10 popular passages from Hemingway’s “The Sun Also Rises in East Texas”
After the acclaim of “The Sun Also Rises”, Ernest Hemingway sought new horizons to explore the depths of human experience. While spending time in East Texas, working on a series of articles about the burgeoning oil industry, he became captivated by the region’s raw landscapes and resilient people. “I wanted to capture a place where the land is as unforgiving as the sorrows of the heart,” Hemingway reflected. “East Texas offered a tapestry of rugged beauty and unspoken struggles that mirrored the battles we all fight within.” Thus, he penned “The Sun Also Rises in East Texas,” a novel that weaves tales of love, loss, and the relentless pursuit of meaning against the backdrop of the piney woods and oil fields of East Texas.
Dusty road
We drove down the dusty road toward Nacogdoches, the pines standing tall on either side like silent soldiers. The air was thick with the scent of resin and the hum of cicadas. John sat beside me, his hat pulled low, eyes fixed ahead. We hadn’t spoken much since leaving Tyler. The war had taken words from us, left us with only the sound of gravel under tires and the distant call of a whippoorwill. The sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the fields. “It’s good to be back,” John finally said. I nodded.
Tin of worms
At dawn, we set out for Lake Sam Rayburn with rods and a tin of worms. The mist rose off the water like spirits ascending. Billy cast his line first, the lure plopping softly into the stillness. “They say the bass are biting,” he said. I watched the horizon, the line between water and sky blurred. The simplicity of the moment felt pure. A fish tugged at my line, and for a while, there was only the struggle, the reel, and the catch. We sat on the bank, fish flopping at our feet, and the sun warmed our backs.
Oilmen and ranchers
The Silver Spur in Longview was crowded that night. Oilmen, ranchers, and drifters filled the bar, smoke curling toward the tin ceiling. Maria tended the bar, her eyes as tired as the worn wooden stools. I sipped my whiskey, the burn familiar and comforting. “You’ve been away,” she said. “Out west,” I replied. The piano in the corner played a tune that nobody listened to. Outside, the rain began to fall, tapping on the windows like a distant memory. “Stay awhile,” Maria said. But I knew I wouldn’t.
Derricks against the sky
The derricks near Kilgore stretched into the sky, iron skeletons against the pale morning. We worked the rigs, hands slick with oil and sweat. Tom wiped his brow, leaving a dark smear. “Black gold,” he chuckled. The drills roared, drowning out thoughts and words. The ground shook slightly, a constant reminder of the depths we pierced. At lunch, we sat on overturned buckets, eating sandwiches that tasted of dust. The sun beat down, relentless. “Why do we do it?” I asked. Tom shrugged. “Because it’s here.”
Pipe smoke
Evenings on the porch were a ritual. The heat of the day gave way to a warm breeze that rustled the leaves of the oaks. Uncle Henry rocked in his chair, pipe smoke curling around his weathered face. “Times are changing,” he said. The distant sound of a train whistle echoed through the piney woods. Fireflies blinked in the gathering darkness. “Maybe,” I replied. We listened to the sounds of the night: the croak of frogs, the whisper of the wind.
Best catfish
We rolled into Jasper as the sun was setting, the sky ablaze with orange and purple hues. The Neches River reflected the colors like a molten mirror. Dave pulled the truck over near an old bait shop. “Best catfish in East Texas,” he said. We ordered our plates and sat on a rickety dock. The hush of evening settled around us, broken only by the occasional splash of a jumping fish. “Funny how the quiet can be so loud,” Dave mused. I nodded, tasting the fried catfish—crisp, tender, real. The world felt simple here.
The sea gives
In Port Arthur, the Gulf winds swept in, carrying the scent of salt and distant places. The shrimp boats rocked gently at the pier, their nets heavy with the day’s catch. Miguel mended a torn net, his hands rough but skilled. “The sea gives and takes,” he said without looking up. I watched the waves lapping against the hulls, a rhythmic reminder of time passing. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the lighthouse began its vigil. “We head out again tomorrow,” Miguel added. I knew I would join him.
The county fair
The fair in Crockett was a whirl of color and sound. Children laughed on spinning rides, and the smell of funnel cakes filled the air. Sarah tugged at my sleeve. “Win me a prize?” she asked, her eyes bright beneath the brim of her straw hat. I tried my hand at the ring toss, the bottles glinting under the string lights. Luck wasn’t with me, but she didn’t seem to mind. We wandered past booths of homemade jams and quilts. “It’s the simple things,” she said softly.
Baptist church
The Baptist church in Henderson stood white and proud against a cobalt sky. On Sundays, the hymns spilled out of open windows, a chorus of faith carried on the breeze. Reverend Mills preached with the fervor of a man who’d seen both heaven and hell. After the service, folks gathered on the lawn, exchanging news and blessings. Mrs. Thompson pressed a jar of honey into my hands. “From my own bees,” she smiled.
Panthers
We rode horseback along the trails near the Big Thicket, the dense forest alive with whispers of ancient trees. The sun filtered through the canopy, casting mottled shadows on the ground. Caleb adjusted his saddle. “They say there are panthers out here,” he remarked. I listened to the rustle of leaves, the distant call of a hawk. “Maybe so,” I replied. We reached a clearing where wildflowers swayed gently. Dismounting, we let the horses graze.
