Okay, so I have a confession to make. For some reason I have such empathy for old people. When I see them out doing their grocery shopping barely able to walk, I feel so bad for them; I just want to lend them a hand. When I was introduced to the old man, Santiago, I immediately felt the same way. I bonded with him in the first few pages of the novella. The narrator already had me hooked in just the first sentence of the book when it is stated, “He was an old man who fished aloe in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish,” (Hemmingway 1). In my head, all I can picture is this raggedy old man, who is down on his luck. I imagine him with sun spots all over his face, and having a very delicate frame. I may be over-analyzing the old man, but because he was the main character, and often the only character in the scene (other than the marlin) most of the time, I feel like he was meant to be scrutinized by readers.
Hemmingway does such a magnificent job of portraying the old man as a simple, hard working kind of guy. “Everything about him was old, except his eyes and they were the same color as the sea and were cheerful and undefeated,” (Hemmingway 2). In this quote, the author paints a picture in reader’s heads of the old man because of its illustrious, yet simple, detail. It is obvious Santiago values fishing. I feel as if fishing represents hope to the old man. When he was out at sea and waiting so patiently for the marlin to come up, I was overwhelmed with a sense of profound respect for the old man. I did not expect the author to go in to such detail regarding the old man’s dedication; I soon learned that that was what the whole book was about. There was no elaborate character. There was simply the old man, testing his luck once again in the Gulf Stream. Santiago, to me, was such a profound character because of his simple attitude and lifestyle. I think so often we as readers want a book to portray someone who defies what reality is actually about. Reality is not always perfect, and we do not always get the eighteen foot marlin we hope to catch, but in the end, we (like Santiago) learn from those exhilarating experiences life throws at us.
Hemingway, Ernest. The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner, 2003. Print.
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