Hating What I Love and Loving What I Hate

Ernest Hemingway’s 1929 novel A Farwell to Arms has a bitter sweet ending. I personal love Hemingway’s ending, but find conflict because I hate my self for loving it. In the last chapter Hemingway starts a conversation between Lieutenant Henry and his wife, Catherine with “’Hello darling’….. ‘Hello, you sweet’”(326). Hemingway use of the diction “darling” and “sweet” portrays a hole complete love, true love. The true love draws a parallel back to when Henry knew he loved Catherine the kind of love “God knows..[he]…had”(93). Hemingway’s use of the word God draws the parallels between the unstoppable nature of God and the unstoppable nature of Henry love. Henry’s love though was not the only unstoppable love Catherine’s love never stopped ether. Even when she saw death coming she said to Henry “’I want you to have girls”(331) Hemingway indirectly characters Catherine’s love as sacrificial. Hemingway creates an undeniable true love to the point that its sacrificial, and can change what Henry wants. In the end what does Hemingway do with this pure love? He kills it, no literally “Catherine…. died”(331). The book ends with her dyeing, and I love it.
Now before I am burned at the stack I have to say I hate my self for loving it, but I do. Hemingway shows something that happens ever single day. Earler he portrays how humans have no control and he drives the point home with his ending. Henry never wanted to fall in love, he never wanted to fall in love with Catherine, but he did. Henry didn’t want Catherine to die, Catherine didn’t want to die, and I didn’t want her to die. Short of me not reading the end of the book I can’t prevent it. Hemingway takes a stab at me and it’s a hard one by making me fall in love with his characters relationship and then killing it he shows me in 332 a life lesion, we don’t have control. I hate Hemingway for killing her for putting an end to there love, but I can’t dine how much I love it. I can’t dine that Hemingway complete genius in it. I also can’t dine I admire him for it. Hemmingway doesn’t paint a beautiful picture of life, but the truth of it and I cant help but love that.