Hemingway's Pilar: 

The Complex Woman as Historian and Conscience / Wise Woman, Lover, and Romantic / and Bearer of the Duende


by David Cope


In Cassandra's Daughters:  The Women in Hemingway (1984), Roger Whitlow discusses a variety of female types prominent in Hemingway's work, yet Pilar, the bold female leader who has taken control of Pablo's band of partizans in For Whom the Bell Tolls—a woman as complex as any of Hemingway's male heroes and far more interesting as a strong woman than any other character in his work—is given merely a few sentences which note the masculine quality critics have seen in her and the fact that she serves a "therapeutic" function for Maria. While Pilar is admired by some—Wirt Williams, for example, sees her as "established with deliberation as point-of-view authority and narrator" of the "set piece" detailing the massacre of the fascists in Pablo's home town (148)—she is dismissed as "the old gypsy whore from Andalusia" by Arturo Barea (205), and a host of critics (Meyers, Bessie, Waldmier, Sanderson, Scholes and Comley) have been more intent on finding parallels between her character and Gertrude Stein, Grace Hemingway, or even La Pasionaria, than on confronting Pilar in all her complexity.

Comley and Scholes, for example, come dangerously close to the kind of biographical reductionism that identifies characters not in terms of their intrinsic qualities and complexities, but as a stand-in for some person in the author's non-fictional life:  in such a view, Pilar is merely a "strong woman constructed by blending the maternal or nurturing type with that of the manly lesbian on the model of Gertrude Stein" (46).  Comley and Scholes cite a passage in which Robert Jordan makes a jest out of the smell of onions by parodying Stein's most famous line—"a rose is a rose is an onion . . . a stone is a stein is a rock is a boulder is a pebble" (FWBT 289)—as evidence that Pilar is an analogue for Stein: "just as Hemingway respected Stein's strength as a writer, Jordan respects Pilar's power as a teller of tales" (47).  Hemingway did learn a great deal about writing and story telling from Stein, but the facts—that the passage refers to putting onions in a sandwich, and that the speech puts Jordan with Agustín, with no reference to Pilar—are conveniently ignored in the rush to connect her with Stein.

A second problem is that with the iconic critics, whose approach to Pilar is a variation of symbolic reduction. To these critics, who include John J. Teunissen and Allen Josephs, she is the pillar of the novel, Nuestra Señora del Pilar, "Patroness of Spain, Spanishness itself" (Josephs 74), the "wise old woman" who leads "the way back and down to the dark gods within the individual and group psyche" (Teunissen 232).  Though these are accolades worthy of her character, even these observations focus too exclusively on Pilar's role as a mystery character, missing her narratological function and, ultimately, the complexities of the character she exhibits.

In spite of her intuitive and mysterious qualities, for example, Pilar informs the novel as a metacharacter whose very storytelling not only identifies Hemingway's own ideas about the role of the storyteller, but whose stories function reflexively as echoes of versions of the past, as savagely ironic commentary juxtaposed to events and characters in the novel's present, and as ethical and romantic models for both what has been lost and what wisdom has come from those losses:  her stories are  far more than "set pieces" in the novel. In her reactions to the horrors of the gauntlet, she not only exposes the politically explosive fact of republican brutality, but recalls the ethical foundation for the civilization being destroyed by everyone in the novel.  In her relationship to Maria, she is not only a surrogate mother and confidante, sister and (perhaps) a lover, protector and educator, but when one connects her attitudes, as seen in that relationship, to her earlier love for Finito, one may discover the fullness of her character as a romantic heroine—a fullness that is also too often neglected because critics focus on her body type, her statements that she is "ugly," the fact that she may have gypsy blood, and so on.  Yet she may be seen more clearly as  one who has loved deeply and lost her beloved, who has lingered long enough in that dream of what might have been to know what love really is, and consequently, as one whose wisdom enables the love affair of her surrogate child, Maria, a woman gang-raped by fascists and whom she protects from the men of her own band, a woman she guides skillfully toward the relationship with Jordan, in which she foresees a kind of healing.  Further, as a leader, Pilar displays that kind of strategic understanding that intuitively grasps the implications of Jordan's or Sordo's plans, and she is wise enough to know where she and others may contribute as followers—yet she also spots problems and acts swiftly to counter them:  she can be brutally honest, even savage, with the uncooperative Pablo, and yet one never gets the feeling that she is motivated by rage at him as a man, but only at his actions.  Pilar is also quick to forgive:  she is above all a nurturing presence, though this is sometimes obscured in the other personae she adopts as circumstances warrant.

Finally, as a prophet who intuits future events, reading Jordan's death in his palm or smelling death on one who is about to die, she bears both the peculiar "otherness" of those who are gypsies (though Hemingway never clarifies the extent to which she is a "gypsy," despite Barea's loud protestations to that effect) and opens those maddening questions about the nature of reality—not only why we suffer and what kind of god would allow it, but what kinds of knowledge are open to us as humans:  whether, for example, the deterministic materialism of the marxists—whose views have permeated the republican movement even to its peasant core, as seen in Joaquin's blind adherence to La Pasionaria's maxims or in Anselmo's struggle with the ethics of penance when "we no longer have religion" (196)—can account for wisdoms borne of the experience of massive suffering or the kind of foreknowing invested in a human consciousness alien to the empirical mindset.  The theme is never resolved in the novel: but Hemingway tantalizes us with it, and with the notion of something beyond this vale of tears, even as he forces us to explore the ways in which we tear each other and ourselves to pieces.  In that crucial interplay of realities, the central figure is Pilar herself, one who withholds or gives, closes or opens possibilities as her own scrupulously careful spirit dictates to her: Pilar is a character whose presence is pivotal in this, the greatest and most symphonic of Hemingway's novels:  though neither its major heroine nor main character, in a very real sense she is the rock upon which Hemingway built For Whom The Bell Tolls.



Shadowing the Author:  Pilar as Historian and Conscience


As a metacharacter, a figure replicating or shadowing  the author-function in her stories—the "set pieces" noted in the old criticism—Pilar provides a foundation for the entire action of the novel.  The gauntlet story, in which the Republicans of Pablo's village round up and systematically kill the fascists who had held power in that village (FWBT 98-130), does far more than illuminate Pablo's past leadership qualities or provide a criticism of those who see all war as a fight between "us" and "them":  her story tells the grim truth about the atrocities committed by both sides during the Spanish Civil War.  Gabrielle Ranzato notes the purges and massacres that marked both sides during every phase of the war, beginning with the Nationalist slaughter of 3000-4000 "reds" in the Plaza del Toros of Badajoz, the Republican slaughter of 2000 at Paracuellos de Jarama (93), the famous bombing of Guérnica, the systematic murder of local officials and priests, the exhumation and exhibition of the cadavers of religious people, and massacres eerily reminiscent of that described by Pilar, including "the 'Fascists' of Ronda who were thrown off a cliff, or those in Ciudad Real cast into the well of a mine, or of Santander, pushed off the shoal of Cabo Mayor" (Ranzato 95).  As such, Pilar is a mouthpiece for Hemingway's own horrified reaction to what was happening in Spain, but she also, like her creator, refuses to restrict her indictment to the cruelties of her enemies, seeing too that her own people are involved in it.

Pilar's tale more particularly serves to illustrate the entire psychology underlying the inhumane behaviors we now associate with all warfare, how any timid, "civilized" men can be converted to butchers when held in the spell of a mob.  Pilar's choices of what to tell and how to tell it mirror Hemingway's own goals in representing the horrors of the war without that ideological bias which accuses others while refusing to confront one's own behaviors.  Hemingway reflects this concern in a 1939 letter, where he claims that


I try to show all the different sides of it, taking it slowly and honestly and examining it from many ways. . . . We know war is bad . . . and any man who says it is not is a liar.  But it is very complicated and difficult to write about truly. . . . I would like to be able to write understandingly about both deserters and heroes, cowards and brave men, traitors and men who are not capable of being traitors.  (EH on Writing 23-24)


Jordan himself, noting the perfection with which Pilar tells the story, echoes this Hemingway credo when he says that "she's better than Quevedo . . . He never wrote the death of any Don Faustino as well as she told it."   Further, Jordan wishes he could "write well enough to write that story . . . What we did.   Not what the others did to us" (FWBT 134-35).

Thus Pilar's story is more than a mere set piece, yet it is as a psychologist that her peculiar power with words shines most brilliantly.  She not only deftly captures the gestures and speech of those men who in their horror, rage, and terror are dragged to their deaths, but also traces how the peasants agonize over the task Pablo has given them, and what ultimately converts these unwilling participants into mindless assassins:  first the defiance and insults of Don Ricardo arouse their blood "and where, before, they were performing a duty and with no great taste for it, now they were angry, and the difference was apparent" (FWBT 111).  Once aroused, they descend into cruelty when Don Faustino appears, terrified by his ordeal to come, and eventually the mob degenerates into vicious bestiality—attempting to set a corpse afire and ultimately engaging in orgiastic violence:


I saw the hall full of men flailing away with clubs and striking with flails, and poking and striking and pushing and heaving against people with the white wooden pitchforks that now were red and with their tines broken, and this was going on all over the room while Pablo sat in the big chair with his shotgun on his knees, watching, and they were shouting and clubbing and stabbing and men were screaming as horses scream in a fire.  (FWBT 125)


Through all of this, Pilar refuses to flinch from telling the truth carefully and in great detail.  Her honesty is not simply a political indictment, however, though many have taken it that way.  She is far more concerned to make Jordan understand what has happened to her land and her people, and to see just what a leader like Pablo is capable of.  Yet she is simultaneously the conscience whose horror reflects the civility that has been lost, and the bearer of tears, as in her memory of the woman weeping in the moonlight, a portrait in words worthy of Picasso's sorrowful 1937 portrait, Woman Weeping: 


I could see the square in the moonlight where the lines had been and across the square the trees shining in the moonlight, and the darkness of their shadows, and the benches bright too in the moonlight, and the scattered bodies shining, and beyond the edge of the cliff where they had all been thrown.  And there was no sound but the splashing of the water in the fountain and sat there and I thought we have begun badly. The window was open and up the square from the Fonda I could hear a woman crying.   I went out on the balcony standing there in my bare feet on the iron and the moon shone on the faces of all the buildings of the square and the crying was coming from the balcony of the house of Don Guillermo.  It was his wife and she was on the balcony kneeling and crying.  (FWBT 129)


Thus the story of the gauntlet illuminates Pilar as metacharacter replicating the authorial function, as an historian committed to the truth beyond ideology and political side-taking, as a careful observer of human mob psychology—grasping as well the motivations and peculiarities of individual responses within that mob.  We see her telling this story not only to warn Jordan about Pablo, but to make him understand, as well as a storyteller can, the depth of what her people have suffered, both as murderers and victims;  she provides the horrifying context for the coming attack and the partizans' part in it, blowing the bridge.



Pilar as Wise Woman, Lover and Romantic


Pilar's story of her love affair with Finito also serves multiple purposes.  Ostensibly a romantic memory of a now-fading past in which she found fulfillment with Finito, the story also contrasts with her current loveless relationship to Pablo and serves as a model of love's healing powers even when the beloved is dying.  Simultaneously, the tale mirrors the ecstacy of love, her sorrow at the loss of that love, yet it is also a passive-aggressive rebuke to Pablo for his neglect of her.  Beyond the personal motivations she may have in telling it in the present, the story also serves to explore the depths of both the heroism and savagery of the ritual violence of the bullfight, a metaphor central even to a peaceful Spain and a "master key to Spanish culture with its tragic sense of life" (Stanton 170).  As such, the bullfight story serves as a comment even on noncombatant civilization, where our darker impulses are channeled into ritual aggression.  Stanton links this ritualized aggression to modern warfare, suggesting that despite the horrors explicit in both, "men and women must also learn to live gracefully amidst the constant threat of annihilation" (170).  Given such a premise, it should be clear that Pilar's knowledge of the "darkness in us" which even Jordan knows nothing of suggests both her astute grasp of human nature and the cool perspective with which she is able to view the behavior of Pablo and others around her (Stanton 171). 

On another level, her passion for Finito is, as Pilar's experiences of la gloria of love and as an echo of the romantic Spain now being lost, directly comparable to that of Robert and Maria.  Like theirs, her love is initially astounding in its physical abandon:


We made love in the room with the strip wood blinds hanging over the balcony and a breeze through the opening of the top of the door which turned on hinges. We made love there, the room dark in the day time from the hanging blinds, and from the hanging blinds, and from the streets there was the scent of the flower market and the smell of burned powder from the firecrackers of the traca that ran through the streets exploding each noon during the Feria. (FWBT 85)


There are differences, of course:  Maria is psychologically maimed before falling in love, and Pilar has had to nurture her back to the point where she is capable of loving a man, and when Maria displays that attraction to Jordan, Pilar instructs her and Jordan about how to proceed so that Maria will not be hurt again.  Pilar seems to have two motivations for taking the role of the galeotto—the go-between who, in medieval romance, enables the lovers to come together:  she sees that there is little time for the love affair to happen (given that she believes Jordan will die and that he, a good man, should know love while he lives), but she also hopes that the sexual healing that occurs between them will give Maria a taste of love as it should be. 

These two motivations may seem cruelly at cross-purposes if one assumes that she knows Jordan will die:  why give Jordan hope for life and love when there is none?  Why give Maria a taste of love which will only be snatched from her—and how will this kind of disappointment affect her healing?  It should be noted that she is far from certain of what her own intuitions tell her:  at one point, she instructs Maria how to be a good wife, as if to prepare her for a future that may include Jordan, and at another, she tells Jordan to forget the "gypsy nonsense" of seeing death in his hand (FWBT 387).  She seems plagued by foresight, but unsure that her foreknowing is true—or hopeful that she is wrong. Further, the seeming inconsistency is less troubling when one places it into the context of Pilar's own experience—that, while passionate, this initial love may be fleeting and even the beloved may be taken at a moment's notice, as Pilar's Finito was. 

The importance, from her point of view, is to make the most of love when it happens, and when things don't turn out, to allow one's love to help the beloved even in the face of death.  As in the agony of parting between Maria and Robert, so too was the loss of Finito.  Pilar had been able to nurse him during his last days:  "having washed him and covered him with a sheet, she would lie by him in the bed and he would put a brown hand out and touch her and say, 'Thou art much woman, Pilar'" (FWBT 189).  Pilar says she stayed with him five years and "never was unfaithful to him, that is almost never"  (190)—yet the loss still defines her sense of love, for it is the story that informs us most about what she has known of it.  This kind of devotion, learned through the passion and loss of romance, also explains why she nurses Maria back to health, guards her against men (as she still guards Finito against those who disparage the memory of him as a matador), and encourages the love affair of Robert and Maria while warning him to "be very good and careful" with Maria because "she has had a bad time" (FWBT 32). 

Pilar also has a jealous streak, snapping at Maria before giving her to Jordan, and some critics have seized upon this as a sign that she is covertly a lesbian who even "threatens the man's performance" and is a "potential sexual rival" (Sanderson 187).  She does stroke Maria's head, and insists that "there is always something like something that there should not be" between two people (154), even claiming to Jordan that she could "take the rabbit [Maria] from thee and take thee from the rabbit" (155).  Yet even as she acknowledges her same-sex attraction to Maria, she is quick to say "I want thy happiness and nothing more" and that "I am no tortillera but a woman made for men" (155).  The contradictions in these claims show Pilar troubled at losing one she has nurtured against male hostility, anxious about giving her up to a man, while at the same time showing an inability to disguise her attraction to her youthful charge.  That she gives Maria up and later instructs her how to care for Jordan shows not a grasping sensibility, but a complex sexuality that ultimately is generous, giving, and caring—a point often lost on those troubled by her bisexual sensibility.  That giving nature is both an echo of the love she knew with Finito and a sign of the wisdom that love comes too seldom to all, and that it must be given away if one is to fully know it.



Pilar as Bearer of the Duende


Pilar serves yet another purpose in the novel, and one that is more or less overlooked in discussions of her foreknowing events:  this is the way in which Hemingway uses her uncanny foresight as a contrast to the strategic mindset of Robert Jordan, the dialectical materialism of the leftist leaders and the anxious gropings of commoners who have lost their god.  Edward F. Stanton sees her introducing Jordan to a realm of mystery that is "deeper, more ancient and numinous than his limited, pragmatic world," an understanding connected to the Spanish concept of duende.  Federico Garcia Lorca had described duende as "the spirit of the earth" which is a matter of "blood, of the most ancient culture, of spontaneous creation" (43), but also of openness to death (47):


The duende does not come at all unless he sees that death is possible.  The duende must know beforehand that he can serenade death's house and rock those branches we all wear, branches that do not have, will never have, any consolation.  (49-50)


In being attuned to the duende, Pilar takes on yet another level of "Spanishness itself" beyond her symbolic role as "Nuestra Senora del Pilar":  her wisdom contains the compassionate light which can exclaim, "for what are we born if not to aid one another?" (139)—but it also reads death in the hand of a good man, sees signs in the events of the day, and can smell death as a real presence.

Hemingway, of course, utilizes this aspect of her character as a way of reifying the motif of foreshadowing, but her vision of reality also contrasts and questions both the reasoning strategic mindset of Jordan and the atheistic materialism of the communists, who range from the coldly cynical Kharkov and the power-maddened Comrade Marty, to peasants like Anselmo and Joaquin, who are uncomfortable with the ideology they have accepted—and who revert to their old prayers when faced with death.  In one sense, Pilar is a mystery character, one whose appeal is augmented by the fact that we cannot fully see where her heart lies—though we may intimate it through her pillar-like resolution, and her straightforward honesty—but she also raises the epistemological question at the heart of the philosophical debate over metaphysics and empiricism:  is there a wisdom which transcends the limits of the intellect, and if so, is there a reality beyond that which we experience in this life and an explanation for the suffering we endure?

In creating her vision in such stark contrast to the vision of other characters in the novel, Hemingway poses but does not answer the question:  typically, he refuses the narrow ideological response and the simple answer, forcing us into the realm of uncertainty.   The problems with a purely empirical and materialistic vision of reality are evident throughout the novel:  lacking a clear ethical directive, the communists at Gaylord's are full of their high thoughts but lacking any resolution, and those who do show resolution in life can become tyrannical, as in Marty's case, or full of terrible uncertainties, such as Anselmo or Joaquin.  Anselmo reifies the problem most fully:  saddened that he can no longer have God and that he must kill his enemies, he at first declares that "now a man must be responsible to himself" (FWBT 41), later casting his uncertainty as a need for penance:


I think that after the war there will have to be some great penance done for the killing.  If we no longer have religion after the war then I think there must be some form of civic penance organized that all may be cleansed from the killing or else we will never have a true and human basis for living.  (196)


Though he is the most decent and civil character in the novel, Anselmo finds his new belief shaken to the core when he realizes what Lieutenant Berrendo and his fascist troops have done to El Sordo and his band; he reverts to an agonized prayer begging for help from the Lord he had earlier denied.  Hemingway emphasizes the irony of that prayer not only in the horror that prompts Anselmo's reconversion—and both the anxious unease of atheism and the emotional foundation of the blindly religious mindset—but also in the fact that, after cutting off the heads of El Sordo's men, Lieutenant Berrendo unthinkingly mixes his savagery with his prayers.  The relentless critique of dialectical materialism is even more forcefully brought home in the example of Marty, the political ideologue who "has a mania for shooting people" (418) and who browbeats Andres and Gomez in the hope of getting something on his superior, General Golz.  Yet Hemingway pushes the critique even further, in the contrast between Pilar's wisdom and the level-headed strategic mindset of Robert Jordan.

On the surface, Hemingway would seem to imply that her duende-driven grasp of reality sees more accurately than the plans and ethics of those, like Jordan, trapped in a merely empirical and pragmatic mindset:  she accurately foresees horrors to come after the gauntlet, the love affair of Robert and Maria, the soon-to-come death of Robert, and even challenges his perceptions, mocking him as the "professor" who is a "miracle of deafness" (250, 251).   Despite her apparent certainty, however, Pilar's visionary mentality has shortcomings:  she needs Jordan's strategic mentality to grasp how to function well in battle, and has some self-doubts, as noted earlier—either hoping that Robert will not take her "seeing" so seriously that it stops him from acting, or recognizing that she herself may have "seen" incorrectly (387).  One supposes that her statement—that it is "all gypsy nonsense that I make to give myself importance" and that "there is no such thing" as foreseeing death—is not per se a denial of foresight so much as it is a measure of her anxiousness now that the moment is arriving.

Perhaps Robert's own musings on the subject come closest to the heart of the questions raised by Pilar's foresight.  Late in the night before the dawn attack, Jordan muses about la gloria, saying he is "no mystic, but to deny it is as ignorant as though you denied the telephone or that the earth revolves around the sun."  He muses about "how little we know of what there is to know."  He has learned, through his experiences with Pilar and in the love affair with Maria that he has much more to learn, recognizing "so many things that I know nothing of" (380).   Later, as he awaits the pursuers who will bring his death with them, he claims he doesn't believe in Pilar's foresight, yet says people like her "see something. Or they feel something. . . . What about extra-sensory perception?" (467).  He is unable to grasp whatever it is she knows, but he muses, in his final moments, that there is more to the world than what the senses and the mind can conceive.





The exploration of this epistemological and ethical theme would have been impossible without the figure of Pilar representing the duende and the spirit that cannot be contained in the rational or the empirical, in contrast with the views of other characters.  Nor would we fully grasp the spirit of romance that informs the relationship of Robert and Maria without the wisdom and pathos of Pilar's love for Finito, and the novel would be far less free of narrow ideology without her story of the gauntlet. It is difficult to grasp all the facets of this woman's character in even four or five readings of For Whom the Bell Tolls, but it should be clear that she not only serves a central purpose in its narratological structure but, as the author's stand-in character, presents the model by which many of its unresolvable political, romantic, and spiritual conflicts resonate.  Finally, Pilar is not only the "mountain" Robert Jordan saw in her, but also the "most complex character in all of Hemingway's fiction' (Stanton 169), and to reduce her to a lesbian or nurturing type, to see her as a simple analogue for Grace Hemingway or Gertrude Stein, to limit her to a symbolic function or iconic status or to make of her a "mannish woman whose superiority threatens the man's performance" (Sanderson 187) is to oversimplify a character whose infinite variety can only be hinted at, not be contained in a mere critical agenda.



Appendix A: 



As advisor to Robert Jordan

68, 88-89, 91, 150, 250-51, 387, 464

As anti-feminist (submission to man)


As feminist

203, 324

As follower, loyal co-worker

268, 298-99

As leader (supported by others)

53, 55-56, 299

As psychiatrist for Maria

136-37, 324, 348-49

As storyteller


Difficulty giving up Maria


Farewell to Jordan (cheerful)

405, 464

For blowing the bridge

31, 53

Forgiving Pablo


Has she lost a child?


Heterosexual or lesbian?




Is she a gypsy?

28, 175-76

On men

32, 98, 203, 349

On Pablo


On sex (the earth moving)


On a woman's body



32-33, 127, 150, 250-57, 345, 387

Protecting Maria

73, 290


88, 89

Sees death in Jordan's hand


Smell of death

251-52, 254-56





Appendix B: 

Pilar's Bullfighters


Finito de Palencia

182-86, 188-90, 252

Rafael El Gallo


Manolo Granero


Juan Luis de la Rosa

251, 253


251, 253


252, 253

Ignacio Sanchez Mejias


Marcial Laland

251, 252


251, 252



Appendix C: 

Pilar's Stories


      Story of Finito


Romance with Finito (in Valencia)


Finito as a bullfighter


"Thou art much woman, Pilar"


Finito's bravery and death



     Story of the Gauntlet in Pablo's hometown


Pablo at the beginning of the war


Assaulting the barracks


Death of the guardias


Pablo's organization


The men's hesitation


Death of Don Benito Garcia (mayor)


Death of Don Federico Gonzalez (mill owner)


Peasant's revulsion at the spectacle


Death of Don Ricardo Montalvo (defiant landowner)


Change in the men, savoring the killing


Death of Don Faustino Rivero (playboy, terrified)


The men become cruel / drunkards egg them on


Death of Don Guillermo Martin (store owner)

115-16, 118

Drunkenness exacerbates the cruelty


Pilar's feeling of shame and sickness


Death of Don Anastasio Rivas (fat man)


Mob reduced to animalistic shouting


Don Anastasio's corpse set on fire by drunkards


Death of Don José Castro (Don Pepé, horsedealer)


Priest and 8-20 others killed en masse


Pilar feels hollow, sure they'll be punished


Pablo too is disillusioned


Pilar hears Don Guillermo's wife crying in moonlight


Revenge of the fascists



Appendix D: 

Pilar's Premonitions, Attentiveness, and Non-Ideology


Foresees love affair of Robert and Maria


Reading death in Robert's hand


"I am for the Republic"

53, 90

"I was watching thee . . . thy judgment was good"


Premonition of "bad to come" after the gauntlet


"For what are we born if not to aid one another?"


"I can see the end of it well enough"


Reading the sky—sees that snow is coming


Challenging the rational mind / the smell of death


Needs direction once the fighting starts


"We will all die tomorrow"


Jordan muses about her seeing "something"




Appendix E: 

References Religion and Political / Materialist Ideology


Anselmo's loss of God


Robert is "anti-fascist" rather than communist


Robert's politics


Anselmo on penance even without God


Communists at Gaylord's


Religious air of the movement


Karkov on ideology:  friendship, power, and money


Jordan is not a real communist


Joaquin reverts to Hail Marys when he sees his death


Anselmo reverts to prayer


Jordan sees his own death coming in the light of gloria


Comrade Marty as the power-mad communist


Robert on religion and death:  "facing it straight"






Primary Sources


Hemingway, Ernest.  Ernest Hemingway on Writing.  Ed. Larry W. Phillips.  New York:  Touchstone, 1999.


- - - - .  A Farewell to Arms.  New York:  Scribner, 1995.


- - - - .  The Fifth Column and Four Stories of the Spanish Civil War.  New York:  Scribner, 1998.


- - - - .  For Whom The Bell Tolls.  New York:  Scribner, 1995.


- - - - .  Selected Letters 1917-1961.  Ed. Carlos Baker.  New York:  Scribner, 1981.


- - - - .  The Garden of Eden. 


- - - - .  The Nick Adams Stories.  New York:  Scribner, 1999.


- - - - .  The Sun Also Rises.  New York:  Scribner, 1954.


Lorca, Federico Garcia.  "Play and Theory of the Duende."  Deep Song and Other Prose.  Ed. and trans. Christopher Maurer.  New York:  New Directions, 1980.



Secondary Sources:  Biographic and Textual Studies


Barea, Arturo.  "Not Spain but Hemingway."  Hemingway and his Critics.  Ed. Carlos Baker.  New York:  Hill and Wang, 1961.


Bessie, Alvah C.  "A Postscript."  The Merrill Studies in For Whom the Bell Tolls.  Ed. Sheldon Norman Grebstein.  Columbus, Ohio:  Merrill, 1971. 


Comley, Nancy, and Robert Scholes.  Hemingway's Genders:  Rereading the Hemingway Text.  New Haven and London:  Yale U P, 1994.


Josephs, Allen.  For Whom The Bell Tolls:  Ernest Hemingway's Undiscovered Country.  New York:  Twayne, 1994.  [WMU:  PS 3515 E37 F6 1994]


Mandel, Miriam.  "A reader's guide to Pilar's bullfighters:  untold histories in 'For Whom the Bell Tolls.'"  The Hemingway Review 15.1 (Fall 1995):  94+.  Online posting.  The Library of Michigan.  20 April 2000. 


- - - - .  Reading Hemingway:  The Facts in the Fictions.  Metuchen, N. J., and London:  Scarecrow, 1995.


Meyers, Jeffrey.  Hemingway:  A Biography.  New York:  Harper and Row, 1985:  337.  [quoted here in Josephs 73].


Moddelmog, Debra A.  Reading Desire:  In Pursuit of Ernest Hemingway.  Ithaca and London: Cornell, 1999.


Oliver, Charles M.  Ernest Hemingway A to Z:  The Essential Reference to the Life and Work.  New York:  Facts on File, 1999.


Reynolds, Michael.  Hemingway:  the 1930s.  New York and London:  Norton, 1997.


Sanderson, Rena.  "Hemingway and Gender History." The Cambridge Companion to Hemingway.  Ed.  Scott Donaldson.  Cambridge:  Cambridge U P, 1996:  187-89.


Stanton, Edward F.  Hemingway and Spain:  A Pursuit.  Seattle and London:  U of Washington P, 1989.


Teunissen, John J.  "For Whom the Bell Tolls as Mythic Narrative."  Ernest Hemingway:  Six Decades of Criticism.  Ed.  Linda W. Wagner.  East Lansing, Mi.:  Michigan State U P, 1987.


Thompson, Ralph.  "Books of The Times:  For Whom The Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway.  The New York Times.  21 October 1940.  Online Posting.  The New York Times On The Web.  21 April 2000.


Waldmier, Joseph.  "Chapter Numbering and Meaning in For Whom the Bell Tolls."  The Hemingway Review 8.2 (Spring, 1989):  43-45. 


Whitlow, Roger.  Cassandra's Daughters:  The Women in Hemingway.  Westport, Conn.:  Greenwood, 1984.


Williams, Wirt.  The Tragic Art of Ernest Hemingway.  Baton Rouge and London:  Louisiana State U P, 1981.



Secondary Sources:  The Spanish Civil War


Kazin, Alfred.  "The wound that will not heal:  writers and the Spanish Civil War."  The New Republic 195.  25 August 1986:  39+.  Online posting.  The Library of Michigan.  20 April 2000.


Kenwood, Alun, ed.  The Spanish Civil War:  A Cultural and Historical Reader.  Providence:  Berg, 1993.


Monteath, Peter.  The Spanish Civil War in Literature, Film, and Art:  An International Bibliography of Secondary Literature.  Westport:  Greenwood, 1994. 


Pérez, Janet, and Wendell Aycock.  The Spanish Civil War in Literature.  Lubbock:  Texas Tech U P, 1990. 


Preston, Paul.  The Spanish Civil War, 1936-39.  New York:  Grove, 1986. 


Ranzato, Gabriele.  The Spanish Civil War.  New York:  Interlink, 1999.



Note:  This essay was presented at the Grand Rapids Community College Hemingway Conference in Spring, 2000, and later aired in rotation on the college channel.