works were published between the mid-1920s and mid-1950s, including seven novels, six short-story collections and two non-fiction works. His writings have become classics of American literature; he was awarded the 1954 Nobel Prize in Literature, while three of his novels, four short-story collections and three nonfiction works were published posthumously.
Hemingway was raised in Oak Park, Illinois. After high school, he spent six months as a cub reporter for The Kansas City Star before enlisting in the Red Cross. He served as an ambulance driver on the Italian Front in World War I and was seriously wounded in 1918. His wartime experiences formed the basis for his 1929 novel A Farewell to Arms. He married Hadley Richardson in 1921, the first of four wives. They moved to Paris where he worked as a foreign correspondent for the Toronto Star and fell under the influence of the modernist writers and artists of the 1920s' "Lost Generation" expatriate community. His debut novel The Sun Also Rises was published in 1926.
He divorced Richardson in 1927 and married Pauline Pfeiffer. They divorced after he returned from the Spanish Civil War, where he had worked as a journalist and which formed the basis for his 1940 novel For Whom the Bell Tolls. Martha Gellhorn became his third wife in 1940. He and Gellhorn separated after he met Mary Welsh Hemingway in London during World War II. Hemingway was present with Allied troops as a journalist at the Normandy landings and the liberation of Paris. He maintained permanent residences in Key West, Florida, in the 1930s and in Cuba in the 1940s and 1950s. On a 1954 trip to Africa, he was seriously injured in two plane accidents on successive days, leaving him in pain and ill health for much of the rest of his life. In 1959, he bought a house in Ketchum, Idaho, where, on July 2, 1961 (a couple weeks before his 62nd birthday), he killed himself using one of his shotguns.
Hemingway was raised in Oak Park, Illinois. After high school, he spent six months as a cub reporter for The Kansas City Star before enlisting in the Red Cross. He served as an ambulance driver on the Italian Front in World War I and was seriously wounded in 1918. His wartime experiences formed the basis for his 1929 novel A Farewell to Arms. He married Hadley Richardson in 1921, the first of four wives. They moved to Paris where he worked as a foreign correspondent for the Toronto Star and fell under the influence of the modernist writers and artists of the 1920s' "Lost Generation" expatriate community. His debut novel The Sun Also Rises was published in 1926.
He divorced Richardson in 1927 and married Pauline Pfeiffer. They divorced after he returned from the Spanish Civil War, where he had worked as a journalist and which formed the basis for his 1940 novel For Whom the Bell Tolls. Martha Gellhorn became his third wife in 1940. He and Gellhorn separated after he met Mary Welsh Hemingway in London during World War II. Hemingway was present with Allied troops as a journalist at the Normandy landings and the liberation of Paris. He maintained permanent residences in Key West, Florida, in the 1930s and in Cuba in the 1940s and 1950s. On a 1954 trip to Africa, he was seriously injured in two plane accidents on successive days, leaving him in pain and ill health for much of the rest of his life. In 1959, he bought a house in Ketchum, Idaho, where, on July 2, 1961 (a couple weeks before his 62nd birthday), he killed himself using one of his shotguns.
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August 5, 2021
Ernest Hemingway had no fear of tackling the dark subjects in life, in this case ageing and suicide, but he did it with searing honesty, and managed to say such a lot with so few words.
https://gutenberg.ca/ebooks/hemingway...
https://gutenberg.ca/ebooks/hemingway...
February 3, 2023
Read with the Short Story Club
It's Ernest Hemingway so expect a deep and sad short story about aging and suicide. I was not expecting it to be pleasant but I was not shattered either, as other readers were. It would probably mean more to me after a 2nd reading but I will go through my group's comments instead. They always give more sense to a story than I can grasp from my reading.
It's Ernest Hemingway so expect a deep and sad short story about aging and suicide. I was not expecting it to be pleasant but I was not shattered either, as other readers were. It would probably mean more to me after a 2nd reading but I will go through my group's comments instead. They always give more sense to a story than I can grasp from my reading.
January 16, 2024
One day, I’ll be glad I read this story, but right now, it hurts. It was either exactly the right time for me to have read it or very much not.
It opens with a poignant description of a solitary old man, the last customer of the night, as he often is, drinking outside a café, “in the shadow the leaves of the tree made against the electric light”.
Then you’re hit by this exchange between the two waiters:
“‘Last week he tried to commit suicide,’ one waiter said.
‘Why?’
‘He was in despair.’
‘What about?’
‘Nothing.’
‘How do you know it was nothing?’
‘He has plenty of money.’”
The right tolife death
The comment about money is thoughtless rather than unkind, though a later comment to the old man, who the waiter knows is deaf, is certainly mean. What struck me more was that the old man’s niece had intervened to prevent his suicide - without apparently doing anything to improve his life or happiness.
The right to live one's life as one likes (within the bounds of the law, and hopefully of kindness to others) is a fundamental human right.
But surely one also has the right to end one's life as and when one likes (though again, one should be considerate of those affected)?
How one reacts and doesn't, to self-destructive behaviour and possible suicide, whether in others or oneself, is fraught with painful questions, and no clear guidance on how to answer them. Some who are pulled back from the brink live to be glad of it, but by no means all. I don’t think there’s a way to tell who will be in which camp.
Whether staring into the abyss or up to the heavens, letting go can be appealing…
Image: Hands reaching up towards the sun, but is it for rescue or abandonment? (Source)
Hemingway died by suicide, albeit nearly thirty years after writing this story. If someone had intervened, maybe we'd have more of his writings to enjoy, but that doesn't necessarily mean it would have been the right thing to do. And yet who could knowingly let someone who isn't terminally ill go ahead with it?
Other themes
Most readers probably focus on ageing and attitudes to age, the need for comfort and light (but oddly, not necessarily for company), and the meaning of life. I couldn’t get past the suicide theme, along with the nihilism of the older waiter.
There are the three ages of man: the young waiter eager to get home to his wife; the middle-aged and single insomniac waiter who is sympathetic to, and identifies somewhat with the old man, and the old man himself.
The young waiter says:
“‘I wouldn't want to be that old. An old man is a nasty thing.’
The older waiter counters with the dignity of the old man, and resists closing the café and sending the old man to a bar:
“Each night I am reluctant to close up because there may be some one who needs the café.”
Later, he asks himself:
“What did he fear? It was not a fear or dread. It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was a nothing too. It was only that and light was all it needed and a certain cleanness and order.”
The old man just asks for (yet) another brandy.
Drowning his sorrows or a slower route to suicide?
Image: Light and the dark, from the shadow of leaves (Source)
See also
• Something about this made me immediately think of Edward Hopper’s famous painting, Nighthawks. However, this is set in Spain, and the lonely customer is sitting outside a clean, well-lighted café that is explicitly not a bar - although he is drinking alcohol.
• The two observing waiters, from different generations, came to mind when I read the less pleasant scenario of three roofers lusting after a woman in Doris Lessing's A Woman on a Roof, which I reviewed HERE.
• Literary-themed tribute to my late father, who died by suicide, HERE.
• Ali Smith uses this title as the title of one of the short stories in her collection, Public library and other stories, which I reviewed HERE.
Short story club
I read this as one of the stories in The Art of the Short Story, by Dana Gioia, from which I'm aiming to read one story a week with The Short Story Club, starting 2 May 2022.
You can read this story here.
You can join the group here.
It opens with a poignant description of a solitary old man, the last customer of the night, as he often is, drinking outside a café, “in the shadow the leaves of the tree made against the electric light”.
Then you’re hit by this exchange between the two waiters:
“‘Last week he tried to commit suicide,’ one waiter said.
‘Why?’
‘He was in despair.’
‘What about?’
‘Nothing.’
‘How do you know it was nothing?’
‘He has plenty of money.’”
The right to
The comment about money is thoughtless rather than unkind, though a later comment to the old man, who the waiter knows is deaf, is certainly mean. What struck me more was that the old man’s niece had intervened to prevent his suicide - without apparently doing anything to improve his life or happiness.
The right to live one's life as one likes (within the bounds of the law, and hopefully of kindness to others) is a fundamental human right.
But surely one also has the right to end one's life as and when one likes (though again, one should be considerate of those affected)?
How one reacts and doesn't, to self-destructive behaviour and possible suicide, whether in others or oneself, is fraught with painful questions, and no clear guidance on how to answer them. Some who are pulled back from the brink live to be glad of it, but by no means all. I don’t think there’s a way to tell who will be in which camp.
Whether staring into the abyss or up to the heavens, letting go can be appealing…
Image: Hands reaching up towards the sun, but is it for rescue or abandonment? (Source)
Hemingway died by suicide, albeit nearly thirty years after writing this story. If someone had intervened, maybe we'd have more of his writings to enjoy, but that doesn't necessarily mean it would have been the right thing to do. And yet who could knowingly let someone who isn't terminally ill go ahead with it?
Other themes
Most readers probably focus on ageing and attitudes to age, the need for comfort and light (but oddly, not necessarily for company), and the meaning of life. I couldn’t get past the suicide theme, along with the nihilism of the older waiter.
There are the three ages of man: the young waiter eager to get home to his wife; the middle-aged and single insomniac waiter who is sympathetic to, and identifies somewhat with the old man, and the old man himself.
The young waiter says:
“‘I wouldn't want to be that old. An old man is a nasty thing.’
The older waiter counters with the dignity of the old man, and resists closing the café and sending the old man to a bar:
“Each night I am reluctant to close up because there may be some one who needs the café.”
Later, he asks himself:
“What did he fear? It was not a fear or dread. It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was a nothing too. It was only that and light was all it needed and a certain cleanness and order.”
The old man just asks for (yet) another brandy.
Drowning his sorrows or a slower route to suicide?
Image: Light and the dark, from the shadow of leaves (Source)
See also
• Something about this made me immediately think of Edward Hopper’s famous painting, Nighthawks. However, this is set in Spain, and the lonely customer is sitting outside a clean, well-lighted café that is explicitly not a bar - although he is drinking alcohol.
• The two observing waiters, from different generations, came to mind when I read the less pleasant scenario of three roofers lusting after a woman in Doris Lessing's A Woman on a Roof, which I reviewed HERE.
• Literary-themed tribute to my late father, who died by suicide, HERE.
• Ali Smith uses this title as the title of one of the short stories in her collection, Public library and other stories, which I reviewed HERE.
Short story club
I read this as one of the stories in The Art of the Short Story, by Dana Gioia, from which I'm aiming to read one story a week with The Short Story Club, starting 2 May 2022.
You can read this story here.
You can join the group here.
June 21, 2020
“And what do you lack?"
"Everything but work."
I have come across the story just two days ago thanks to one of my Goodread friends- Cheri. Though I am not oblivious to Hemingway, having read a few titles by him, but A Clean, Well-Lighted Place remained elusive to me, all these years. It came as a welcome surprise as I was taken aback by its prose which unlike the Hemingway I knew, though traits of minimalism may be found here. However, he had taken his prose to some kind of divine level which can’t be touched, could be just felt, like morning dew drops on green, shy leaves, which evaporate to nothingness as soon as you try to get hold of them.
Life may be tricky at times, its phases may come across seesawing each other if time may be plotted as a dimension in which past, present and future may exist simultaneously and not temporally. We know our lives have some necessary evils such as isolation, loneliness or meaninglessness as inherently life itself is. However, our entire existence is spent to strive for developing distractions which may take us away from harsh probing eyes of introspection or self-contemplation, as we call it. The entire history of human civilization speaks only about these distractions created over the years by man, does it mean that the purpose of us being the most intelligent beings is lost? Or does it mean that we have failed that ‘god’ who devised us as we are, or the ‘god’ itself failed if there were any.
We may have evolved as much we may like in formulating those distractions but as soon as we are faced by discomforting, probing silence of loneliness, our entire evolution goes for a toss; the moment we feel the heat of fire from the hell of nothingness, our being is burned to ashes. Still, we are blind to see it, we have started to look for novel distractions in the sky, in other worlds/ universes, perhaps only to eventually realize that we had to look inwards rather than outwards, in first place; but it may be quite late then, probably the cost it may incur, would be entire humanity. What about the ‘work’ we normally do, what is its role in our life? Is it just to provide livelihood to us or to keep us engage so that we may not have to deal with the essential question of our being and nothingness, so is it just another one of those distractions and yet we spend most part of our life on it.
There are some of us, who find their salvation in other sorts of distractions which modernity helped in concocting, most of those are taking birth in virtual world, which is gradually filling up space of our lives, and perhaps one day, may even take over our world. But the question still remains hanging in open air, which is- would we get free of this self-contemplation then, if yes then we should risk our physical world to achieve the ultimate salvation. What role our family, friends or other human contacts play in our life, are they just distractions too who help us to keep the probing eyes of nothingness away. Or human beings together form a sort of super-consciousness which in turn help us to bear the grand loneliness and eventually to reach the core of our existence. The inherent meaningless of life forces us to realize the absurdity of life, however that realization may be onset of our true existence but we may need the assistance of fellow human beings to realize, to bear the loneliness of human existence. Loneliness may be unbearable at time and may even crush some of us, who may be reduced to nothing as if their existence doesn’t matter at all.
You do not understand. This is a clean and pleasant cafe. It is well lighted. The
light is very good and also, now, there are shadows of the leaves.
What role death plays in it? Does it free us from the vicious circle or just an illusion created by us who think so. Some of the religions maintain that death is like intermediate way to connect with higher dimensions, to free our consciousness to be one with consciousness of universe. Others like Buddhism maintain that death functions as a reminder of the value of having been born as a human being. Being reborn as a human being is considered the only state in which one can attain enlightenment. Therefore, death helps remind oneself that one should not take life for granted. And what about suicide? Albert Camus once said that suicide was the only philosophical problem, he believed that suicide was the rejection of freedom. He thought that fleeing from the absurdity of reality into illusions, religion, or death was not the way out. Instead of fleeing the absurd meaninglessness of life, we should embrace life passionately. Jean Paul Sartre described the position of Meursault, the protagonist of Camus' The Stranger as- "The absurd man will not commit suicide; he wants to live, without relinquishing any of his certainty, without a future, without hope, without illusions ... and without resignation either. He stares at death with passionate attention and this fascination liberates him. He experiences the "divine irresponsibility" of the condemned man."
The seemingly simple, straight forward story is actually masterfully carved out by the literary master through its controlled narrative, through some intentional and conscious omissions, which produce an ineffaceable effect on the reader, who surreptitiously surrender to its mystic environment, however only to be robbed off all senses of comfort to realize what essentially it deals with. Hemingway makes you feel that there is so much to read beneath the words through his strokes of symbolism and emblems, he describes the utterly complex issue of nothingness using this plotless, simple fable so effectively that it leaves you with chilling experience. The minimal use of words does not any harm to the environment it may create to produce an unforgettable sojourn for the readers.
James Joyce once remarked: "He [Hemingway] has reduced the veil between
literature and life, which is what every writer strives to do. Have you read 'A Clean
Well-Lighted Place'?...It is masterly. Indeed, it is one of the best short stories ever
written..."
It was not a fear ordread, It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was a nothing too. It was only that and light was all it needed and a certain cleanness and order. Some lived in it and never felt it but he knew it all was nada y pues nada y naday pues nada. Our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name thy kingdom nada thy will be nada in nada as it is in nada. Give us this nada our daily nada and nada us our nada as we nada our nadas and nada us not into nada but deliver us from nada; pues nada. Hail nothing full of nothing, nothing is with thee.
"Everything but work."
I have come across the story just two days ago thanks to one of my Goodread friends- Cheri. Though I am not oblivious to Hemingway, having read a few titles by him, but A Clean, Well-Lighted Place remained elusive to me, all these years. It came as a welcome surprise as I was taken aback by its prose which unlike the Hemingway I knew, though traits of minimalism may be found here. However, he had taken his prose to some kind of divine level which can’t be touched, could be just felt, like morning dew drops on green, shy leaves, which evaporate to nothingness as soon as you try to get hold of them.
Life may be tricky at times, its phases may come across seesawing each other if time may be plotted as a dimension in which past, present and future may exist simultaneously and not temporally. We know our lives have some necessary evils such as isolation, loneliness or meaninglessness as inherently life itself is. However, our entire existence is spent to strive for developing distractions which may take us away from harsh probing eyes of introspection or self-contemplation, as we call it. The entire history of human civilization speaks only about these distractions created over the years by man, does it mean that the purpose of us being the most intelligent beings is lost? Or does it mean that we have failed that ‘god’ who devised us as we are, or the ‘god’ itself failed if there were any.
We may have evolved as much we may like in formulating those distractions but as soon as we are faced by discomforting, probing silence of loneliness, our entire evolution goes for a toss; the moment we feel the heat of fire from the hell of nothingness, our being is burned to ashes. Still, we are blind to see it, we have started to look for novel distractions in the sky, in other worlds/ universes, perhaps only to eventually realize that we had to look inwards rather than outwards, in first place; but it may be quite late then, probably the cost it may incur, would be entire humanity. What about the ‘work’ we normally do, what is its role in our life? Is it just to provide livelihood to us or to keep us engage so that we may not have to deal with the essential question of our being and nothingness, so is it just another one of those distractions and yet we spend most part of our life on it.
There are some of us, who find their salvation in other sorts of distractions which modernity helped in concocting, most of those are taking birth in virtual world, which is gradually filling up space of our lives, and perhaps one day, may even take over our world. But the question still remains hanging in open air, which is- would we get free of this self-contemplation then, if yes then we should risk our physical world to achieve the ultimate salvation. What role our family, friends or other human contacts play in our life, are they just distractions too who help us to keep the probing eyes of nothingness away. Or human beings together form a sort of super-consciousness which in turn help us to bear the grand loneliness and eventually to reach the core of our existence. The inherent meaningless of life forces us to realize the absurdity of life, however that realization may be onset of our true existence but we may need the assistance of fellow human beings to realize, to bear the loneliness of human existence. Loneliness may be unbearable at time and may even crush some of us, who may be reduced to nothing as if their existence doesn’t matter at all.
You do not understand. This is a clean and pleasant cafe. It is well lighted. The
light is very good and also, now, there are shadows of the leaves.
What role death plays in it? Does it free us from the vicious circle or just an illusion created by us who think so. Some of the religions maintain that death is like intermediate way to connect with higher dimensions, to free our consciousness to be one with consciousness of universe. Others like Buddhism maintain that death functions as a reminder of the value of having been born as a human being. Being reborn as a human being is considered the only state in which one can attain enlightenment. Therefore, death helps remind oneself that one should not take life for granted. And what about suicide? Albert Camus once said that suicide was the only philosophical problem, he believed that suicide was the rejection of freedom. He thought that fleeing from the absurdity of reality into illusions, religion, or death was not the way out. Instead of fleeing the absurd meaninglessness of life, we should embrace life passionately. Jean Paul Sartre described the position of Meursault, the protagonist of Camus' The Stranger as- "The absurd man will not commit suicide; he wants to live, without relinquishing any of his certainty, without a future, without hope, without illusions ... and without resignation either. He stares at death with passionate attention and this fascination liberates him. He experiences the "divine irresponsibility" of the condemned man."
The seemingly simple, straight forward story is actually masterfully carved out by the literary master through its controlled narrative, through some intentional and conscious omissions, which produce an ineffaceable effect on the reader, who surreptitiously surrender to its mystic environment, however only to be robbed off all senses of comfort to realize what essentially it deals with. Hemingway makes you feel that there is so much to read beneath the words through his strokes of symbolism and emblems, he describes the utterly complex issue of nothingness using this plotless, simple fable so effectively that it leaves you with chilling experience. The minimal use of words does not any harm to the environment it may create to produce an unforgettable sojourn for the readers.
James Joyce once remarked: "He [Hemingway] has reduced the veil between
literature and life, which is what every writer strives to do. Have you read 'A Clean
Well-Lighted Place'?...It is masterly. Indeed, it is one of the best short stories ever
written..."
It was not a fear ordread, It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was a nothing too. It was only that and light was all it needed and a certain cleanness and order. Some lived in it and never felt it but he knew it all was nada y pues nada y naday pues nada. Our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name thy kingdom nada thy will be nada in nada as it is in nada. Give us this nada our daily nada and nada us our nada as we nada our nadas and nada us not into nada but deliver us from nada; pues nada. Hail nothing full of nothing, nothing is with thee.
January 24, 2018
What did he fear? It was not a fear or dread. It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and man was a nothing too.
An old man drinking alone. A man that won't leave, a young waiter in a hurry to go home to his wife and another waiter. It is as simple as that. The complexity that left me stunned lies beneath that simple plot that unfolds with the help of Hemingway's characteristic style. And, once more, the economy of words cannot tame the torrent of emotions that can take over even the most distracted of readers.
Every mortal must face loneliness. They do it in their unique ways.
Some people try to divert their attention away from the loud silence of introspection, so they focus on work. Or they turn on the TV. Or run to their wives or husbands, pitying those less fortunate, thinking that they will never feel that kind of despair. Forgetting about the fleeting essence of youth.
Some people pour brandy into a shiny glass, feeling the silence of the night in a clean, well-lighted place. For neither money nor youth are enough to banish despair from a too sentimental soul. But everything seems bearable while being at the café.
Some people watch. They watch the rest of humanity facing their loneliness and try to provide a clean place with decent light to those in need. They face their loneliness helping other to face theirs, in the best way possible. Solitude gets intense. It is an uncontrollable force that reduces the world to nothing. A man in the vastness of this universe; nothing. A god in the mind of the desperate who cannot feel his presence; nothing. The human being trying to find meaning in the context of human nature's absurdity; nothing.
My first five stars are dedicated to nothingness. To an eternal search. To Hemingway and his detached writing that left me amidst the chaotic silence of my room, contemplating nada.
Nov 01, 15
* Also on my blog.
August 11, 2024
«Um Sítio Limpo e Bem Iluminado», tradução de Virgínia Mota
Um conto curto com poucas personagens. Algo autobiográfico e universal, certamente. Aqui encontramos mais do que a solidão e o desespero: o nada.
- A semana passada tentou suicidar-se - disse um dos criados.
- E porquê?
- Sentia-se desesperado.
- E que motivos tinha para isso?
- Nenhuns
- Como é que tu sabes que não tinha nenhuns?
- Porque tem dinheiro à farta.
Há os que têm juventude, confiança e emprego; há os velhos que bebem por solidão; há os que têm falta de tudo menos de trabalho mas não tendo desejo de ir para casa precisam de luz à noite e de uma certa limpeza e arrumação. Alguns vivem assim e não se dão conta, outros sabem que tudo é nada.
Uma inversão das orações...Nada nosso de cada dia nos dai nada e nada-nos os nossos nadas...
A vida passa atravessando várias fases do tudo está bem ao nada, ao saber que tudo termina num desolador nada.
Às vezes, a luz e a ordem são tudo o que precisamos para enfrentar a escuridão.
Um conto curto com poucas personagens. Algo autobiográfico e universal, certamente. Aqui encontramos mais do que a solidão e o desespero: o nada.
- A semana passada tentou suicidar-se - disse um dos criados.
- E porquê?
- Sentia-se desesperado.
- E que motivos tinha para isso?
- Nenhuns
- Como é que tu sabes que não tinha nenhuns?
- Porque tem dinheiro à farta.
Há os que têm juventude, confiança e emprego; há os velhos que bebem por solidão; há os que têm falta de tudo menos de trabalho mas não tendo desejo de ir para casa precisam de luz à noite e de uma certa limpeza e arrumação. Alguns vivem assim e não se dão conta, outros sabem que tudo é nada.
Uma inversão das orações...Nada nosso de cada dia nos dai nada e nada-nos os nossos nadas...
A vida passa atravessando várias fases do tudo está bem ao nada, ao saber que tudo termina num desolador nada.
Às vezes, a luz e a ordem são tudo o que precisamos para enfrentar a escuridão.
June 12, 2020
A short story by Ernest Hemingway, shared in five pages, not counting the brief quote included after by James Joyce, which says:
"He [Hemingway] has reduced the veil between literature and life, which is what every writer strives to do. Have you read 'A Clean Well-Lighted Place'?...It is masterly. Indeed, it is one of the best short stories ever written..."
A Clean, Well-Lighted Place may be read, free, here:
https://www.wlps.org/view/2546.pdf
August 31, 2017
Does Hemingway's writing still have power? Can it still move us or does it seem hopelessly stilted and dated? I'd begun to wonder that lately so I picked up this short story and...wow. The rhythm of Hemingway's descriptive language is masterful, his sentences like little incantations, and while the dialog might seem a bit stylized--you can't quite imagine people talking this way--it has a unique spare beauty to it nonetheless, like a stylized church painting. There's so much bound up in this story--aging, loneliness, empathy, despair. It's few pages contain multitudes.
January 12, 2023
5★
“It was very late and everyone had left the café except an old man who sat in the shadow the leaves of the tree made against the electric light. In the day time the street was dusty, but at night the dew settled the dust and the old man liked to sit late because he was deaf and now at night it was quiet and he felt the difference.”
That’s the opening of this very short story about two waiters in a Spanish café serving an old man who won’t leave. He always wants one more brandy. He’s comfortable.
They gossip about his past and the fact that his niece saved him from suicide once. The impatient younger waiter wants to go home. The old man will sit there all night if they don’t close up. But the other waiter is happy to stay as long as the old man wants to stay.
It’s the attitudes of the two waiters that I enjoyed. There’s very little conversation, but what there is says enough. I am reminded of Edward Hopper’s painting, Nighthawks.
‘Nighthawks’ by Edward Hopper, 1942
It’s not a particularly homey atmosphere, but it is clean, it is well-lighted, and it is a place where you can eat, not just drink. The painting is a diner – close enough to a café for me – and it’s ten years younger than the story.
If all you have to return to is a dark single room, how much might you value a clean, well-lighted place?
What does it matter? Does anything matter?
This is another from the Short Story Club. It’s the second story in Hemingway’s Winner Take Nothing, or you can download the PDF of just the story here:
https://yale.learningu.org/download/5...
“It was very late and everyone had left the café except an old man who sat in the shadow the leaves of the tree made against the electric light. In the day time the street was dusty, but at night the dew settled the dust and the old man liked to sit late because he was deaf and now at night it was quiet and he felt the difference.”
That’s the opening of this very short story about two waiters in a Spanish café serving an old man who won’t leave. He always wants one more brandy. He’s comfortable.
They gossip about his past and the fact that his niece saved him from suicide once. The impatient younger waiter wants to go home. The old man will sit there all night if they don’t close up. But the other waiter is happy to stay as long as the old man wants to stay.
It’s the attitudes of the two waiters that I enjoyed. There’s very little conversation, but what there is says enough. I am reminded of Edward Hopper’s painting, Nighthawks.
‘Nighthawks’ by Edward Hopper, 1942
It’s not a particularly homey atmosphere, but it is clean, it is well-lighted, and it is a place where you can eat, not just drink. The painting is a diner – close enough to a café for me – and it’s ten years younger than the story.
If all you have to return to is a dark single room, how much might you value a clean, well-lighted place?
What does it matter? Does anything matter?
This is another from the Short Story Club. It’s the second story in Hemingway’s Winner Take Nothing, or you can download the PDF of just the story here:
https://yale.learningu.org/download/5...
August 22, 2026
⭐️⭐️⭐️✨
Un brevísimo cuento sobre la soledad y el vacío existencial que es tan poco comprendido por aquellos que todavía son jóvenes y mantienen la confianza en la vida.
Aquellos que no entienden esa “nada” que acaba por anegarlo todo y que se hace aún más negra cuando no existe nadie que nos espere al final del día.
Un brevísimo cuento sobre la soledad y el vacío existencial que es tan poco comprendido por aquellos que todavía son jóvenes y mantienen la confianza en la vida.
- La semana pasada trató de suicidarse -dijo uno de ellos.
- ¿Por qué?
- Estaba desesperado.
- ¿Por qué?
- Por nada.
- ¿Cómo sabes que era por nada?
- Porque tiene muchísimo dinero
Aquellos que no entienden esa “nada” que acaba por anegarlo todo y que se hace aún más negra cuando no existe nadie que nos espere al final del día.
“Nada nuestra que estás en nada, nada sea tu nombre nada tu reino nada tu voluntad así en nada como en nada. Danos este nada nuestro pan de cada nada y nada nuestros nada como también nosotros nada a nuestros nada y no nos nada en la nada mas líbranos de nada; pues nada”
February 3, 2023
This 1933 short story was published in 1933 in Scribner Magazine. It is only a few short pages long.
The characters are in an open-air cafe in Spain, probably a small town, pre-Spanish Revolution. Two waiters talk, while an old man, deaf and in his eighties, drinks brandy alone at his table.
While wealthy, the man is not happy and had attempted suicide the week prior, and the waiters share that he is regular, and regularly drinks himself drunk, quietly at his table in the shadows. The mans niece cut him down, ending his suicide attempt, to 'save his soul'.
While one waiter is young and bemoans the fact the man stays late, keeping him from his wife and bed, the other waiter, who is older, says the cafe offers a place for people to be if they wish, (a clean and well-lighted place), and he has nothing to hurry home to.
It is a very short but contemplative story, with Hemingway's typical economy of words. It does little to resolve it itself, it is more a glimpse of peoples lives than a story as such.
3.5 stars, rounded down.
The characters are in an open-air cafe in Spain, probably a small town, pre-Spanish Revolution. Two waiters talk, while an old man, deaf and in his eighties, drinks brandy alone at his table.
While wealthy, the man is not happy and had attempted suicide the week prior, and the waiters share that he is regular, and regularly drinks himself drunk, quietly at his table in the shadows. The mans niece cut him down, ending his suicide attempt, to 'save his soul'.
While one waiter is young and bemoans the fact the man stays late, keeping him from his wife and bed, the other waiter, who is older, says the cafe offers a place for people to be if they wish, (a clean and well-lighted place), and he has nothing to hurry home to.
It is a very short but contemplative story, with Hemingway's typical economy of words. It does little to resolve it itself, it is more a glimpse of peoples lives than a story as such.
3.5 stars, rounded down.
July 7, 2020
Thank you so much, Cheri! I enjoyed it!
January 6, 2023
“It was very late and everyone had left the café except an old man who sat in the shadow the leaves of the tree made against the electric light. In the day time the street was dusty, but at night the dew settled the dust and the old man liked to sit late because he was deaf and now at night it was quiet and he felt the difference”--the opening lines
"A Clean, Well-Lighted Place" first published in 1933, Is one of my favorite and one of Ernest Hemingway’s--one of the great masters of the short story, in particular-- most despairing and yet most achingly beautiful stories, featuring an old man who comes in every night to drink himself to closing, and one waiter who reveals he is sympathetic to him. If Hemingway has any moral intent in the story, it is to have us see the old man through the older waiter’s eyes.
Two waiters, alone late, watch the old man, and discuss his recent suicide attempt. The younger waiter is not sympathetic--why commit suicide? He has enough money--wants him just to go home, so he can go home to his wife. They watch the streets as “a girl and a soldier went by in the street. “ The older waiter notes that the old man’s wife is now gone. This focus on grief and love relationships just may be part of the unsaid under the “iceberg” of the story.
What is it that drives the old man to despair? Maybe it is just the generalized depression that many feel: “ What did he fear? It was not fear or dread. It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was nothing too.”
The younger waiter may point to another underlying societal condition for what the old man is experiencing, the sudden invisibility of the elderly:
Younger waiter: “I wouldn’t want to be that old. An old man is a nasty thing.”
Older waiter: “Not always. This old man is clean. He drinks without spilling. Even now, drunk. Look at him.”
The older waiter seems to understand the old man; he cares: “Each night. I am reluctant to close up because there may be someone who needs the cafe.” And later: "’I am of those who like to stay late at the café,’ the older waiter said. “With all those who do not want to go to bed. With all those who need a light for the night.’"
The older waiter thinks to himself a sort of nihilist Lord’s Prayer, or existentialist, Our nada who art in nada, that comes close to the end of the story., as he himself goes--alone--to his bed. A prayer of despair? Well, as with Beckett, he is still praying, at least. Then the punch in the gut finish, as we now walk home with the older waiter, who may not be so different than the old man:
“He would lie in the bed and finally, with daylight, he would go to sleep. After all, he said to himself, it is probably only insomnia. Many must have it.”
Indeed and alas, many do. A story of acknowledgement for these times, with so many in despair.
James Joyce once remarked: "He [Hemingway] has reduced the veil between literature and life, which is what every writer strives to do. Have you read 'A Clean Well-Lighted Place'?. . . It is masterly. Indeed, it is one of the best short stories ever written..."
I agree, and maybe pointedly, on this, my seventieth birthday.
Thanks to the Short Story Club and Leonard for the focus this week on this terrific story. I got the message from Leonard and read it through.
"A Clean, Well-Lighted Place" first published in 1933, Is one of my favorite and one of Ernest Hemingway’s--one of the great masters of the short story, in particular-- most despairing and yet most achingly beautiful stories, featuring an old man who comes in every night to drink himself to closing, and one waiter who reveals he is sympathetic to him. If Hemingway has any moral intent in the story, it is to have us see the old man through the older waiter’s eyes.
Two waiters, alone late, watch the old man, and discuss his recent suicide attempt. The younger waiter is not sympathetic--why commit suicide? He has enough money--wants him just to go home, so he can go home to his wife. They watch the streets as “a girl and a soldier went by in the street. “ The older waiter notes that the old man’s wife is now gone. This focus on grief and love relationships just may be part of the unsaid under the “iceberg” of the story.
What is it that drives the old man to despair? Maybe it is just the generalized depression that many feel: “ What did he fear? It was not fear or dread. It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was nothing too.”
The younger waiter may point to another underlying societal condition for what the old man is experiencing, the sudden invisibility of the elderly:
Younger waiter: “I wouldn’t want to be that old. An old man is a nasty thing.”
Older waiter: “Not always. This old man is clean. He drinks without spilling. Even now, drunk. Look at him.”
The older waiter seems to understand the old man; he cares: “Each night. I am reluctant to close up because there may be someone who needs the cafe.” And later: "’I am of those who like to stay late at the café,’ the older waiter said. “With all those who do not want to go to bed. With all those who need a light for the night.’"
The older waiter thinks to himself a sort of nihilist Lord’s Prayer, or existentialist, Our nada who art in nada, that comes close to the end of the story., as he himself goes--alone--to his bed. A prayer of despair? Well, as with Beckett, he is still praying, at least. Then the punch in the gut finish, as we now walk home with the older waiter, who may not be so different than the old man:
“He would lie in the bed and finally, with daylight, he would go to sleep. After all, he said to himself, it is probably only insomnia. Many must have it.”
Indeed and alas, many do. A story of acknowledgement for these times, with so many in despair.
James Joyce once remarked: "He [Hemingway] has reduced the veil between literature and life, which is what every writer strives to do. Have you read 'A Clean Well-Lighted Place'?. . . It is masterly. Indeed, it is one of the best short stories ever written..."
I agree, and maybe pointedly, on this, my seventieth birthday.
Thanks to the Short Story Club and Leonard for the focus this week on this terrific story. I got the message from Leonard and read it through.
November 1, 2016
A solid short story that addresses suicide, aging, and the importance of having a purpose in one's life. As you can discern from my reviews over the past couple of months, I have a lot of problems with Hemingway and his writing. However, I appreciate that he tackles difficult topics in a way that confronts the darkest aspects of the human experience. His work, including this story, emphasizes the importance of mental well-being, of connecting with one another's hardships and humanity. I hope we can all find our own clean, well-lighted place - and that we can provide that place for one another.
January 7, 2023
When I was reading "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place," I felt like Ernest Hemingway was in a contest with himself to write the most minimalist story possible. The characters had no names or descriptions other than the old man, the older waiter, and the younger waiter. The Spanish cafe had tables under a shadowing tree, but no other descriptions. The old man had tried to commit suicide the previous week, and spending his evening at the cafe may be easing his suffering. The younger waiter had a full life, but the older waiter did not want to go home to his lonely room.
It's a bleak story about emotional darkness, loneliness, and the lack of meaning in life. The older waiter rejects any religious faith and says, "Our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name. . . " (nada=nothing in Spanish) The only way to keep the depression and darkness away, and to bring some meaning into a meaningless life was to spend time in a clean, well-lighted cafe.
Hemingway had seen destruction and carnage during World War I, and was wounded when he was an ambulance driver. Hemingway's father killed himself with a gun in 1928. Depression and mood swings ran in the family, and Hemingway himself committed suicide in 1961. The Great Depression with the stock market crash of 1929 was the cause of depression and suicide of many who lost all their savings. It's no wonder that emotional darkness, despair, and the meaningless of life were themes of this story published in 1933. The story definitely delivers its message, but it's not something to read if you're having a bad day.
It's a bleak story about emotional darkness, loneliness, and the lack of meaning in life. The older waiter rejects any religious faith and says, "Our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name. . . " (nada=nothing in Spanish) The only way to keep the depression and darkness away, and to bring some meaning into a meaningless life was to spend time in a clean, well-lighted cafe.
Hemingway had seen destruction and carnage during World War I, and was wounded when he was an ambulance driver. Hemingway's father killed himself with a gun in 1928. Depression and mood swings ran in the family, and Hemingway himself committed suicide in 1961. The Great Depression with the stock market crash of 1929 was the cause of depression and suicide of many who lost all their savings. It's no wonder that emotional darkness, despair, and the meaningless of life were themes of this story published in 1933. The story definitely delivers its message, but it's not something to read if you're having a bad day.
February 28, 2025
A Buddhist Version of this story follows…
Our Father
Who are in Sunyata
Sunyata be your Name!
There, fellow Christian Zen Pacticitioners, doesn’t that say it BETTER?
James Joyce was Right -
God in His broken Emptiness is REAL Sunyata.
So NOW, this book, emptied of Hemingway’s myopia, is so Christian!
A Full Five Holy Stars from my Grateful Seniors Perspective.
Our Father
Who are in Sunyata
Sunyata be your Name!
There, fellow Christian Zen Pacticitioners, doesn’t that say it BETTER?
James Joyce was Right -
God in His broken Emptiness is REAL Sunyata.
So NOW, this book, emptied of Hemingway’s myopia, is so Christian!
A Full Five Holy Stars from my Grateful Seniors Perspective.
January 28, 2023
This very short story is my first read of Hemingway. So far, I have avoided him, since it can get somewhat irritating when Anglo readers assume that a Spaniard will also look at Spain through Hemingway’s eyes. There is a restaurant in the center of Madrid, in the old town, that has a sign hanging outside that says: "Hemingway never ate here". I feel my library ought to have a similar sign.
I enjoyed this very pared down story, though. It is so distilled that ambiguity prevails. Even if it is set in a Well-lighted Café and the prose is very Clean, the ambiguousness of the dialogues, the almost exasperating absence of necessary details, leaves the reader in relative darkness.
May be that is why the reader is so very easily drawn to project other material onto the story. That it takes place in Spain is obvious, not because of the use of some Spanish words (‘bodega’), since there are many countries where Spanish is spoken, but because of the half ‘peseta’ tip and the ‘hombre’ exclamation (so typical of Spain that it is included in Astérix en Hispanie). That it is a highly pessimistic story (nada y pues nada, y nada y pues nada) is also depressingly clear. But the very stripped narrative precludes any necessity of projecting too much of extraneous material such as, for example, the Spanish Civil War of 1936-39 when this story is from 1933 and no politics are discussed.
Hemingway was about 34 but had seen part of the world already. Amongst other postings, he had been a reporter on the Greek-Turkish war witnessing the horror when Smyrna was burnt. From this story on loneliness, emptiness, suicide, and alcoholism, one can detect a writer who had formed an insight into the complexity of human nature – with its dark and well-lighted aspects. For at the end of this story on bleakness there is the admission that ‘a clean, well-lighted café was a very different thing’. The poignancy of this story dwells precisely on its universality.
So, maybe I will read more Hemingway. I liked his stripped writing.
June 3, 2014
"A Clean, Well Lighted Place" is absolutely the best short story of all time, and the greatest thing I have ever read. I know that's a big statement but I really believe it to be utterly perfect. It's one of the most heartbreaking, intimate stories I've ever read and it captures a lifetime of humility, loneliness, and our ability as humans to be both the source of pain and salvation for each other - all in 3 pages. It will stay with you forever.
November 25, 2024
The Short Story Club
It is a minimalist but powerful story about loneliness, aging and mortality.
When some people are getting old, they can share the joys and griefs of their lives with their loved ones who surround them, others have God and the church to go to with their prayers. However, there are those who just have 'a clean well-lighted place' as the only sanctuary, the only refuge. As well as insomnia and 'fear for their soul'.
'It was the light of course but it is necessary that the place be clean and pleasant. You do not want music. Certainly you do not want music. Nor can you stand before a bar with dignity although that is all that is provided for these hours. What did he fear? It was not a fear or dread. It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was a nothing too. It was only that and light was all it needed and a certain cleanness and order. Some lived in it and never felt it but he knew it all was nada y pues nada y nada y pues nada. Our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name thy kingdom nada thy will be nada in nada as it is in nada. Give us this nada our daily nada and nada us
our nada as we nada our nadas and nada us not into nada but deliver us from nada; pues nada. Hail nothing full of nothing, nothing is with thee.'
It is a minimalist but powerful story about loneliness, aging and mortality.
When some people are getting old, they can share the joys and griefs of their lives with their loved ones who surround them, others have God and the church to go to with their prayers. However, there are those who just have 'a clean well-lighted place' as the only sanctuary, the only refuge. As well as insomnia and 'fear for their soul'.
'It was the light of course but it is necessary that the place be clean and pleasant. You do not want music. Certainly you do not want music. Nor can you stand before a bar with dignity although that is all that is provided for these hours. What did he fear? It was not a fear or dread. It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was a nothing too. It was only that and light was all it needed and a certain cleanness and order. Some lived in it and never felt it but he knew it all was nada y pues nada y nada y pues nada. Our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name thy kingdom nada thy will be nada in nada as it is in nada. Give us this nada our daily nada and nada us
our nada as we nada our nadas and nada us not into nada but deliver us from nada; pues nada. Hail nothing full of nothing, nothing is with thee.'
October 17, 2015
I am literally speechless. I'm positive that this is my favorite short story that I've read so far.
June 22, 2012
"A Clean, Well-Lighted Place" is one of my favourite short stories by Hemingway. A story about three men at different states of their lives; two waiters of a cafe (one young, one older) and an old man as a customer. The old man is living in a state of despair and loneliness, having recently attempted suicide. The younger waiter is insensitive to this and just wants the old man to leave. He himself has "everything": youth, confidence, a job and a wife. He does not realize that not everybody has that because he is blinded by everything that he has. He does not realize that other people are searching for meaning, searching for a reason to go on living to the next day. Meanwhile, the older waiter sympathizes with the old man. He understands his loneliness, he knows how it feels to have nothing to go home to.
In my opinion it is the older waiter that is the most tragic character in this story. We learn that he too suffers from loneliness and despair and he sees the old man in himself and he realizes that he, too, will become just like the old man. It is because of this that he wants to keep the cafe open because he knows that it is a clean, well-lighted place. It is clean and bright and can be a source of comfort to those like the old man and himself. It is not until they leave the building that we find the older waiter at a complete loss. He finds no comfort in religion anymore and even though he tries to go to another building, it is just not the same as the cafe holding light and a glimpse of hope. When he goes home he decides that it is just insomnia he is suffering from, and that "many must have it'. This proves even more tragic; even though people suffer from the same thing, they all go through it alone.
Hemingway shows the transition of youth to elderly in correlation with happiness to loneliness, hopelessness and despair by using the younger waiter, older and the old man. The youngest waiter is blind to the truth and what will eventually happen to him, and when it does happen, he will have no place of comfort to go to because there will be yet another young waiter there, rushing to close the cafe and get home.
In my opinion it is the older waiter that is the most tragic character in this story. We learn that he too suffers from loneliness and despair and he sees the old man in himself and he realizes that he, too, will become just like the old man. It is because of this that he wants to keep the cafe open because he knows that it is a clean, well-lighted place. It is clean and bright and can be a source of comfort to those like the old man and himself. It is not until they leave the building that we find the older waiter at a complete loss. He finds no comfort in religion anymore and even though he tries to go to another building, it is just not the same as the cafe holding light and a glimpse of hope. When he goes home he decides that it is just insomnia he is suffering from, and that "many must have it'. This proves even more tragic; even though people suffer from the same thing, they all go through it alone.
Hemingway shows the transition of youth to elderly in correlation with happiness to loneliness, hopelessness and despair by using the younger waiter, older and the old man. The youngest waiter is blind to the truth and what will eventually happen to him, and when it does happen, he will have no place of comfort to go to because there will be yet another young waiter there, rushing to close the cafe and get home.
January 7, 2023
Hemingway can be exquisite in small doses, and this is a perfect example. He uses spare description, of objects and conversation, to go very, very deep into the human condition. How did he know all this, writing the story in his 30’s?
It’s part devastating, part captivating, like when someone surprises you with the truth.
I have to agree with James Joyce, who said this was the best story ever written. I’ve yet to come across a better one.
It’s part devastating, part captivating, like when someone surprises you with the truth.
I have to agree with James Joyce, who said this was the best story ever written. I’ve yet to come across a better one.
October 23, 2015
Perfect three pages.
Simple yet deep. But a few pages filled with loneliness, humanity, depression, empathy and indifference .... the impatience of youth and the small things that make an otherwise meaningless life still worth living. Classic, nostalgic, moving .... almost lyrical.
Simple yet deep. But a few pages filled with loneliness, humanity, depression, empathy and indifference .... the impatience of youth and the small things that make an otherwise meaningless life still worth living. Classic, nostalgic, moving .... almost lyrical.
May 10, 2013
Something very moving caught my attention as I was starting to read this: a small black ant crawling along the edges of the book. My first thought was: murder, I've got to kill this thing: and my favorite method of extinguishing the life of trespassing attention-getters like this is to place them somewhere in the middle of the open book, close the book, pound it with a fist as it lays on the table, then open it again on the page where they met their end and look to see how they'd appear to subsequent readers, fossilized inside a classic. But this ant got away, vanished, before I could shepherd it with a finger towards its intended place of execution.
This was serendipity. Ernest Hemingway, rich, famous and successful book-writer and tomb-maker for ants and other creepy-crawlies, blew his brains out with a shotgun in 1961 when he was aging and when he probably felt his creative powers were gone. Twenty-eight years before that, he had written this and started it with this scene:
"It was late and every one had left the cafe except an old man who sat in the shadow the leaves of the tree made against the electric light. In the day time the street was dusty, but at night the dew settled the dust and the old man liked to sit late because he was deaf and now at night it was quiet and he felt the difference. The two waiters inside the cafe knew that the old man was a little drunk, and while he was a good client they knew that if he became too drunk he would leave without paying, so they kept watch on him.
"'Last week he tried to commit suicide,' one waiter said.
"'Why?'
"'He was in despair.'
"'What about?'
"'Nothing.'
"'How do you know it was nothing?'
"'He has plenty of money.'"
One of these two waiters is young and the other is old, like the old man. Hemingway didn't say what has happened to the latter after the young waiter (who wants to go home already and sleep) refused him another drink and drove him away. Instead, he shifts the attention to the two waiters, the old one finding fault in the younger one for what he had done. The old one explains: old, like the customer, he is one of those who like to stay late at the cafe, in clean, well-lighted cafes, "with all those who do not want to go to bed, (with) all those who need a light for the night."
Had someone close to him known that Hemingway needed a clean, well-lighted place to drink late in the night, his suicide could probably have been prevented.
This was serendipity. Ernest Hemingway, rich, famous and successful book-writer and tomb-maker for ants and other creepy-crawlies, blew his brains out with a shotgun in 1961 when he was aging and when he probably felt his creative powers were gone. Twenty-eight years before that, he had written this and started it with this scene:
"It was late and every one had left the cafe except an old man who sat in the shadow the leaves of the tree made against the electric light. In the day time the street was dusty, but at night the dew settled the dust and the old man liked to sit late because he was deaf and now at night it was quiet and he felt the difference. The two waiters inside the cafe knew that the old man was a little drunk, and while he was a good client they knew that if he became too drunk he would leave without paying, so they kept watch on him.
"'Last week he tried to commit suicide,' one waiter said.
"'Why?'
"'He was in despair.'
"'What about?'
"'Nothing.'
"'How do you know it was nothing?'
"'He has plenty of money.'"
One of these two waiters is young and the other is old, like the old man. Hemingway didn't say what has happened to the latter after the young waiter (who wants to go home already and sleep) refused him another drink and drove him away. Instead, he shifts the attention to the two waiters, the old one finding fault in the younger one for what he had done. The old one explains: old, like the customer, he is one of those who like to stay late at the cafe, in clean, well-lighted cafes, "with all those who do not want to go to bed, (with) all those who need a light for the night."
Had someone close to him known that Hemingway needed a clean, well-lighted place to drink late in the night, his suicide could probably have been prevented.
January 15, 2019
Well, nothing compared to 'The old man and the sea'. ...
February 25, 2024
Beautifully mournfully poignantly sweet.
Highly recommended for short story fans.
Highly recommended for short story fans.
January 7, 2023
What did he fear? It was not fear or dread. It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was nothing too.
A very, very short story questions the things that might help a man in “despair.”
A very, very short story questions the things that might help a man in “despair.”
January 8, 2023
You do not want music. Certainly you do not want music.
Two waiters, waiting on a solitary old man, are at first indistinguishable but then slowly develop into separate characters. One is younger, and eager to get home to his wife.
The older one carries the weight of the story, as his night continues, standing at another bar. As the reader slowly gains intimacy with the older waiter, the more he resembles the solitary old man at the bar, reluctant to return home to a lonely bed.
Two waiters, waiting on a solitary old man, are at first indistinguishable but then slowly develop into separate characters. One is younger, and eager to get home to his wife.
The older one carries the weight of the story, as his night continues, standing at another bar. As the reader slowly gains intimacy with the older waiter, the more he resembles the solitary old man at the bar, reluctant to return home to a lonely bed.
July 30, 2022
This is something I believe I liked. Cheer-up my mood. Last encounter with Hemingway's work (The Old Man and the Sea) was not good and till now I didn't picked his any. But this is quite light and heavy at the same time.
Loneliness. Youth. Empathy.
These 3 words define this whole short-read.
An Old man who refused to go early to home because he felt lonely and wanted to be in the clean lit place for a drink. On the other hand is a mid-aged barman who out of empathy let him be there as long as he wanted. But it all started one day when a younger waiter demands him to leave early and found both of them irritable. Although youth has its own taste of things but matured, older ones, knew all that in depth.
Funny and lesson giving story.
Liked it to the top in this time.
Loneliness. Youth. Empathy.
These 3 words define this whole short-read.
An Old man who refused to go early to home because he felt lonely and wanted to be in the clean lit place for a drink. On the other hand is a mid-aged barman who out of empathy let him be there as long as he wanted. But it all started one day when a younger waiter demands him to leave early and found both of them irritable. Although youth has its own taste of things but matured, older ones, knew all that in depth.
Funny and lesson giving story.
Liked it to the top in this time.
January 8, 2023
What did he fear? It was not fear or dread. It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was nothing too.
Two waiters spat about the tranquility of the Void. I can relate as I juggle phlegm and nostalgia: with a confusion as which is the more debilitating. The source of the argument in Hemingway's story is a late night customer, one with a penchant both for the silence (he's near deaf) and the brandy. We learn that he's less than at ease with the world.
I don't believe I was familiar with this one. I read it for the Short Story Club, which I Have quickly grown to love.
Two waiters spat about the tranquility of the Void. I can relate as I juggle phlegm and nostalgia: with a confusion as which is the more debilitating. The source of the argument in Hemingway's story is a late night customer, one with a penchant both for the silence (he's near deaf) and the brandy. We learn that he's less than at ease with the world.
I don't believe I was familiar with this one. I read it for the Short Story Club, which I Have quickly grown to love.
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