Data Bases • Custom Term Papers • Free Term Papers • Free Research Papers • Free Essays • Free Book Reports • Plagiarism? Links • Top 100 Term Paper Sites • Top 25 Essay Sites • Top 50 Essay Sites • Search 97,000 Papers @ DirectEssays.com • Search 101,000 Papers @ ExampleEssays.com • Search 90,000 Papers @ MegaEssays.com Free Essays • Term Paper Sites • Chuck III's Free Essays • Free College Essays • TermPaperSites.com • My Term Papers • Get Free Essays • Essay World • Planet Papers	Search Lots of Essays Back to Subjects - Poetry Hills Like White Elephants Hills Like White Elephants The Role of the Man in "Hills Like White Elephants": It is the early afternoon of a Tuesday, and it is raining. Surrounded by the calming non-inspiration of bare off-white walls, I sit and listen to the railing of my peers as they attempt to deconstruct the brilliance of a deceased writer. It is a usual Tuesday this semester. Seated in my accustomed place in the front row, just left of center, my eyes close to the high-keyed soprano and alto ranting of all the outspoken students, who are today, sadly, entirely female. They discuss back and forth the short story "Hills Like White Elephants," by Ernest Hemingway, and all that its symbolism means. They chat about choices and decision and isolation and worry. The speak of Jig, the girl in the story, and how she is facing the knowledge of the child she is carrying, and what she will do about it. They talk of the girl's youth and the imagery of setting of the tale - between a desert and lush valley, and how it represents the paths of her choice. Most evident to me, however, and indeed what moves me more than the story itself did, is that they thrash on about the overbearing and egotistical nature of the crass, thoughtless and blind Man in the writing, and how he is trying to force her to bend to his wishes. Nowhere in the room is there an once of compassion spoken on behalf of the Man, the father of the child. Not a peep is mentioned in reference to his own pain and struggle; it is an overlooked and disbelieved element in the conversation, and that fact haunts me. There is clear and reasonable evidence to support that the Man is going through just as much heartache over this decision as is the girl. Too often in today's culture a man's mindset is taken for granted in analytical forums, and the stereotype of pigheadedness sends awash many more proper interpretations of the innate male outlook. From grocery store lines to front porches, articles in magazines and newspapers bombard this society in the modern humor of 'man as dog' - depicting without censor the idea of men being empathetically ignorant and led by base sexual and simplistic urges. From sitcoms to feature films, today's comedy and societal focus seems to reverse with a vengeance the mentality of media's yesteryear, wherein women, we have been led to believe, were thought of as one-dimensional creatures. In what appears to have started as a hopeful reversal of sexist thought, the age-old battle of the sexes has been taken instead into a U-turn by its nose, flipped and skewered like so many over-zealous movements. In the short story "Hills Like White Elephants," author Hemingway brings forth a tale of the terrible burden set upon a young couple by the advent of an unexpected pregnancy and the decision that it forces them to make. We enter upon the scene at a time when they are in wait to board a train, which presumably will be taking them toward the path of aborting their child. Over the course of the text, we see the frustration of both characters, and are imparted their feelings through both the silence and the infrequent and short burst of conversation between them. Hemingway uses the characters' worry to progress the momentum of the work, as well as the symbolism of the setting in which they find themselves: A train station in the hot sun valley of the Ebro, a river in Spain, between two sets of tracks, clearly representing the apex of this choice they are making. They sit at a table in the shade of the building, which is essentially the point of origin of their life with this child, facing the direction from which they came and its line of barren white hills and brown and dry countryside. On the other side of the station, the side that holds the path they are waiting to take, the landscape is rich and full with grain and mountains and the river. Within the context of the story, there are long pauses, uncomfortable spaces, in which the characters exist, and the reader feels this discomfort with them. Their wait for the train is about forty minutes, and we are present for most of this time. In the course of this wait, however, there are only about eleven passages of dialog, and half of those are merely a handful of words long. This creates an atmosphere of disquiet, and their uneasy struggle is what draws the reader's interest. The thing that furthers this unrest more than anything is the Man's worry for the situation. He initiates conversation five times in the story, and four of those are out of concern for the girl and/or their circumstances; the girl, on the other hand, begins six passages of dialog, yet only one is out of that same manner of thought. His focus of attention, as depicted in the narration, is constantly on her or the table - the area immediately surrounding them; her concentration is along the horizon and to places distant from him and the situation. He wants to press on in the conversation; she wants not to talk about it or think about it... they drink four drinks together in the wait - three are ordered at her request, as conversation. It is this silent grappling between them that is the powerful force in the story, and it could not exist without each of them caring for the other and harboring feelings for their child. More than any other fact in the story, the Man's affection for the girl is evident. Seventeen times he relates his feelings for her, and seven of those times he reiterates that he doesn't want to go through anything that she doesn't want to do - that he's perfectly willing to go through with it (the pregnancy) if it (having the child) means anything to her. The difficulty and frustration for him is that she will not say what her feelings are one way or the other. She won't say that she wants to go through with it (the abortion). She won't say that she wants to have it (the baby). She is distant and despondent, and seemingly relying on him when it is not his choice alone to make. Jig asks him, in reference to his wanting to go through with the abortion, "And you really want to?" (322). The position he is placed in is as unfair as the position she is in herself, yet he is the only one who states his opinion, which is: "I think it' s the best thing to do [having the abortion]. But I don't want you to do it if you don't really want to" (322). He thinks they will be better off without a child, and that this operation is the best course of action, not that he necessarily wants to take this course, as the line before suggestively asks. It is not stated in the story why he feel this way, apart from the comments made to Jig about the pregnancy being "the only thing that bothers us. It's the only thing that's made us unhappy" (322). It could be that he doesn't feel they are ready to be parents yet. It could be he wants them to experience more of life and be free to do all the things they have always talked about doing, before settling down. It could be fear. He seems to be a young man in his prime, traveling Europe with his unwed beloved, and terrified of the prospect of all that a child will bring to their world. Being faced with parenthood is a daunting thing even for those who are wishing for it, let alone for those who are not at all prepared. He does care for the child, but is unsure of the idea of it at this point in their lives. She asks him, "Doesn't it mean anything to you?" (323), to which he responds, "Of course it does. But I don't want anyone else but you. I don't want anyone else" (323). He does not want to force her into something she doesn't want to do, but she won't say with conviction whether or not she wants this choice. "So have I," she says, in mention to his knowing lots of people that have done it. "And afterward they were all so happy" (322); "But I don't care about me. And I'll do it, and then everything will be fine?" (323) - these are the only two times in the story where she vocally seems to favor one side over the other, and in both instances it is clear her decision is far from steady. In both instances, as well, he immediately follows by saying that he doesn't want her to go through with anything if she doesn't want to. They are both trying to set the difficult and painful choice on the other's shoulders so as to be free of the guilt that they seem to instinctually know will follow. He wants the decision to be hers, so he can be safe that it was her decision. She wants him to say with certainty that he wants her to go through with it, so she can not have to make the decision herself. Five times in the text she tries to place the burden of their choice's outcome on him, and both times she states that she will do it, she amends those declarations with the words "I don't care about me". In getting a murky, if not apathetic response from the girl, thus having no other recourse and not knowing what else to do, he carries forward the path on which they were already traveling. There is little else for him to do in this situation, as their mutual uncertainty leaves them in a state of perpetual stagnation. Picking up their heavy bags and carrying them to the other side of the station, the hopeful, bountiful side, with a shadow of a cloud moving across the field of grain, the symbolic setting of the story effects him as well. He looks up the tracks but does not see the train - which seems to add to his hesitation, as he doesn't return directly to the girl, but instead stops at the bar for a drink on his way back to their table. "He drank an Anis at the bar and looked at the people. They were all waiting reasonably for the train" (324). Reasonably is the focal word in that sentence, and stands out with striking contrast to the awkward emotions that seem to run through him in the moment. Leaving the bar in the next sentence, he returns to the girl at the table, who smiles at him with all the frustratingly-false contentment that she has presented over the majority of the story. She sits at the table, from his view against the backdrop of a barren and desert landscape, with hills like white elephants along the horizon, beautifully representing the great gift of this child, and how it will bankrupt their live together. "Do you feel better?" he asks (324), in hopes that she has settled enough to finally talk about this - to tell him that she wants to go through with it. He is hurting and confused as much as she is, but is clinging to the things that he can tangibly comprehend: the girl and their life together, just the two of them. The shadow in the valley on the other side of the station, blanketing their future, is the darkness of their decision - the thought and memory of their child that will follow them the rest of their lives; however, it is a life with hope, in his mind, as opposed to the barren alternative. All she needs to do is believe with him that it will be alright, and believe in the love between them. "I feel fine," she said. "There's nothing wrong with me. I feel fine" (324). He will get no such belief today, apparently - by either his love, or those who are reading his tale in this class. Bibliography: Word Count: 2050
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