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The Undefeated
"The Undefeated" is a short story by Ernest Hemingway featured in Men Without Women. The main character, Manuel Garcia, is a bullfighter who recently got out of the hospital and is now looking for work. After an old promoter, Retana, hires him for a fight on the following evening, he enlists the help of an old friend to be his picador. Although Zurito, his picador, strongly discourages Manuel, Manuel proceeds and is injured while fighting his first bull of the night.
48 pages, Paperback
First published September 1, 1927
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About the author
Ernest Hemingway
2,168 books32.1k 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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Displaying 1 - 30 of 40 reviews
May 13, 2019
Kitabın içerisinde üç öykü bulunuyor; Yenilmeyen Adam, Dünya Başkenti ve Elli Bin Dolar. Yenilmeyen Adam öyküsünde düşüşe geçmiş bir boğa güreşçisinin hikayesini anlatıyor. Elli Bin Dolar hikayesinde de son zamanlarını yaşayan bir boksörün hikayesi anlatılıyor. Kitabın dili sade ve akıcı bir şekilde okunuyor. Ernest Hemingway hayranıysanız okumadan geçmeyin derim.
December 26, 2017
Fantastic story. As some of the other reviewers have pointed out, yes bullfighting is a brutal sport and the young man isn’t exactly a hero, but neither of those observations get at the point of this story. This is a great example of Hemingway’s brutal and direct tone expressed through a story about struggle for all parties involved. It’s harsh and sad, but it says somethings about life. It’s the ugliness of it all that makes it so beautiful and compelling.
September 17, 2021
2 1/2 stars. There are many different interpretations about themes, etc. Being true to one's self even if society scorns you for it, building up and tearing down heroes, and others. My own take is that this man who returns to the bull fighting ring after being seriously injured and only given the night tournaments which is a real step down from his headliner days only sees himself as a bull fighter and refuses to change in spite of the fact he might be too old and injured to continue doing it. He is not willing to find something else to do like his friend the picador who has stopped doing that job because he realizes his time has come. Is it a good thing or bad thing that he refuses to give up because this is what he is? That is definitely up to the reader to decide.
Detailed description of a bull fight.
Detailed description of a bull fight.
July 21, 2016
Having recently seen a corrida in Madrid, I'd say Hemingway's description of this somewhat ritual sport was quite faithful to what I witnessed.
I feel that's all there is to this story though, I was thoroughly unimpressed.
I feel that's all there is to this story though, I was thoroughly unimpressed.
January 28, 2016
Never really knew before how cruel bullfighting is!!
November 15, 2018
Heart pounding, but very predictable. I must be fair, however. Perhaps at the time of writing the story, this kind of ending was not as cliched, or as predictable as it is nowadays.
December 4, 2019
I don’t know how he made a short story about a bullfight super boring, but he totally did.
February 5, 2024
#novellresan2024
August 19, 2025
Pierwsze opowiadanie, które udało mi się przeczytać tego autora - było krótkie i naprawdę szybko się czytało ze względu na to, w jaki sposób piszę Hemingway. Jednak z powodu moich wartości ciężko czytało mi się opowiadanie, w którym jest opisana „Corrida”, ale muszę przyznać, że mimo wszystko byłam naprawdę zaciekawiona i bardzo dobrze została ona opisana krok po kroku. Opowiadanie z otwartym zakończeniem, które ma nas skłonić do refleksji. Uważam, że jednak mimo wszystko powinno się temu opowiadaniu poświęcić trochę więcej czasu, aby wyłapać z niego cały sens.
December 2, 2022
I read Hemingway for the first time and it was good, not bad
May 13, 2024
I am perpetually baffled by how so many are taken in by Hemingway’s schtick (including Hemingway himself, apparently, who fondly believed he was the consummate artist and up there with the very best).
The Undefeated is a so-so story of a rather unlucky bullfighter whose reputation is such that he is only grudgingly given one last chance and paid a pittance by a promoter doubtful whether he is doing the right thing, but . . .
What the bullfighter has going for him is pluck and a stubborn determination ‘not to let the bastards grind him down’ as we might say now. Good on him. But boy does Hemingway overdo it, and then some.
His description of the bullfight is overwritten, unclear and, worst of all for such an apparently exciting and dramatic spectacle, pretty bloody dull. And what is happening? Well, blowed if I know, and it doesn’t help when Hemingway - showing off a little, perhaps - uses Spanish words and technical terms he really can’t expect most of his readers to be familiar with.
A better writer would have made a clearer fist of it and drawn the reader along. As it is Hemingway seems to get carried away with his own interest in the spectacle and drones on for page after age, and leaves the reader far, far behind.
The dialogue - dialogue is often serenaded as Hemingway’s strong suit - is far too often painfully clunky and distressingly banal, and Hemingway’s reputed ‘lean, athletic and muscular’ prose is all too often plain gauche, flat and, well, pointless. Who does think this is in any way ‘good writing’?
There’s the nub of the mystery: the lit luvvies love him and analyse and interpret this and his other work to death: so in the lit luvvy version Manuel, the ragged toreador who makes a pig’s ear of his last chance becomes ‘a code hero’ - whatever that is - and the story is ‘a metaphor for Hemingway’s artistic creation’, the sword the bullfighter uses ‘a phallic symbol’.
I often suspect a lit luvvy would find significance in a cigarette butt if they knew where, when, how and why Hemingway had discarded it.
The bottom line is that The Undefeated has the bare bones of a good tale, one describing an ageing stubborn bullfighter trying to prove he is still not past it and might have made a good read in the hands of a talented writer. But Hemingway most certainly is not that writer.
The mystery is just how he originally achieved his exalted status and - despite a pretty thin output, to be frank - hung on to it. It wasn’t down to literary ability, that’s for sure.
The Undefeated is a so-so story of a rather unlucky bullfighter whose reputation is such that he is only grudgingly given one last chance and paid a pittance by a promoter doubtful whether he is doing the right thing, but . . .
What the bullfighter has going for him is pluck and a stubborn determination ‘not to let the bastards grind him down’ as we might say now. Good on him. But boy does Hemingway overdo it, and then some.
His description of the bullfight is overwritten, unclear and, worst of all for such an apparently exciting and dramatic spectacle, pretty bloody dull. And what is happening? Well, blowed if I know, and it doesn’t help when Hemingway - showing off a little, perhaps - uses Spanish words and technical terms he really can’t expect most of his readers to be familiar with.
A better writer would have made a clearer fist of it and drawn the reader along. As it is Hemingway seems to get carried away with his own interest in the spectacle and drones on for page after age, and leaves the reader far, far behind.
The dialogue - dialogue is often serenaded as Hemingway’s strong suit - is far too often painfully clunky and distressingly banal, and Hemingway’s reputed ‘lean, athletic and muscular’ prose is all too often plain gauche, flat and, well, pointless. Who does think this is in any way ‘good writing’?
There’s the nub of the mystery: the lit luvvies love him and analyse and interpret this and his other work to death: so in the lit luvvy version Manuel, the ragged toreador who makes a pig’s ear of his last chance becomes ‘a code hero’ - whatever that is - and the story is ‘a metaphor for Hemingway’s artistic creation’, the sword the bullfighter uses ‘a phallic symbol’.
I often suspect a lit luvvy would find significance in a cigarette butt if they knew where, when, how and why Hemingway had discarded it.
The bottom line is that The Undefeated has the bare bones of a good tale, one describing an ageing stubborn bullfighter trying to prove he is still not past it and might have made a good read in the hands of a talented writer. But Hemingway most certainly is not that writer.
The mystery is just how he originally achieved his exalted status and - despite a pretty thin output, to be frank - hung on to it. It wasn’t down to literary ability, that’s for sure.
August 12, 2024
A terrible story about bullfighting “corrida “—barbaric sadism that still exists, a disgrace to the civilized world and Spain. A pathetic little man with an addiction tries to assert himself by killing animals. The worst of the author's stories.
January 28, 2020
An appropriate selection for a plane ride to Spain 😉
June 13, 2022
The way Hemingway writes about bullfighting is incredible. The swift movements almost like a dance contrasted with the brutality and mortality inherent to the sport.
May 19, 2022
Hemingway's "The Undefeated" is a short story about a man's need to work as a bull fighter, he cannot fathom being anything else, though he recently had an injury that needed hospitalization. He is given an unpopular time slot and lower wages than expected. I prefer Hemingway's fishing stories and not being a fan of bullfighting, never saw one but the thought of bloody sport is horrifying. I found a fair amount of this story tiring but the beginning and ending made it worth it.
Story in short- Manuel takes whatever manager, Retana offers him.
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“Who’s there?” said someone in the office. “Me, Manolo,” Manuel said. “What do you want?” asked the voice. “I want to work,” Manuel said.
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Something in the door clicked several times and it swung open. Manuel went in, carrying his suitcase. A little man sat behind a desk at the far side of the room. Over his head was a bull’s head, stuffed by a Madrid taxidermist; on the walls were framed photographs and bull-fight posters. The little man sat looking at Manuel. “I thought they’d killed you,” he said.
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Manuel knocked with his knuckles on the desk. The little man sat looking at him across the desk. “How many corridas you had this year?” Retana asked. “One,” he answered. “Just that one?” the little man asked. “That’s all.” “I read about it in the papers,” Retana said. He leaned back in the chair and looked at Manuel. Manuel looked up at the stuffed bull. He had seen it often before. He felt a certain family interest in it. It
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had killed his brother, the promising one, about nine years ago. Manuel remembered the day. There was a brass plate on the oak shield the bull’s head was mounted on. Manuel could not read it, but he imagined it was in memory of his brother. Well, he had been a good kid.
❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌spoiler alert ❌❌❌❌❌
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“Why don’t you put me on next week?” Manuel suggested. “You wouldn’t draw,” Retana said. “All they want is Litri and Rubito and La Torre. Those kids are good.” “They’d come to see me get it,” Manuel said, hopefully. “No, they wouldn’t. They don’t know who you are any more.” “I’ve got a lot of stuff,” Manuel said. “I’m offering to put you on tomorrow night,” Retana said. “You can work with young Hernandez
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and kill two novillos after the Charlots.” “Whose novillos?” Manuel asked. “I don’t know. Whatever stuff they’ve got in the corrals. What the veterinaries won’t pass in the daytime.” “I don’t like to substitute,” Manuel said. “You can take it or leave it,” Retana said. He leaned forward over the papers. He was no longer interested. The appeal that Manuel had made to him for a moment when he thought of the old days was gone.
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He would like to get him to substitute for Larita because he could get him cheaply. He could get others cheaply too. He would like to help him though. Still he had given him the chance. It was up to him. “How much do I get?” Manuel asked. He was still playing with the idea of refusing. But he knew he could not refuse. “Two hundred and fifty pesetas,” Retana said. He had thought of five hundred, but when he opened his mouth it said two hundred and fifty.
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“There’re the regular pics,” he offered. “I know,” Manuel said. “I know your regular pics.” Retana did not smile. Manuel knew it was over. “All I want is an even break,” Manuel said reasoningly. “When I go out there I want to be able to call my shots on the bull. It only takes one good picador.” He was talking to a man who was no longer listening. “If you want something extra,” Retana said, “go and get it. There
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“Is Chaves hurt bad?” the second waiter asked Manuel. “I don’t know,” Manuel said, “Retana didn’t say.” “A hell of a lot he cares,” the tall waiter said. Manuel had not seen him before. He must have just come up. “If you stand in with Retana in this town, you’re a made man,” the tall waiter said. “If you aren’t in with him, you might just as well go out and shoot yourself.”
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“That’s it. I figured if I had just one good pic, I could get away with it.” “How much are you getting?” “Three hundred pesetas.” “I get more than that for pic-ing.” “I know,” said Manuel. “I didn’t have any right to ask you.” “What do you keep on doing it for?” Zurito asked. “Why don’t you cut off your coleta, Manolo?” “I don’t know,” Manuel said. “You’re pretty near as old as I am,” Zurito said.
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“I don’t know,” Manuel said. “I got to do it. If I can fix it so that I get an even break, that’s all I want. I got to stick with it, Manos.” “No, you don’t.” “Yes, I do. I’ve tried keeping away from it.” “I know how you feel. But it isn’t right. You ought to get out and stay out.” “I can’t do it. Besides, I’ve been going good lately.” Zurito looked at his face. “You’ve been in the hospital.”
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“But I was going great when I got hurt.” Zurito said nothing. He tipped the cognac out of his saucer into his glass. “The papers said they never saw a better faena,” Manuel said. Zurito looked at him. “You know when I get going I’m good,” Manuel said. “You’re too old,” the picador said. “No,” said Manuel. “You’re ten years older than I am.” “With me it’s different.” “I’m not too old,” Manuel said.
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They sat silent, Manuel watching the picador’s face. “I was going great till I got hurt,” Manuel offered. “You ought to have seen me, Manos,” Manuel said, reproachfully. “I don’t want to see you,” Zurito said. “It makes me nervous.” “You haven’t seen me lately.” “I’ve seen you plenty.” Zurito looked at Manuel, avoiding his eyes. “You ought to quit it, Manolo.” “I can’t,” Manuel said. “I’m going good now, I tell you.”
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Zurito leaned forward, his hands on the table. “Listen. I’ll pic for you and if you don’t go big tomorrow night, you’ll quit. See? Will you do that?” “Sure.” Zurito leaned back, relieved. “You got to quit,” he said. “No monkey business. You got to cut the coleta.” “I won’t have to quit,” Manuel said. “You watch me. I’ve got the stuff.” Zurito stood up. He felt tired from arguing.
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“You got to quit,” he said. “I’ll cut your coleta myself.” “No, you won’t,” Manuel said. “You won’t have a chance.” Zurito called the waiter. “Come on,” said Zurito. “Come on up to the house.” Manuel reached under the seat for his suitcase. He was happy. He knew Zurito would pic for him. He was the best picador living. It was all simple now. “Come on up to the house and we’ll eat,” Zurito said.
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“If it was Belmonte doing that stuff, they’d go crazy,” Retana’s man said. Zurito said nothing. He was watching Manuel out in the center of the arena. “Where did the boss dig this fellow up?” Retana’s man asked. “Out of the hospital,” Zurito said. “That’s where he’s going damn quick,” Retana’s man said. Zurito turned on him. “Knock on that,” he said, pointing to the barrera.
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“I was just kidding, man,” Retana’s man said. “Knock on the wood.” Retana’s man leaned forward and knocked three times on the barrera. “Watch the faena,” Zurito said. Out in the center of the ring, under the lights, Manuel was kneeling, facing the bull, and as he raised the muleta in both hands the bull charged, tail up. Manuel swung his body clear and, as the bull recharged, brought around the muleta in a half-circle that pulled the bull to his knees.
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All right, you bastard! Manuel drew the sword out of the muleta, sighted with the same movement, and flung himself onto the bull. He felt the sword go in all the way. Right up to the guard. Four fingers and his thumb into the bull. The blood was hot on his knuckles, and he was on top of the bull.
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The bull lurched with him as he lay on, and seemed to sink; then he was standing clear. He looked at the bull going down slowly over on his side, then suddenly four feet in the air. Then he gestured at the crowd, his hand warm from the bull blood. All right, you bastards! He wanted to say something, but he started to cough. It was hot and choking. He looked down for the muleta. He must go over and salute the president. President hell! He was sitting down looking at something. It was the bull. His four feet up. Thick tongue out. Things crawling around on his belly and under his legs. Crawling where the hair was thin. Dead bull. To hell with the bull! To hell with them all! He started to get to his feet and commenced to cough. He sat down again, coughing. Somebody came and pushed him up. They carried him across the ring to the infirmary, running with him across the sand, standing blocked at the gate as the mules came in, then around under the dark passageway,
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men grunting as they took him up the stairway, and then laid him down. The doctor and two men in white were waiting for him. They laid him out on the table. They were cutting away his shirt. Manuel felt tired. His whole chest felt scalding inside. He started to cough and they held something to his mouth. Everybody was very busy. There was an electric light in his eyes. He shut his eyes. He heard someone coming very heavily up the stairs. Then he did
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not hear it. Then he heard a noise far off. That was the crowd. Well, somebody would have to kill his other bull. They had cut away all his shirt. The doctor smiled at him. There was Retana. “Hello, Retana!” Manuel said. He could not hear his voice. Retana smiled at him and said something. Manuel could not hear it. Zurito stood beside the table, bending over where the doctor was working. He was in his picador clothes, without his hat.
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Zurito said something to him. Manuel could not hear it. Zurito was speaking to Retana. One of the men in white smiled and handed Retana a pair of scissors. Retana gave them to Zurito. Zurito said something to Manuel. He could not hear it. To hell with this operating-table. He’d been on plenty of operating-tables before. He was not going to die. There would be a priest if he was going to die. Zurito was saying something to him. Holding up the scissors.
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That was it. They were going to cut off his coleta. They were going to cut off his pigtail. Manuel sat up on the operating-table. The doctor stepped back, angry. Someone grabbed him and held him. “You couldn’t do a thing like that, Manos,” he said. He heard suddenly, clearly, Zurito’s voice. “That’s all right,” Zurito said. “I won’t do it. I was joking.”
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“I was going good,” Manuel said. “I didn’t have any luck. That was all.” Manuel lay back. They had put something over his face. It was all familiar. He inhaled deeply. He felt very tired. He was very, very tired. They took the thing away from his face. “I was going good,” Manuel said weakly. “I was going great.” Retana looked at Zurito and started for the door. “I’ll stay here with him,” Zurito said.
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Retana shrugged his shoulders. Manuel opened his eyes and looked at Zurito. “Wasn’t I going good, Manos?” he asked, for confirmation. “Sure,” said Zurito. “You were going great.” The doctor’s assistant put the cone over Manuel’s face and he inhaled deeply. Zurito stood awkwardly, watching.
I wonder if Manuel survives and if he does I see him doing it all over again.
Story in short- Manuel takes whatever manager, Retana offers him.
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“Who’s there?” said someone in the office. “Me, Manolo,” Manuel said. “What do you want?” asked the voice. “I want to work,” Manuel said.
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Something in the door clicked several times and it swung open. Manuel went in, carrying his suitcase. A little man sat behind a desk at the far side of the room. Over his head was a bull’s head, stuffed by a Madrid taxidermist; on the walls were framed photographs and bull-fight posters. The little man sat looking at Manuel. “I thought they’d killed you,” he said.
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Manuel knocked with his knuckles on the desk. The little man sat looking at him across the desk. “How many corridas you had this year?” Retana asked. “One,” he answered. “Just that one?” the little man asked. “That’s all.” “I read about it in the papers,” Retana said. He leaned back in the chair and looked at Manuel. Manuel looked up at the stuffed bull. He had seen it often before. He felt a certain family interest in it. It
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had killed his brother, the promising one, about nine years ago. Manuel remembered the day. There was a brass plate on the oak shield the bull’s head was mounted on. Manuel could not read it, but he imagined it was in memory of his brother. Well, he had been a good kid.
❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌spoiler alert ❌❌❌❌❌
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“Why don’t you put me on next week?” Manuel suggested. “You wouldn’t draw,” Retana said. “All they want is Litri and Rubito and La Torre. Those kids are good.” “They’d come to see me get it,” Manuel said, hopefully. “No, they wouldn’t. They don’t know who you are any more.” “I’ve got a lot of stuff,” Manuel said. “I’m offering to put you on tomorrow night,” Retana said. “You can work with young Hernandez
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and kill two novillos after the Charlots.” “Whose novillos?” Manuel asked. “I don’t know. Whatever stuff they’ve got in the corrals. What the veterinaries won’t pass in the daytime.” “I don’t like to substitute,” Manuel said. “You can take it or leave it,” Retana said. He leaned forward over the papers. He was no longer interested. The appeal that Manuel had made to him for a moment when he thought of the old days was gone.
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He would like to get him to substitute for Larita because he could get him cheaply. He could get others cheaply too. He would like to help him though. Still he had given him the chance. It was up to him. “How much do I get?” Manuel asked. He was still playing with the idea of refusing. But he knew he could not refuse. “Two hundred and fifty pesetas,” Retana said. He had thought of five hundred, but when he opened his mouth it said two hundred and fifty.
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“There’re the regular pics,” he offered. “I know,” Manuel said. “I know your regular pics.” Retana did not smile. Manuel knew it was over. “All I want is an even break,” Manuel said reasoningly. “When I go out there I want to be able to call my shots on the bull. It only takes one good picador.” He was talking to a man who was no longer listening. “If you want something extra,” Retana said, “go and get it. There
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“Is Chaves hurt bad?” the second waiter asked Manuel. “I don’t know,” Manuel said, “Retana didn’t say.” “A hell of a lot he cares,” the tall waiter said. Manuel had not seen him before. He must have just come up. “If you stand in with Retana in this town, you’re a made man,” the tall waiter said. “If you aren’t in with him, you might just as well go out and shoot yourself.”
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“That’s it. I figured if I had just one good pic, I could get away with it.” “How much are you getting?” “Three hundred pesetas.” “I get more than that for pic-ing.” “I know,” said Manuel. “I didn’t have any right to ask you.” “What do you keep on doing it for?” Zurito asked. “Why don’t you cut off your coleta, Manolo?” “I don’t know,” Manuel said. “You’re pretty near as old as I am,” Zurito said.
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“I don’t know,” Manuel said. “I got to do it. If I can fix it so that I get an even break, that’s all I want. I got to stick with it, Manos.” “No, you don’t.” “Yes, I do. I’ve tried keeping away from it.” “I know how you feel. But it isn’t right. You ought to get out and stay out.” “I can’t do it. Besides, I’ve been going good lately.” Zurito looked at his face. “You’ve been in the hospital.”
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“But I was going great when I got hurt.” Zurito said nothing. He tipped the cognac out of his saucer into his glass. “The papers said they never saw a better faena,” Manuel said. Zurito looked at him. “You know when I get going I’m good,” Manuel said. “You’re too old,” the picador said. “No,” said Manuel. “You’re ten years older than I am.” “With me it’s different.” “I’m not too old,” Manuel said.
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They sat silent, Manuel watching the picador’s face. “I was going great till I got hurt,” Manuel offered. “You ought to have seen me, Manos,” Manuel said, reproachfully. “I don’t want to see you,” Zurito said. “It makes me nervous.” “You haven’t seen me lately.” “I’ve seen you plenty.” Zurito looked at Manuel, avoiding his eyes. “You ought to quit it, Manolo.” “I can’t,” Manuel said. “I’m going good now, I tell you.”
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Zurito leaned forward, his hands on the table. “Listen. I’ll pic for you and if you don’t go big tomorrow night, you’ll quit. See? Will you do that?” “Sure.” Zurito leaned back, relieved. “You got to quit,” he said. “No monkey business. You got to cut the coleta.” “I won’t have to quit,” Manuel said. “You watch me. I’ve got the stuff.” Zurito stood up. He felt tired from arguing.
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“You got to quit,” he said. “I’ll cut your coleta myself.” “No, you won’t,” Manuel said. “You won’t have a chance.” Zurito called the waiter. “Come on,” said Zurito. “Come on up to the house.” Manuel reached under the seat for his suitcase. He was happy. He knew Zurito would pic for him. He was the best picador living. It was all simple now. “Come on up to the house and we’ll eat,” Zurito said.
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“If it was Belmonte doing that stuff, they’d go crazy,” Retana’s man said. Zurito said nothing. He was watching Manuel out in the center of the arena. “Where did the boss dig this fellow up?” Retana’s man asked. “Out of the hospital,” Zurito said. “That’s where he’s going damn quick,” Retana’s man said. Zurito turned on him. “Knock on that,” he said, pointing to the barrera.
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“I was just kidding, man,” Retana’s man said. “Knock on the wood.” Retana’s man leaned forward and knocked three times on the barrera. “Watch the faena,” Zurito said. Out in the center of the ring, under the lights, Manuel was kneeling, facing the bull, and as he raised the muleta in both hands the bull charged, tail up. Manuel swung his body clear and, as the bull recharged, brought around the muleta in a half-circle that pulled the bull to his knees.
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All right, you bastard! Manuel drew the sword out of the muleta, sighted with the same movement, and flung himself onto the bull. He felt the sword go in all the way. Right up to the guard. Four fingers and his thumb into the bull. The blood was hot on his knuckles, and he was on top of the bull.
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The bull lurched with him as he lay on, and seemed to sink; then he was standing clear. He looked at the bull going down slowly over on his side, then suddenly four feet in the air. Then he gestured at the crowd, his hand warm from the bull blood. All right, you bastards! He wanted to say something, but he started to cough. It was hot and choking. He looked down for the muleta. He must go over and salute the president. President hell! He was sitting down looking at something. It was the bull. His four feet up. Thick tongue out. Things crawling around on his belly and under his legs. Crawling where the hair was thin. Dead bull. To hell with the bull! To hell with them all! He started to get to his feet and commenced to cough. He sat down again, coughing. Somebody came and pushed him up. They carried him across the ring to the infirmary, running with him across the sand, standing blocked at the gate as the mules came in, then around under the dark passageway,
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men grunting as they took him up the stairway, and then laid him down. The doctor and two men in white were waiting for him. They laid him out on the table. They were cutting away his shirt. Manuel felt tired. His whole chest felt scalding inside. He started to cough and they held something to his mouth. Everybody was very busy. There was an electric light in his eyes. He shut his eyes. He heard someone coming very heavily up the stairs. Then he did
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not hear it. Then he heard a noise far off. That was the crowd. Well, somebody would have to kill his other bull. They had cut away all his shirt. The doctor smiled at him. There was Retana. “Hello, Retana!” Manuel said. He could not hear his voice. Retana smiled at him and said something. Manuel could not hear it. Zurito stood beside the table, bending over where the doctor was working. He was in his picador clothes, without his hat.
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Zurito said something to him. Manuel could not hear it. Zurito was speaking to Retana. One of the men in white smiled and handed Retana a pair of scissors. Retana gave them to Zurito. Zurito said something to Manuel. He could not hear it. To hell with this operating-table. He’d been on plenty of operating-tables before. He was not going to die. There would be a priest if he was going to die. Zurito was saying something to him. Holding up the scissors.
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That was it. They were going to cut off his coleta. They were going to cut off his pigtail. Manuel sat up on the operating-table. The doctor stepped back, angry. Someone grabbed him and held him. “You couldn’t do a thing like that, Manos,” he said. He heard suddenly, clearly, Zurito’s voice. “That’s all right,” Zurito said. “I won’t do it. I was joking.”
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“I was going good,” Manuel said. “I didn’t have any luck. That was all.” Manuel lay back. They had put something over his face. It was all familiar. He inhaled deeply. He felt very tired. He was very, very tired. They took the thing away from his face. “I was going good,” Manuel said weakly. “I was going great.” Retana looked at Zurito and started for the door. “I’ll stay here with him,” Zurito said.
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Retana shrugged his shoulders. Manuel opened his eyes and looked at Zurito. “Wasn’t I going good, Manos?” he asked, for confirmation. “Sure,” said Zurito. “You were going great.” The doctor’s assistant put the cone over Manuel’s face and he inhaled deeply. Zurito stood awkwardly, watching.
I wonder if Manuel survives and if he does I see him doing it all over again.
July 7, 2025
The main story is about a Spanish-style bullfighting. The Bullfighting is the protagonist. Not a topic that I enjoy, but I understand how we view that sport has changed a lot in the pass 100 years. The story is mainly about the man, his personality, on how he view things in life.
I have read three stories of him. I still don't like his style/prose/themes. I just keep read it 'cause it's in my Banana Fish challenge.
Episode 20: The undefeated ✅
My thougts on why MAPPA choose this story. BANANA FISH (ANIME) SPOILERS
I have read three stories of him. I still don't like his style/prose/themes. I just keep read it 'cause it's in my Banana Fish challenge.
Episode 20: The undefeated ✅
My thougts on why MAPPA choose this story. BANANA FISH (ANIME) SPOILERS
April 20, 2024
I hate how I have read all the reviews for this superb short story so far and it seems like it’s just a bunch of elitist snobs with huge egos giving the bad reviews. I’d like to say to the few negative reviews saying basically they know hemingways style and this was dull, boring, predictable, etc.. you’re crazy. I’ve read a lot of Hemingway now I had no idea if Manuel was going to kill the bull or vice versa. Hemingway tends to choose the sad ending that tugs at your heart strings (farewell to arms, for whom the bell tolls, old man and the sea) so for Manuel to have slayed the bull and possibly lived to see another fight, I loved it. For once I didn’t have to weep myself to sleep after finishing a Hemingway novel/short story.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
December 28, 2024
Det är svårt att betygsätta novellsamlingar. Ska man sträva efter ett genomsnitt för att jämna ut toppar och dalar eller ett medianvärde som på liknande sätt både bortser från och hedrar extremerna?
Hemingways romaner (de jag läst) har alla haft tid på sig att förmedla sina bilder, medan novellerna i den här samlingen har ett mer brådskande uppdrag. De blir mer än en samling berättelser en samling exempel på hans stil/form. En slags litterär portfolio.
Kanske är det därför jag inte uppskattar denna, trots vissa guldkorn? För att mycket av den ständiga uppståndelsen kring Hemingway i huvudsak kretsar kring stil/form och honom själv, och mindre kring vad han faktiskt vill säga?
Kanske det. Hursomhelst var det inget här som kändes särskilt värt att lyssna på.
Hemingways romaner (de jag läst) har alla haft tid på sig att förmedla sina bilder, medan novellerna i den här samlingen har ett mer brådskande uppdrag. De blir mer än en samling berättelser en samling exempel på hans stil/form. En slags litterär portfolio.
Kanske är det därför jag inte uppskattar denna, trots vissa guldkorn? För att mycket av den ständiga uppståndelsen kring Hemingway i huvudsak kretsar kring stil/form och honom själv, och mindre kring vad han faktiskt vill säga?
Kanske det. Hursomhelst var det inget här som kändes särskilt värt att lyssna på.
May 10, 2025
To me, "The Undefeated" was a story about a man who couldn't let go. A man who couldn't understand that maybe he's not cut out for what he was so cut out to do. A story about him, and how other men can see it, but they understand that they can't make that choice for him due to his extreme stubborness. Why does he not quit? Is it fear? Is it really because he needs the money? Is it because he knows nothing else.
Beautiful short read. Hemingways dialogues are always the highlight of his stories, but even more so here, due to my honest confusion at some of the bullfighting
sequences, and unfamiliar terminology.
Beautiful short read. Hemingways dialogues are always the highlight of his stories, but even more so here, due to my honest confusion at some of the bullfighting
sequences, and unfamiliar terminology.
September 11, 2025
2.5/5 A story of a bullfighters pride and unwillingness to let go. It is somewhat compelling, if just a bit uninteresting. The characters are sufficiently fleshed out for a short story, however the dialogue is a bit clunky at times. The bullfighting was stimulating enough, but the use of unexplained Spanish bullfighting slang really slows it down for me. It's already a bit of a pain to read now, when I can look up what these terms are, but when this was written there would have scarcely been any readers that would have understood exactly what was going on. Even fixing these issues the story is still about average.
April 23, 2020
" إذا قصدتنا كل ام لمصارع لالغاء الحفلة الخاصة بابنها فسنغلق هذا المكتب "
"إيزابيلا، لماذا احببتني الان"
" لقد قلت لكِ، اننا رجال بلا نساء، لا يمكننا ان نحب ونصارع الثيران في الوقت نفسه "
" إلي الجحيم جميعاً "
مانويل شاب يمارس مصارعة الثيران توفي اخوه في مصارعة مشابهة واوصاه بأن يقتل كل ثور يجابهه انتقاماً له، احب مانويل إيزابيلا التي لا تهتم لمصارعة الثيران وتدور الاحداث حول مصارعة مانويل لثور قتل احد الابطال في هذه الرياضة العنيفة، تحاول كلاً من ايزابيلا وامه ان يقلع مانويل عن هذه المصارعة ولكنه يصر على ان يكملها وينتهي به الحال في المشفى بعد ان قتل الثور واصيب منه.
"إيزابيلا، لماذا احببتني الان"
" لقد قلت لكِ، اننا رجال بلا نساء، لا يمكننا ان نحب ونصارع الثيران في الوقت نفسه "
" إلي الجحيم جميعاً "
مانويل شاب يمارس مصارعة الثيران توفي اخوه في مصارعة مشابهة واوصاه بأن يقتل كل ثور يجابهه انتقاماً له، احب مانويل إيزابيلا التي لا تهتم لمصارعة الثيران وتدور الاحداث حول مصارعة مانويل لثور قتل احد الابطال في هذه الرياضة العنيفة، تحاول كلاً من ايزابيلا وامه ان يقلع مانويل عن هذه المصارعة ولكنه يصر على ان يكملها وينتهي به الحال في المشفى بعد ان قتل الثور واصيب منه.
May 13, 2024
I just started reading Hemingway and I hope this was the worst book he wrote and not a piece indicative of his literary prowess because it was completely boring and predictable. The writing style is clunky and the dialogue is banal, redundant and repetitive. He uses a lot of Spanish words which does not make comprehension easy. And was overly descriptive of details which bear no significance to the plot. There was little attention paid to plot development and this was an abysmal disappointment.
January 7, 2018
Bu kitapta sadece bir öykü değil aynı zamanda "boğa güreşleri" hakkında birçok terime rastlayacaksınız.
Açıkçası kitapta her İspanyolca/Latin terimde birer dipnot kullanılması okuyucu açısından sıkıntı yaratabiliyor.
Öykü ise gayet açık ve akıcı bir dile sahip. Hemingway'ın bu kitabı favorilerimin arasına girdi.
Açıkçası kitapta her İspanyolca/Latin terimde birer dipnot kullanılması okuyucu açısından sıkıntı yaratabiliyor.
Öykü ise gayet açık ve akıcı bir dile sahip. Hemingway'ın bu kitabı favorilerimin arasına girdi.
April 13, 2024
Det første Ernest Hemingway jeg rigtig har læst, og jeg er egentlig positivt overrasket. En kort historie om en tyrefægter, der nok egentlig er for gammel og slidt til at blive ved, men han har en sidste chance for at bevise sit værd. Slutningen er rimelig forudsigelig, men generelt en god fortælling om maskulinitet og stolthed på spil
June 21, 2020
A unlucky matador wants to show he still has the right stuff, accepts a pittance to fight in an evening event. The description of the bull fight is done well and makes the reader feel like they are witnessing. How this brutal sport can be the national sport of Spain is beyond understanding,
December 12, 2020
Wouldn't read again. It was "The Old Man and the Sea" approach to the bull fighting setting. Since I know the author, it was rather predictable. I'm not into the whole bull fighting scene and this big didn't pull me in.
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January 8, 2025My favorite of his short stories I've so far read probably. Great tragic spectacle. Excellent questions of meaning and fatalism. Stubbornness and human cruelty. Very good. Surprisingly immersive prose for the bull fight, one of the rare instances the book became a movie to my imagination.
July 7, 2025
This short story was in men without women but there was not one woman character so I think hemingway reversed psychologyd it to show that the absence of women is loud ~ because this stubborn man aka Manuel is putting his life in danger to boost his ego
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January 6, 2021One of the more heartbreaking matador stories. As if any matador story by Hemingway isn't heartbreaking, just a little bit.
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