SIX HEMINGWAY

An internal reality

Ford’s personality is embedded in the fictional reality he constructs in The Good Solder and his voice in A Paris Letter. The protagonist of Soldier, John Dowell, narrates the emotional dissolution of his marriage in an introspective manner. Dowell’s characterization evokes pity instead of sympathy for the protagonist. In relation to my personal experience, it reminds me of self-deception or self-denial in traumatic situations. In Dowell’s complaints, we detect a sense of inferiority underlying his superficially arrogant tone. Finally, with greater investigation we can observe how Ford’s Paris in Soldier connects to the one he interacted with in reality, which he presents in Letter, as Soldier brings to mind another aspect of Paris — the notorious promiscuity of Parisians.

First, Dowell, like his creator (whom Hemingway introduces), has an affirmative voice, which may even come across as off-putting to the reader at first. As Part II of the novel, this segment flashes back into Dowell’s first encounter, courtship and subsequent affairs of his wife, Florence. Dowell portrays Florence as a woman who saw marriage as a channel to attain her rather unrealistic (given her American background) envisioned European lifestyle. 

She wanted to marry a gentleman of leisure; she wanted a European establishment. She wanted her husband to have an English accent, an income of fifty thousand dollars a year from real estate and no ambitions to increase that income…She gave cut this information in floods of bright talk—she would pop a little bit of it into comments over a view of the Rialto, Venice, and…would say that her ideal husband would he one who could get her received at the British Court.

Already Dowell’s presentation of Florence gives the reader a rather negative impression of her as she perceives marriage as a way to achieve her selfish desires. Such a description makes Dowell seem as though he is trying to appeal for sympathy from the reader for Florence’s subsequent betrayal, which was informed to the reader in Part I of the novel, for he married her despite her snobbish “English county society” ambitions. Dowell did not fulfill the criteria of being British, however, he was the only one in Florence’s suitors who was able and willing to offer Florence a life in Europe. As such, Florence decided to marry him, even before “she had..told [him] so”. 

Yet in Dowell’s depiction of Florence we get a sense of superiority or self-righteousness. This is because he is indirectly portraying himself in a heroic manner — satisfying the dreams of his love against all odds. He overcomes Florence’s aunts’ objections after proving his self-proclaimed “solid and serious virtues” and forsakes his life in America to marry the woman he desired. However, we fail to find sincerity in his voice due to this polarized portrayal of character dynamics.

He proceeds to argue that the passionless marriage was the fault of Florence, defending his lack of “warmth” as a sign of his upbringing as a “Philadelphia gentleman”. By depicting how his wife was a demanding and impatient bride, Dowell begins to present an annoying character of her as we begin to feel as though he is complaining to us. He is gathering evidence to prove that the marriage was doomed to fail right from the beginning and was the fault of the selfish Florence. It is noteworthy that he refers to her not as ‘my wife’ or ‘my Florence’, but an intentionally distant ‘Florence’. 

In relation to any personal experience of mine, Dowell appears to be a rather bitter man. He feels mistreated and believes that Florence’s betrayal was unjust. While I agree to that it is unfortunate and that Florence’s character is flawed, I find Dowell’s perception of his marriage equally problematic and this speaks of the underlying psychology of Ford’s protagonist. Dowell is escaping reality. The one he tells us, as an unreliable narrator, is the one in which he has little or no fault. He is “much the better man”, and each problem within that reality, such as the lack of sex in his marriage or Florence’s affairs, is the fault of someone or something else. On the surface, it appears to be an reflective examination of a series of events when it is in fact a biased perception of it. 

However, in the forced righteousness in Dowell’s voice we begin to suspect a sense of inferiority. He arms himself in the first half of this excerpt as a fine, worthy gentleman who did not deserve to be rejected in marriage, which was what Florence’s refusal to “physical passion” with him and adultery signified. Yet the fact is he was denied love and lust by the woman whose material desires he fulfilled. Dowell does not consider whether he lacked charm or was a failure in winning Florence’s heart over despite a nine year timeframe. The refrain to question this possibility could be due to a cowardice to confront it — a sign of self-denial.

Furthermore, Dowell continues to demolish the adulterer Jimmy, who “looked like sallow putty.” By stating how he “underst[ood] that (Jimmy) had been slim and dark and very graceful at the time of her first disgrace”, Dowell makes himself sound like a magnanimous man. Yet, he overlooks the fact that if Jimmy is as despicable as Dowell describes, it only demonstrates how Dowell cannot even match up to a “disreputable raven” like Jimmy. Whether Jimmy was truly such a chap is unbeknownst to the reader for we only perceive him through Dowell’s eyes.

On the other hand, he paints Edward, Florence’s second adulterer, in a better light. I believe this is strategic because Dowell had always held Edward in high regard. He asks the reader:

Have I conveyed to you the splendid fellow that he was—the fine soldier, the excellent landlord, the extraordinarily kind, careful and industrious magistrate, the upright, honest, fair-dealing, fair-thinking, public character?

If he were to discredit Edward, he would be acknowledging a misjudgment of character on his part — and he cannot be associated with any flaws. As such, he affirms that it is Florence who is the fundamental cause for the dissolution.

In contrast to the personal, emotional recount of Soldier, Letter appears to be more rational in its analysis of Paris. Interestingly, the subject at hand — infidelity — is also an easy association to the culture of Paris. While this aspect is not explicitly addressed in Letter, Ford crafts an atmosphere of Paris that seems to be fertile for such a liberal practice.

She has survived because the imaginations of her (Paris) poets in ink, colors, sounds or stones, have given to her visions an unrivalled clarity, a frigid rectitude, an almost unthinkable resilience. Her poets have at once breathed into her life and inspiration and conferred on her her unchanging immortality.

Paris will not submit or conform, Paris will survive as she wishes. In a similar fashion, so will love. Any attraction between two people will not be put out because social contracts such as marriage. If Parisian culture can resist being held against her will, passionate lovers can resist social constraints and love as they wish. It is this context that Ford selects for Florence’s first affair in Soldier, but the egotistic Dowell distracts us from this backdrop.