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Robert Jordan's (and Ernest Hemingway's) "True Book": Myths and moral quandaries in for whom the Bell Tolls.

Several times in Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls, the protagonist Robert Jordan thinks about the "true book" he will write after the Spanish Civil War (SCW) ends. For example: "And what are you going to do afterwards? I am going back [to the University of Montana] and earn my living teaching Spanish as before, and I am going to write a true book" (178). He cannot write the book in the fictional present, of course, caught up as he is in the war as a partizan for the Spanish Loyalists operating behind enemy lines. But after the war ends, when he is presumably free to write whatever he wants, and when his revelations will not affect the war's outcome, then Jordan can write his "true book."

Why this emphasis on "true," with its implications of setting the record straight and rebutting lies, misrepresentations, and myths? The immediate answers are textual and can be found in Jordan's experiences as a partizan and in what he's learned about the war in his close dealings with the Soviets, who were covertly running it and who strongly influenced the Republican government. (1 ) But historical and biographical contexts are equally important because Jordan is a projection of his author, and the novel aims to correct misrepresentations and replace myths about the war and the Loyalists with disillusioning truths--misrepresentations the author not only knew about but repeated and defended in his journalism and previous fiction and drama about the war. Hemingway also aimed at another kind of truth in the novel: the truths of moral ambiguity in military action. Thus, before we turn to Jordan's experiences, we must briefly consider Hemingway's.

When Hemingway began writing For Whom the Bell Tolls on 15 February 1939, Barcelona had already fallen to Franco's forces, and six weeks later the SCW itself ended with the fall of Madrid. Thus, unlike his earlier writing about the war--the 31 news dispatches for NANA (Watson, Introduction 4), the 18 magazine articles for Ken and other magazines, the 5 short stories and the play The Fifth Column--nearly all of this new novel came into being when the war was over, when whatever he chose to reveal about it could no longer damage the now-defunct Spanish republic. As Hemingway explained later to Bernard Berenson, "I tried to do that ["give a true account" of the war] when I wrote the book. But I did not start on the book until after the Republic had lost the war and it was over because I would not write anything in the war which could hurt the Republic which I believed in...." (14 Oct. 1952, SL 789). What the novel could--and did--harm, however, were the myths that enshrined the Loyalist cause and that grew ever stronger in the Republics defeat. Hemingway knew that self-appointed guardians of those myths, such as Alvah Bessie and other Veterans of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade (VALB), would go after his scalp for his supposed apostasy. For this reason, he even warned his editor, Max Perkins, not to show them in advance controversial passages of the novel, such as Pilar's account of a Loyalist massacre. (2)

What others saw as a betrayal, however, Hemingway saw as setting the record straight--a record that he himself had knowingly and vociferously distorted in his SCW journalism and in political omissions in his SCW short stories and play. It was not just a matter of cheerleading the Loyalist cause and downplaying its defeats in his dispatches--although he certainly did that. (3) His writing during the war struggled to preserve the very image of Loyalist Spain that supporters promulgated abroad: a democracy fighting for its life against brutal fascism, beset from without (Francos forces aided by German planes and pilots and Italian troops) and within (by spies and fifth columnists), while the western democracies remained indifferently neutral and left the Spanish Republic to its fate. (4) So determined was Hemingway to preserve this image of Republican Spain that when writers such as John Dos Passos chose to reveal unpleasant truths about the Republic--the Soviets' increasing role in the war, both military and political; their political assassinations of Loyalists (including Dos Passos's close friend and translator, Jose Robles) and ruthless repression of other leftist parties such as the POUM; (5) the counter-espionage "terror" in Madrid resulting in nearly a thousand arrests, as well as torture and summary executions (Payne 227-29)--Hemingway went out of his way to ridicule their charges in his articles and even, in Dos Passos' case, to engage in character assassination. (6) At times, indeed, Hemingway appeared to act as the mouthpiece for the Republican government, denying that any terror existed; denying that most of the generals of Loyalist divisions were either Russian or Russian-trained; repeating Soviet accusations against anarchist and anti-Stalinist groups; and never mentioning atrocities committed by pro-Loyalists, while emphasizing fascist shelling and bombing of civilians. (7) Playing government propagandist and attacking all doubters and naysayers obviously did not endear him to his colleagues--he and Dos Passos had a permanent falling out over Hemingway's brutal charges against him (8)--and even Hemingway himself later admitted that he was "self-righteous" and "bastardly" in the 1937-1938 period (letter to Archibald MacLeish, 4 Apr. 1943, SL 544). Thus, his novel's aim to "give a true account of the war" (emphasis added) was really a kind of expiation for the distortions and omissions he had willingly created in his previous support of the Republic.

Of course, Jordan never lives to write his true book, and in this sense his unrealized intentions are a kind of tease. But the subjects he plans to write about are revealing of both his own (and his author's) moral dilemmas and thus worth examining in both contexts. For the "true" book Jordan intends to write is, self-reflexively, part of the book that his creator, Ernest Hemingway, did write as For Whom the Bell Tolls. Describing Jordan's unrealized intentions, therefore, becomes a means of evaluating Hemingway's achievement.

Two seemingly contradictory issues must be addressed at the outset, however: Hemingway's monolithic construction of "true" and Jordan's pluralistic recognition of the difficulty of getting at that truth. "True," of course, is a loaded word and, paradoxically equivocal: whose truth? "True" from what perspective? But increasingly in Hemingway's 1930s writing and thereafter, the word appears as an absolute--as if there is one truth, one quality that writing either embodies or doesn't. (9) As Hemingway uses it, the word is also an honorific as applied to himself and his protagonists. (10) Jordan's writing, for example, receives praise from his Russian friend, Karkov, who explains why he "bothers with" (i.e., mentors) Jordan: "I think you write absolutely truly and that is very rare. So I would like you to know some things" (264). The praise is particularly ironic, given that Karkov's job, as chief Soviet information officer in Spain, is to slant all official news published in Spain and in Pravda and Izvestia (where he is a correspondent) through the Soviet lens. Particularly suspect in Karkov's praise is the superfluous "absolutely," which echoes Hemingway's description of his aim in writing Green Hills of Africa (see n. 10)

Significantly, Karkov never explains what he means by writing "absolutely truly," but Jordan's own reservations about the task provide a hint. No sooner does he contemplate writing his true book than he thinks: "I'll bet that will be easy" (FWBT 168). His irony about the project's difficulty alludes to the complications about the war that he himself has learned of or experienced first-hand. In his talk with Karkov, he understates the problem: "The things he had come to know in this war were not so simple" (264). Those vague "things" arguably encompass many-sided issues that once seemed "simple" matters of black and white, good and bad, right and wrong. Significantly, in the conversation preceding the "not so simple" conclusion, Karkov acknowledges--shockingly--that political assassination in Loyalist Spain "is practiced very extensively,... very, very extensively" (261). Passive voice conveniently obscures the perpetrators; but both Karkov and Jordan knew who they are: the Russian NKVD in Spain and its Spanish auxiliaries (such as the SIM, which employs Jordan), agencies that imported the tactics of Stalinist terror. (11) This is precisely the sort of admission that Hemingway the journalist vehemently denied a few years earlier in his articles and to Dos Passos, when he parroted the utterly false Party line that Jose Robles must have been a traitor and anyhow received a fair trial. Even now, his fictional avatar responds ambiguously: "'I don't mind them [the assassinations],' Robert Jordan said. 'I do not like them but I don't mind them any more.... My mind is in suspension until we win the war'" (261). Like Scarlet O'Hara, he will at some future date sort out such unpleasantries as the supposed benefactor of Republican Spain, the Soviet Union, murdering Loyalists and thus subverting democracy through its secret NKVD operations. Thus, in the novel's present, the "truths" that Robert Jordan contemplates--and that Hemingway writes about--are not final conclusions, but unresolved problems--contradictions, ambiguities, and moral quandaries that complicate what once seemed a clear-cut case of political right and wrong, democracy and fascism, and thus complicate the practical matter of translating one's beliefs into para-military action.

Specifically, the problems that Robert Jordan must resolve before writing his true book encompass three categories: the Russian presence in Spain and its effect on Jordan, massacres committed by pro-Loyalists, and moral dilemmas and compromises Jordan experiences in carrying out his assignments behind the lines.

The Russian Presence

When he is in Madrid between assignments, Jordan often visits Gaylord's Hotel, the Russian headquarters in Madrid. There, he eats and drinks well, in sharp contrast to Madrid Loyalists without such connections, who must abide wartime scarcity. At Gaylord's, Jordan meets prominent Russian or Russian-trained generals (nearly all using non-Russian pseudonyms), and has enlightening conversations with Karkov, the chief Soviet propagandist, such as the one about political assassinations described above. As Hemingway's biographers have noted, Karkov is a thinly disguised version of Mikhail Koltsov. Though nominally a correspondent for Pravda and Izvestia, Koltsov was close to the center of Russian operations in Spain and was thought to have reported directly to Stalin; Martha Gelhorn called him, "Stalin's eyes and ears on the spot." (12) Just as Karkov mentors Robert Jordan in unsavory realities about the war, particularly its political aspects kept secret from the populace, so Koltsov--whom Hemingway called "the most intelligent man I ever met" tutored and cultivated Hemingway, part of a larger Soviet effort to win the prominent authors allegiance. (13) Hemingway later described the relationship to Bernard Berenson: "He knew I was not a Communist and never would be one. But because he believed in me as a writer he tried to show me how everything was run so that I could give a true account of it" (14 Oct. 1952, SL 789). What Hemingway did not say (because he did not know it) was that Koltsov also lied to him when it was convenient to maintain Party fictions--lying was his profession, after all. Analogously, Karkov lies to Robert Jordan without Jordan picking up on it.

The best example of this lying and gullibility is the fate of Andres Nin, the head of the anti-Stalinist communist party in Spain, POUM. Through Koltsov's propaganda, Nin and the POUM were vilified as traitors, (14) and shortly after the Soviet-led purge of the POUM in May 1937, he was arrested, tortured, and murdered by the NKVD on Stalin's direct orders (Payne 228). Through Koltsov and Aleksandr Orlov, various stories were spread to cover up the murder: that Nin had been kidnapped by the Anarchists; that he escaped custody and was living in Paris. Both Hemingway and his protagonist were taken in. As late as March 1938, Hemingway was still insisting to Dos Passos that Nin was alive (though Dos Passos knew better). (15) And in the novel, Karkov tells Jordan: "We had him but he escaped from our hands." In response to Jordan's question about Nin's current whereabouts, Karkov answers: '"In Paris. We say he is in Paris'" (263; my emphasis). (16) "Say" hints that the Paris story is a lie, but Jordan does not pursue that lead. Karkov, like Koltsov, was, indeed, "intelligent"--and far too devious for a Robert Jordan to follow along the Byzantine twists of Soviet lies and political manipulations. Carlos Baker claims that Jordan "is in no way 'sucked in'" by communist lies ("Spanish Tragedy" 120), but Jordan's acceptance at face value of Karkov s lie shows otherwise. How, then, does one write a "true" book about the war, when one doesn't know what the truth is? The same question applies to Hemingway: by late 1940 did he still believe the Soviet lies about Nin?

Even the truths Robert Jordan does learn at Gaylord's are devious and disillusioning. He had entered the war, as so many had, idealistic, which Hemingway neatly metonymizes in the address of the International Brigade in Madrid: Velasquez 63. Here, the idealistic communism of the volunteers is described, ironically, in religious terms: "puritanical," "crusade," "the feeling you expected to have and did not have when you made your first communion." It is noteworthy that neither Jordan nor Hemingway as narrator belittles this idealism; in fact, the narrator's description of it is moving:
It gave you a part in something that you could believe in wholly and
completely and in which you felt an absolute brotherhood with the
others who were engaged in it. It was something that you had never
known before but that you had experienced now and you gave such
importance to it and the reasons for it that your own death seemed of
complete unimportance;.... But the best thing was that there was
something you could do about this feeling and this necessity too. You
could fight. (251)


At Gaylord's--the opposing metonym for lying and cynicism--Robert Jordan's eyes are opened to several realities that undermine the idealism of Velasquez 63: "Gaylord's was the place where you met famous peasant and worker Spanish commanders who had sprung to arms from the people at the start of the war without any previous military training and found that many of them spoke Russian. That had been the first big disillusion to him a few months back and he had started to be cynical to himself about it" (245). (17) In the SCW's early years, the Republican government--and Koltsov in particular--went to great lengths to conceal the Russian presence in Spain (Payne 165, Koch 253). In For Who the Bell Tolls, the narrator assumes (dubiously) that the reason for this cover-up was to prevent the fascists from intervening (254). A likelier reason was the realistic fear that other western powers would not intervene on behalf of the Republican government if they felt it was controlled by the Soviet Union (Payne 165). In any case, Hemingway played the good soldier in his journalism and earlier fiction, vigorously denying Russian presence in Spain even though he himself had frequently visited Gaylord's Hotel. (18) Similarly, Robert Jordan not only "accept[s] the necessity for all the deception" (247), but participates in the lying and cover-up. He thus seems to accept Karkov's rationalization: "If a thing was right fundamentally the lying was not supposed to matter. There was a lot of lying though. He did not care for the lying at first. He hated it. Then later he had come to like it. It was part of being an insider but it was a very corrupting business" (245-46).

More corrosive than lying to Jordan's idealism is Gaylord's cynicism about Loyalist battles: "You could remember the men you knew who died in the fighting around Pozoblanco; but it was a joke at Gaylord's" (255). Whatever he may think about politics, Jordan takes seriously such matters as fighting and dying for one's beliefs; he repeatedly risks his life for these beliefs. For the power behind the throne to snicker at such risk and sacrifice and to turn it into cheap propaganda--"'Our glorious troops continue to advance without losing a foot of ground,' Karkov repeated in English. 'It is in the communique'" (255)--is arguably the ultimate disillusionment for one with Jordan's values. Even so, he is uncertain how he feels about encountering--and participating in--such lies and cynicism: "You are a long way from how you felt in the Sierra and at Carabanchel and at Usera, he thought. You corrupted very easily, he thought. But was it corruption or was it merely that you lost the naivete that you started with?" (255).

Gaylord's, then, represents two related problems to Robert Jordan's values and attempt to write about the war truly: personal corruption and knowledge of Soviet lying, political repression and cynicism about the very cause it claims to support. To the extent that Jordan participates in the Gaylord milieu--enjoying its physical pleasures and participating in the lying--he is tainted. Twice he admits: "I corrupted very easily" (245, 255). His knowledge and acquiescence regarding Soviet repression and murder, however, represent a deeper, more troubling corruption, for it undermines the very cause he purports to be fighting for--Spanish democracy--and reveals a deep ambivalence about his personal actions in support of the Republic.

Consider his response to Karkov's revelation of extensive political assassination. Jordan says: "I don't mind them,... I do not like them but I do not mind them any more" (261). What does he mean by "do not mind them"? That he can accept them as politically necessary--the ends and means conundrum? That they no longer offend his moral sensibility? Following his first confrontation with Pablo in the cave, Jordan rejects the gypsy's suggestion to shoot Pablo without provocation: "That is to assassinate.... It is repugnant to me and it is not how one should act for the cause" (70). Much later in the novel, he recalls shooting two fascist prisoners "[b]ecause I had to...." (321). (Why did he have to?) He thinks with the same puzzling contradiction that he expressed to Karkov: "And did you mind that [killing them]? No. Nor did you like it? No. I decided never to do it again.... I have avoided killing those who are unarmed" (321). Is Jordan then a hypocrite, willing to accept political assassination so long as someone else pulls the trigger? The contradiction between morally disapproving of an act enough to avoid it in future and not "minding" it remains unresolved. Elsewhere, Jordan cautions himself about killing, "if you are not absolutely straight in your head you have no right to do the things you do for all of them are crimes...." (321). But if his mind is "in suspension" about these issues, how can he be "absolutely straight in the head" about them? Presumably, this is one of those moral dilemmas he will sort out when he writes his "true" book. But in the meantime, how is he to reconcile this ambivalence about political murder with his knowledge of the Soviets' actions and with his personal mission to fight--and if necessary kill--for the Republic in a war that the Soviets are largely running?

That personal mission at first appears to remove Jordan from the corruption and cynicism of Gaylord's. Hemingway's decision to make Jordan, initially, a loner working independently behind the lines, instead of, say, a volunteer in the Abraham Lincoln Brigade, enables Jordan to maintain his idealistic purpose by fusing it with his professional pride as a skillful operative, an independent contractor, so to speak. (19) Thus, when Jordan has had enough of Karkov's cynicism, he says: "I like it better at the front,... The closer to the front the better the people" (264). Behind the lines, he maintains a political persona much closer to his formerly idealistic one at Velazquez 63: "He fought now in this war because it had started in a country that he loved and he believed in the Republic and that if it were destroyed life would be unbearable for all those people who believed in it" (178). "Believed in the Republic" sounds like a part of a catechism; (20) in fact, Pilar teases him when he refuses the facetious title of "Don": "Thou art very religious about thy politics" (75). He is not only a loner, free of the internal politics of military groups, but also maintains a puritanical life that allows no time for women (presumably, they are reserved for the corrupting milieu of Madrid and Gaylord's). His self-concept is that of a devoted soldier and technician, who will carry out his orders skillfully and efficiently, with no regard for his survival: "He was serving in a war and he gave absolute loyalty and as complete a performance as he could give while he was serving" (150). When Pilar asks him what he believes in, giving the word a religious connotation, he replies simply "In my work" (42). He is a "bridge-blower" (25), merely an instrument "to do your duty" (52).

But there are two problems with his persona as loner-technician. First, it no longer exists in the novel's present time. To carry out his mission, Jordan needs the assistance of a guerrilla group--Pilars band--a collaboration that begins with the very first chapter. His close connection with this group raises another set of moral dilemmas, discussed further on.

A second problem with the loner persona is that Jordan never reconciles its quasi-idealism with the corruption and lies he learns of and participates in at Gaylord's. And ultimately, the two worlds are not separate. Though he is not a communist--this point is made emphatically several times in the novel--he takes his orders from the Russians: his bridge-blowing mission comes directly from General Golz. What Hemingway does not mention in the novel, however, is that once the Russians embedded themselves in Spain, all behind-the-lines guerrilla activity was controlled by Aleksandr Orlov, head of the NKVD in Spain and a notorious murderer (Payne 168). Why should a non-communist like Jordan, who believes, vaguely, in "liberty" for all (322), support Russian control, risk his life repeatedly to carry out Soviet orders, and work for an intelligence agency (SIM) that is modeled on the NKVD secret police and that freely practiced political assassination? Hemingway provides one clear explanation--so clear that it sounds like the authors explanation of his own allegiance:
He was under Communist discipline for the duration of the war. Here in
Spain the Communists offered the best discipline and the soundest and
sanest for the prosecution of the war. He accepted their discipline for
the duration of the war because, in the conduct of the war, they were
the only party whose discipline he could respect. (178) (21)


Significantly, "discipline" appears four times in three sentences. Its meaning, however, is slippery, shaded by political context. One meaning was to impose political order from the top down, as the Soviets indeed did in purging or repressing the various leftist groups in Spain (except for the pro-Soviet communists), such as the POUM, the socialists' and workers' parties, and the anarchists, disbanding their militias and unifying the command structure by putting pro-Soviet people in charge. Such unification, even if accomplished brutally, made good sense to Hemingway if Republican Spain was to prevail over Franco's fascists.

But ruthless "discipline" also applies to the treatment of troops. At this level, it is a euphemism for summary execution of fifth columnists, deserters, and slackers. Jordan thinks at one point: "They [the Russian-trained generals] were Communists and they were disciplinarians. The discipline they would enforce would make good troops. Lister was murderous in discipline... " (250). It is worth recalling that in Hemingway's SCW story, "Under the Ridge," two men in leather coats--battle police--hunt down a French deserter "like hunting dogs" and shoot him. Though the narrator sympathizes with what he imagines are the deserter's motives, he nonetheless concludes: "In war, it is necessary to have discipline" (FC 147). Jordan (clearly speaking for Hemingway) obviously approves of this ruthless discipline because it makes good soldiers. (22) For Jordan, then, desirable ends (winning the war, which would enable people to live freely) justify ruthless, authoritarian means that repress freedom. One could well imagine, then, that he could justify the Soviets' political assassinations under the same blanket rationale: necessary for the war effort. The irony of fighting fascism with fascist tactics is not something Jordan mulls over. His creator, however, had; as he told Milton Wolff, a commander of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade: "They play dirty, we play dirty." (23)

Detonating Myths

Having his protagonist deal with Russian deceptions, lies, and repression was one mode of truth-telling in For Whom the Bell Tolls. Another was to confront cherished myths that had arisen with the Loyalist cause: myths about prominent figures and about atrocities and the murder of civilians, specifically the claim that only the fascists committed atrocities, when in fact both sides did.

The debunking of prominent Republican "stars," such as Andre Marty (the French commissar who had created and was attached to the International Brigade) and the inspirational speaker Dolores Ibarruri (popularly called "La Pasionaria"), was not difficult for Hemingway. Beginning with his years as a foreign correspondent for the Toronto Star Weekly, he had long enjoyed ridiculing VIP's. (24) Marty, moreover, was an easy target. In For Whom the Bell Tolls, he is described as "crazy as a bedbug" (441) and depicted as a paranoid who suspects everyone (including General Golz) of disloyalty and collusion with the fascists. He is ultimately responsible for blocking Andres's mission to deliver Jordan's all-important message to Golz to call off the attack because the fascists are prepared for it. The real life Marty allegedly acknowledged executing five hundred members of the International Brigade and may have been responsible for many more deaths. (25) Many Loyalists who knew Marty agreed with the novel's depiction of him as mad. (26) But that's just the problem: he's too convenient a target, and by limiting the problem of political executions to a madman, Hemingway sidesteps the larger issue of supposedly rational men like Karkov (Koltsov) ordering these executions dispassionately for political purposes.

"La Pasionaria," whom Hemingway and company had filmed in The Spanish Earth making a rousing speech, also comes in for ridicule, albeit small scale. Yet, unlike Marty, she was a symbol of Loyalist idealism; thus, any tampering with her legend would certainly bring down on Hemingway the wrath of the myth-protectors. (27) The novel depicts her as a hypocrite and an ill-informed rumor-monger. One of El Sordo's men complains about her sending her own son safely out of the country to Russia, while she exhorts Spanish women to give their sons to the war effort (326). On the eve of the big Loyalist offensive, she brings "wonderful news" that the fascists are fighting among themselves in Segovia. The journalist announcing this news gushes: "She was... in such a state of radiant exultation as I have never seen. The truth of the news shone from her face.... with a light that was not of this world.... Goodness and truth shine from her as from a true saint of the people. Not for nothing is she called La Pasionaria" (378). The skeptical Karkov advises the journalist to write it up immediately for Izvestia, that official repository of lies. A more reliable source, an officer in uniform, is also skeptical of La Pasionaria's news: "Beautiful if true." Of course, it was not true, and La Pasionaria and her minions are made to look like fools.

These debunkings may not have appeared in Robert Jordan's book, as he is not present to witness these scenes in For Whom the Bell Tolls. But he must deal with the subject of atrocities because he hears Pilars vivid description of the Loyalist massacre of pro-fascists in her hometown. Even before leaving for Spain in March 1937, Hemingway had heard about Loyalist persecution of priests. He acknowledges in a letter to his Catholic friend, Harry Sylvester: "I know they've shot priests and bishops"; he follows this concession, however, with a rebuttal: "but why was the church in politics on the side of the oppressors instead of the people--or instead of not being in politics at all?" (5 Feb. 1937, SL 456). Once in Spain, he learned much more about the kind of Loyalist massacre that Pilar recreates in such gruesome detail: townspeople murdering fascists, landowners, and clergy of their own village. Robert Jordan knew about these massacres too: "I've always known about them, he thought. What we did to them at the start. I've always known it and hated it...." (149). In his journalism and previous fiction about the war, however, Hemingway intentionally omitted any reference to Loyalist brutalities, while emphasizing the fascists' systematic bombing and shelling of civilian populations. Doubtless, he accepted the official Republican view--as Robert Jordan also does--that Republican atrocities, committed spontaneously by the "uncontrollables," were a thing of the past, replaced by the government's systematic police authority. Jordan thinks: "I know we did dreadful things to them too. But it was because we were uneducated and knew no better. But they [the fascists] did that on purpose and deliberately" (374). (28) Now, in his true book, when discussion of Loyalist massacres could not affect the war's outcome, Hemingway felt he could portray one frankly.

But it's the way he presents it that is significant. Instead of having a Pilar or Pablo simply refer to the massacre, or to recollect one in a page or two, Hemingway devotes thirty-two pages of the Scribner Classics edition, with only brief interruptions, to Pilars vividly-dramatized recreation of this massacre. In crude accounting, neither Maria's recollection of her family's execution by the fascists, nor her account of her own gang-rape by the Moors, nor Joaquin's brief narrative of how the fascists murdered his family--nor all three combined--come anywhere close to the length of Pilar s narrative. But far more important than length is Pilars (and Hemingway's) dramatic art in recreating the massacre using fictional techniques. Jordan thinks:
You only heard the statement of the loss. You did not see the father
fall as Pilar made him see the fascists die in that story she had told
by the stream..... You did not see the mother shot, nor the sister, nor
the brother. You heard about it;
.... Pilar had made him see it in that town. (148-49)


Somewhat helplessly, Jordan wrestles with having to acknowledge, "What we did. Not what the others did to us." Pilars story will go into his "true book": "He would try to write it and if he had luck and could remember it perhaps he could get it down as she told it" (149). The self-reflexiveness of this passage is a little dizzying, since Hemingway has gotten it down by creating the character to tell it through the fictional techniques he himself practiced. Pilars story, then, becomes a testament to the power of fiction to make events more real than historical narrative can.

But why would Hemingway choose to dramatize at such length--and place so prominently--this Loyalist massacre instead of a "systematic" fascist one, say the bombing of Guernica? He must have realized that, even with the war lost in 1940, his narrative would be sharply criticized by Loyalist survivors, his (former) friends of the VALB in particular, and leftist critics in general, for besmirching the memory of the Loyalist cause and complicating the myth of a righteous war between good and evil. Yet, his desire to tell all in his true book took precedence over this predictable battering. Like his acknowledgement of the Russians' repressive presence in Spain, it seems that this recreation of a Loyalist massacre may have come as a kind of release of repressed knowledge that he had bottled up for years. In any case, Pilars story will challenge more than Jordan's second-hand story-telling; it will force him to abandon (if he hadn't already) the simplistic categories of good and evil, right and wrong, and to recognize that the capacity for evil did not apply merely to one side. Analogously, decent soldiers, like the fascist Lieutenant Berrendo can fight on the wrong side and still be personally disgusted by barbarous acts he is forced to order, such as the beheading of Sordo's men. By having Jordan shoot Berrendo at the end of the novel to forestall the pursuing fascists, Hemingway presents a final ironic twist on the ambiguity of good and evil in wartime: flawed good kills flawed good.

Jordan's Moral Dilemmas

Long before Jordan enacts this final irony, however, he must deal with moral quandaries of his own in carrying out his mission to blow the bridge, and all of them result, directly or indirectly, from working with Pilars group. As Jordan gets to know the group--as they become distinct, often complex individuals--he undergoes a rather remarkable transformation from independent loner, concerned only about his mission, to a member of a family, responsible for both the success of his mission and the safety of this family.

The transformation is most dramatic, of course, in his love affair with Maria in its capacity to defy nada: "He knew he himself was nothing, and he knew death was nothing.... In the last few days he had learned that he himself, with another person, could be everything" (416). But Jordan's enlargement of his uncharmed circle does not end there: if Maria becomes his soul mate, Pilars group becomes his surrogate family, an acquisition accelerated by the intensity of their few days together. Initially, his declaration of this new identity sounds perfunctory. When Pilar and Maria try to comfort Joaquin, who has recounted the fascists' murder of his family, Jordan can only echo Marias assertion, "We are all thy family," and generalizes Pilars familial statement ("He's your brother") to "We are all brothers" (154). On the night before the attack, however, he fully realizes his new identity:
I have been all my life in these hills since I have been here. Anselmo
is my oldest friend. I know him better than I know Charles, than I know
Chub, than I know Guy, than I know Mike, and I know them well. Agustin,
with his vile mouth, is my brother, and I never had a brother. Maria is
my true love and my wife.... She is also my sister, and I never had a
sister, and my daughter, and I never will have a daughter. (402) (29)


But this new identity brings new responsibilities--and guilt for using and endangering Pilars band to serve his own risky ends: "So now he was compelled to use these people whom he liked as you should use troops toward whom you have no feeling at all if you were to be successful" (177). Again, ends and means. But the moral issue--and the guilt--haunts Jordan: "[W]as it not a betrayal of them all to get them to do this? Perhaps it was" (178). (30) Jordan never resolves this issue--indeed, there really is no ethical resolution for it if he is to carry out his mission. But in a sense Hemingway does resolve it by having Jordan himself, not just other group-members, pay with his life. Thus, he too is an exploited means to a proximate end--the value of which appears increasingly doubtful in its contribution to an attack that is nearly certain to fail.

Before that outcome, however, he is faced with another dilemma. If the group should survive the mission, what happens to them afterwards? Previously, Jordan never stayed to consider such consequences, as he recognizes:
Because of our mobility and because we did not have to stay afterwards
to take the punishment we never knew how anything really ended, he
thought.... You did your job and cleared out. The next time you came
that way you heard that they [the peasants who had helped you] had been
shot.... But you were always gone when it happened. The partizans did
their damage and pulled out. The peasants stayed and took the
punishment. (149)


Now, their fate matters. Note the change in the outcome he hopes for:
What if they were killed tomorrow? What did it matter as long as they
did the bridge properly?" (375)
"That I blow it well and that she gets out all right.... That is all I
want now." (456)


But not just "she"--"they." Jordan's concern for his new family clarifies the hazy idealism of his purpose in Spain: from fighting for "the people" to fighting for these people.

When humane concern turns to practical planning, however, moral problems quickly arise. To ensure the group's successful escape forces Jordan to deal with the murderous Pablo, who can procure more horses for the escape and guide the group out of the territory. Jordan knows that Pablo has committed civilian murders far beyond any war-based justification--in fact, much of his drunkenness and passivity throughout the novel derives from his guilt in organizing and conducting the massacre that Pilar recounts. But, as noted above regarding the shooting of disarmed prisoners, Jordan is not entirely free of this taint either. Moreover, he needs Pablo's assistance in planning the group's escape. Thus, when Pablo returns to the group after destroying Jordan's detonators and exploder, instead of shooting him on sight, Jordan thinks, "But I'm glad to see you, you son of a bitch" and says as much (411).

The practical problem here--having to work with a "son of a bitch"--is hardly remarkable; everyone has experienced it. But Hemingway quickly turns it into a moral problem, as Jordan senses how Pablo will procure the extra horses needed for the groups escape: "I wonder what the bastard is planning now, Robert Jordan said. But I am pretty sure I know. Well, that is his, not mine. Thank God I do not know these new men" (426). Jordan's compartmentalizing, ends-and-means logic is in full gear: he simply refuses to assume any moral responsibility for Pablo's likely murder of his newly-recruited allies for their horses. As if to seal their understanding and Jordan's acquiescence, they shake hands, giving Jordan "the strangest feeling he had felt that morning." If this is tantamount to shaking hands with the devil, Jordan fully accepts it: "We must be allies now" (426).

When Pablo confirms Jordan's suspicion, it is Agustin, not Jordan, who is morally outraged and bluntly asks Pablo: "Did you shoot them all?" Jordan, meanwhile, is silent and morally evasive:
Robert Jordan was thinking, keep your mouth shut. It is none of your
business now.... This is an inter-tribal matter. Don't make moral
judgments. What do you expect from a murderer? You're working with a
murderer. Keep your mouth shut. You knew enough about him before. This
is nothing new. But you dirty bastard, he thought. You dirty, rotten
bastard. (479)


The ineffectuality of these unspoken slurs attests to Jordan's moral equivocation here. The good end requires dirty means. Jordan may or may not attempt to sort out these ironies in his true book, but Hemingway makes clear in his book that the morality of actions in the real world, and especially in war, is seldom clear-cut. (31) A "rotten bastard" may fight on the "right" side.

If Jordan can turn a blind eye toward his comrades killing, what about his own? Arguably, this issue becomes the most important moral quandary that he must ponder. Again, his contact with Pilars group--with Anselmo specifically--limns this issue in sharp relief and forces Jordan to think about it. In their early conversation, Anselmo states unequivocally that he considers killing a man, even a fascist, a sin for which he must atone later. Jordan's first response to Anselmo's declaration is to agree with him: "Nobody [likes to kill] except those who are disturbed in the head" (48). Killing is only justifiable "when it is necessary. When it is for the cause." Both of these justifications are questionable: Who decides what is "necessary" or "for the cause" and by what criteria? The barbarous acts that Pilar narrates could (in the minds of the villagers) have been committed "for the cause." When does "killing" become murder or assassination?

Later, however, when Jordan revisits the issue in his thoughts, he is far less glib about his own behavior and motives regarding killing. Demolition, for example, was a practical problem, "[b]ut there was plenty that was not so good that went with it...." (181). Jordan here alludes to killing people--the guards at bridges, say, or soldiers on sabotaged trains--but, significantly, instead of "killing," he uses the word "assassination" with its repugnant connotations and in a curiously inflated and stilted sentence: "There was the constant attempt to approximate the conditions of successful assassination that accompanied the demolition." (32) Jordan had told Karkov that he didn't "like" assassination. He refuses to assassinate Pablo and has resolved never again to kill disarmed prisoners (321). But when he thinks about "assassination" accompanying demolition, he makes a remarkable admission to himself: "God knows you took it easily enough.... You took to it a little too readily if you ask me" (181). Later, he extends this admission of "taking to" killing:
And you, he thought, you have never been corrupted by it? You never had
it in the Sierra? Nor at Usera? Nor through all the time in
Estremadura? Not at any time? Que va, he told himself. At every
train....

[A]dmit that you have liked to kill as all who are soldiers by choice
have enjoyed it as some time whether they lie about it or not.... Do
not lie to yourself, he thought.... You have been tainted with it for a
long time now. (304)


This admission of enjoying killing clearly contradicts his assertion to Anselmo that only the mentally sick enjoy killing. But if Jordan is honest enough at times to break through correct poses and confront something ugly about himself, he still grapples with the issue, for he cannot truly accept the image of himself as one who enjoys killing, who has been "corrupted" by it. When thinking about the sensitive subject of how many people he's killed, he engages in a mental dialogue on the morality of killing:
Do you think you have a right to kill any one? No. But I have to....
Don't you know it is wrong to kill? Yes. But you do it? Yes. And you
still believe absolutely that your cause is right? Yes.
It is right, he told himself, not reassuringly, but proudly. I believe
in the people and their right to govern themselves as they wish. But
you mustn't believe in killing, he told himself. You must do it as a
necessity but you must not believe in it. If you believe in it the
whole thing is wrong. (321)


Here, he sounds like Anselmo: killing is an ugly necessity, not something to "take to" or "believe in." But since this dialogue follows Jordan's admission to himself that at times he has enjoyed killing, his mind seems confused and struggles with conflicting urges to be brutally candid and still feel justified morally. Once again, it is not an issue Jordan can resolve in the middle of an action in which he knows he will kill one and perhaps several more men. To be torn by the moral dilemmas arising from these killings might well paralyze him when he needs, above all, to act with certainty and resolve. But later, when he writes about it in his true book, "you will get rid of all that [the moral problem of killing--and the attendant guilt] by writing about it.... Once you write it down it is all gone. It will be a good book if you can write it" (181). Given the revelations about Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder that have emerged in the past half century, it would appear that Jordan's expectation of getting rid of the problem by writing about it is optimistic.

Conclusion

Robert Jordan dies long before he can write his true book. Thus, he never reconciles the contradictions or resolves the moral quandaries he faces during his time in Spain. As asserted above, however, Jordan's hypothetical "true book" is really Hemingway's actual attempt at one, at least in bringing out these issues which complicate the meaning of the Spanish Civil War and remove it from the simplistic realm of good (Loyalists) versus evil (fascists) and right versus wrong. As has been shown, "setting the record straight" and shattering myths had personal as well as historical meaning since Hemingway had previously either denied or intentionally ignored in his journalism, stories, and play such issues as the prominent and repressive Russian presence in Spain and Loyalist atrocities. His earlier SCW stories and play did make a start towards countering the Party line by acknowledging Loyalist terror and torture in Madrid; but his novel went much further.

Hemingway's "truth-telling," however, also addresses a more intimate realm in which he had considerable experience: moral ambiguities in military action. All of the moral issues that trouble Jordan behind the lines--putting Pilars group in mortal danger, working with a murderer, and knowing he will soon murder again, Jordan's feelings about his own killing--pull against his pragmatism as an operative, against the amoral demands of necessity in fulfilling his mission, and against the seemingly insurmountable logic of the good end justifying dirty means. And in each case, Jordan yields to that necessity, placing the fulfillment of his mission above all other considerations: the bridge must be blown and the group escape, regardless of "collateral damage." We could hardly expect otherwise, not only because Jordan is a Hemingway hero, but because (as Hemingway clearly brings out) a soldier--even an independent operative--who dwells too deeply on these issues risks the paralysis of indecision and a conflicted sensibility. In wartime, Hemingway would argue, such an attitude is fatal if the higher aim--the ultimate end that justifies the means--is to win the war. And amid all the moral complications of his assignment, Robert Jordan is never in doubt about that end. Thus, even if the attack for which he sacrifices his life is almost certain to fail, Jordan can still die heroically both for the larger end, as well as for the immediate goal of aiding the escape of his newly-acquired family.

Though neither Hemingway nor his protagonist resolves the moral dilemmas or reconciles the deep contradictions that they experienced in the SCW, the author deserves credit simply for dramatizing them in his novel. In so doing, he dared to challenge the rapidly-hardening myths about the Loyalist cause (myths that he had previously promulgated), knowing he would incur the wrath of the myth-protectors on the Left. But perhaps the novel's larger point is that in the muddle and exigencies of civil war, power politics, and military action, there is no resolution for these issues. Even when one can still distinguish the larger ends (defeating fascism, supporting the Republic), in a world of lies, deceit, and brutality on all sides, idealism can scarcely survive; and clear distinctions between right and wrong, rectitude and corruption, must yield to pervasive ambiguity. Yet, even in such a moral fog, one must still decide and act. These become the equivocal truths that Robert Jordan must learn for his true book and that Ernest Hemingway presents in his.

NOTES

(1.) As Stanley G. Payne and numerous other historians of the SCW have documented, the Soviets, after intervening on the side of the Spanish Republic, quickly came to dominate the Loyalist military, secretly sending Russian-trained generals. The Soviets also strongly influenced Republican governments and covertly controlled state security and the political realm (specifically rival leftist parties) through its secret police (the NKVD). Aleksandr Orlov, head of the NKVD in Spain, had prisons built to house fifth columnists, foreigners (e.g., members of the International Brigade suspected of disloyalty), and increasingly, members of rival political parties that the Comintern had resolved to squelch. Crematoria were also built to dispose of the bodies of those executed (205, passim).

(2.) Letter, ca. 13 Jan. 1940; paraphrased in Baker, Ernest Hemingway: A Life Story 346, 628. Bessie did indeed decry this passage and several other aspects of the novel in his review ("Hemingway's 'For Whom the Bell Tolls'" 25-29), beginning a seven-year rift between Hemingway and the VALB (see Nelson).

(3.) While it is true that journalists like Hemingway covering the Loyalist side were subject to strict censorship of their dispatches, Hemingway's letter to Berenson clearly shows that he censored himself for ideological reasons (not to hurt the cause). Had he wanted to, he could have used other outlets, such as his Ken articles, at least to hint at "truths" his dispatches ignored or denied.

(4.) In magazine articles he wrote for Ken, Hemingway even accused the foreign offices of the U.S. and England of being thoroughly pro-fascist. See "Dying Well or Badly," "His Majesty's Loyal State Department," and "False News to the President."

(5.) Workers' Party of Marxist Unification.

(6.) See, for example, Hemingway's article in Ken "Treachery in Aragon," in which he ridicules Dos Passos (whom the article refers to as an American novelist and Harvard alumnus) for his misplaced anguish over Robles. The latter, Hemingway asserts, was shot as a spy "after a long and careful trial in which all the charges against him had been proven." He was correct only in Robles being shot. For a detailed, though dramatized depiction of the Hemingway-Dos Passos blowup see Koch.

(7.) Watson lists several instances of Hemingway's adoption of Soviet positions and concludes: "What must have struck many close observers of Hemingway's political conduct in the spring and summer of 1938 was how often and consistently he seemed to agree with the Communists' position on many issues" (Introduction to "Humanity Will Not Forgive This" 115).

(8.) See in particular Hemingway's letter to Dos Passos, 26 Mar. 1938, SI 463-65, in which he accuses Dos Passos of backstabbing him and attacking the Republican government for money.

(9.) The relativistic title of the posthumously published True at First Light is an obvious exception to this generalization.

(10.) In Death In the Afternoon, Hemingway urges politicized writers to first see the entire world "clear and as a whole. Then any part you make will represent the whole, if it's made truly" (261). The Foreword to Green Hills of Africa states: "The writer has attempted to write an absolutely true book to see whether the shape of a country and the pattern of a month's action can, if truly presented, compete with a work of the imagination." Two years later, at the American Writers Congress in 1937, he declared: "A writer's problem does not change. It is always how to write truly" (qtd. in Baker, "The Spanish Tragedy," 108). At times in his later writing, "true" or its variants become inadvertent self-parody: "Just tell me true...." (ARIT 225).

(11.) Servicio de Informaciona Militar. According to historian Hugh Thomas, "the SIM employed all the odious tortures of the NKVD" and became "the bureaucratic instrument... through which the Communist Party murdered its enemies" (qtd. in Donaldson 416). Donaldson adds: "the SIM did much of its deadliest work not against actual fascist spies but against factions on the left threatening the dominance of the Russian Stalinists in Spain. Hemingway knew about these activities but chose not to write about them" (416)--until For Whom the Bell Tolls. In having Jordan work for SIM, Hemingway erred slightly since all Loyalist guerilla activity was controlled directly by the NKVD, headed by the notorious Aleksandr Orlov (see note 1 above).

(12.) Martha Gellhorn's notes; qtd. in Moorehead, Gellhorn 26-27. Koltsov was also thought to have ordered a major execution of government prisoners in the fall of 1936, the "Model Prison" executions (Vernon 26).

(13.) For Hemingway's opinion of Koltsov's intelligence, see Koch 56. Note that Robert Jordan states exactly the same opinion of Karkov (FWBT 247). The Russians' courtship of Hemingway began even before he reached Spain, in his Paris meetings with Joris Ivens, director of the future film Hemingway had agreed to help make. In brief, Ivens, a Dutch communist and member of the Soviet Comintern, boasted in his memoirs about having converted Hemingway to a strongly pro-Loyalist and pro-Communist view of the war (The Camera and I 111-14; see also Watson, "Joris Ivens" below). Critics and biographers disagree about how much Ivens influenced Hemingway, but no one disputes that his influence was significant. Baker called Ivens Hemingway's "Political Commissar" (Life Story 307), and Watson goes so far as to depict him as a kind of "case officer" charged with "recruiting" Hemingway "in order that he would become a contributor, witting or unwitting, to the propaganda objectives of the Comintern" ("Joris Ivens" 39).

Through Ivens and the Russian-Spanish leadership, Hemingway received special privileges not accorded to other journalists: cars, drivers, and gasoline; access to off-limits battlefields; better food and liquor than was otherwise available; and most important, the "true gen" on the war. Equally important, Ivens brought Hemingway to Gaylord's Hotel and introduced him to Mikhail Koltsov and several Russian-trained generals.

(14.) Cf. Karkov's descriptions of the POUM to Jordan: "I have sent a cable describing the wickedness of that infamous organization of Trotskyite murderers and their fascist machinations all beneath contempt, but, between us, it is not very serious" (263).

(15.) In the 1938 letter berating Dos Passos's supposed disloyalty to Republican Spain (cited above), Hemingway writes: "Then there is Nin. Do you know where Nin is now? You ought to find that out before you write about his death" (SL 464). (He alludes to Dos Passos's mention of Nin's death in an article "The Villages Are the Heart of Spain" 487).

(16.) Hemingway's fictional chronology is a bit confused here. The Jordan narrative takes place in the last week of May 1937 (192), but Nin's arrest ("We had him....") did not occur until 16 June.

(17.) Jordan mentions the Loyalist generals like El Campesino, Enrique Lister "from Galicia" and Juan Modesto from Andalucia, who all spoke Russian, the latter "a true party man" (246).

(18.) In Hemingway's vituperative letter of 26 March 1938 (quoted above), he accuses Dos Passos of creating the impression (in an article Dos Passos published in Redbook) that "it is a communist run war" and concludes: "I'm sorry, Dos, but you didn't meet any Russian generals" (SL 463). For the record, Dos Passos's article never asserted or implied that the communists ran the war; he mentions meeting one Russian general at a social gathering ("The Fiesta at the Fifteenth Brigade" 472-77).

Another example of Hemingway's denial of the Russian presence occurs in The Fifth Column. During their raid on a fascist observation post in Madrid, Philip answers Max with the Russian "Da," and Max sardonically explains to the prisoners: "You see. We are all Russians. Everybody is Russian in Madrid" (74).

(19.) Vernon points out another advantage to Jordan's "loner" status: "A solo Robert Jordan, without a uniform, afforded Hemingway the liberty of a complex character unfettered by actual [Lincoln Brigade] unit history and politics" (149).

(20.) Elsewhere, his belief is more qualified. When Pilar compares her own "faith" in the Republic to belief in the Catholic mysteries and asks Jordan if he has this same faith in the Republic, he answers: "'Yes'... hoping it was true" (103).

(21.) Hemingway did express the same reason for having "accepted Communist discipline" in a letter to Max Perkins, ca. 13 Jan. 1940, paraphrased in Baker, Life Story 346.

(22.) In both his journalism and in the passage from For Whom the Bell Tolls quoted above, Hemingway does not qualify his affirmation of Soviet "discipline" in both senses of the term. Thus, he is neither "unenthusiastic" about it (Vernon 164), nor disapproving (Molesworth 87).

(23.) Hemingway was responding to Wolff's doubts about the veracity of the tortures referred to in The Fifth Column (qtd. in Vernon 29).

(24.) Recall, for examples, his depiction of Mussolini reading a book upside down ("Mussolini: The Biggest Bluff in Europe" 64), the incompetent doctors in A Farewell to Arms, and the federal administrator, Mr. Harrison, in To Have and Have Not.

(25.) Beevor 161. Although Payne states that "no clear evidence" confirms the story of Marty's boast (351 n.40), Beevor notes that "Soviet documents... indicate that Marty's obsession with fifth column infiltrators and the execution of deserters and 'cowards' may well have contributed to the high rate of executions [10% of the International Brigade]" (469 n.11).

(26.) Ilya Ehrenberg, for example, considered Marty "a mentally sick man" (397). But not all agreed. Alvah Bessie was incensed that Hemingway had attacked this "man who was the organizational genius and spirit of the [International] Brigades" (see note 2 above).

(27.) In fact, the VALB, particularly Milton Wolff, complained bitterly about the novel's treatment of La Pasionaria (see Nelson).

(28.) Historians generally confirm this comparison. Graham, for example, writes that, unlike the spontaneous, uncontrolled atrocities committed by the Loyalists, "[a]trocities committed by the fascists... were systematic, sanctioned, conducted by the military, and sustained throughout the war" (116).

(29.) Curiously, the two most important members of the band, Pilar and Pablo, are excluded from Jordan's rumination of a new family. Perhaps his disrespect for his own family (excluding, of course, his heroic grandfather) accelerates this surrogate adoption. His father is a coward in Jordan's eyes not for killing himself, but for submitting to the bullying of his mother.

(30.) His rationalization, that even if he left Pilars band alone, fascist cavalry would still "hunt them out of these hills in a week"--is barely plausible, since the band has survived in this locale for a long time.

(31.) Alex Vernon is quite right in stating that Hemingway "all but demands that we mull the idea of political executions over and over...." But I cannot agree with Vernon's qualified assertion that Hemingway "potentially encourages the reader... to appreciate Pablo's killing the partizans... for his group's getaway and survival...." (155)--unless "appreciate" simply means "understand." Hemingway distances readers from both Pablo's murderous treachery and Jordan's acquiescence.

(32.) Jordan immediately criticizes this inflated sentence in words anticipating the famous essay ("Politics and the English Language") by George Orwell, another and even more disillusioned SCW veteran. Jordan thinks: "Did big words make it [assassination] more palatable?" (181).

WORKS CITED

Baker, Carlos. Ernest Hemingway: A Life Story. Scribner's, 1969.

--. "The Spanish Tragedy." Ernest Hemingway: Critiques of Four Major Novels. Charles Scribner's Sons, 1962.

Beevor, Antony. The Battle for Spain: The Spanish Civil War 1936-1939. Penguin, 2006.

Bessie, Alvah. "Hemingway's 'For Whom the Bell Tolls,'" New Masses, 5 November 1940, pp. 25-29.

Donaldson, Scott. "The Last Great Cause." Fitzgerald & Hemingway: Works and Days, Columbia UP, 2009, pp. 372-451.

Dos Passos, John. "The Fiesta at the Fifteenth Brigade." Travel Books and Other Writings 1916-1941, Library of America, 2003, pp. 472-77.

--. "The Villages Are the Heart of Spain." Travel Books, p. 487.

Ehrenberg, Ilya. Memoirs: 1921-1941. Cleveland: World, 1955.

Graham, Helen. The Spanish Republic at War: 1936-1939. Cambridge UP, 2002.

Hemingway, Ernest. Across the River and Into the Trees. Scribner's, 1950.

--. Death in the Afternoon. Scribner's, 1960.

--. "Dying Well or Badly," Ken, vol. 1, no. 2, 21 Apr. 1938, pp. 68-71.

--. Ernest Hemingway: Selected Letters 1917-1961, edited by Carlos Baker, Scribner's, 1981.

--. "False News to the President," Ken, vol.2 no. 5, 8 Sept. 1938, pp. 17.

--. The Fifth Column. The Fifth Column and Four Stories of the Spanish Civil War. Scribner Paperback Fiction, 1998.

--. For Whom the Bell Tolls. 1940. Scribner Classics, 1996.

--. Green Hills of Africa. 1935. Scribner's, 1963.

--. "His Majesty's Loyal State Department," Ken vol.1, no. 6, 16 Jun 1938, pp. 36.

--. "Mussolini: The Biggest Bluff in Europe." By-Line: Ernest Hemingway, edited by William White, Simon & Shuster 1998, pp. 61-65.

--. "Treachery in Aragon," Ken, vol. 1, no. 7, 20 Jun 1938, p. 26.

Ivens, Joris. The Camera and I. International Publishers, 1969.

Koch, Stephen. The Breaking Point: Hemingway, Dos Passos, and the Murder of Jose Robles. Counterpoint Press, 2005.

Molesworth, Charles. "Hemingway's Code: The Spanish Civil War and World Power." Blowing the Bridge: Essays on Hemingway and For Whom the Bell Tolls, edited by Rena Sanderson, Greenwood Press, 1992, pp. 83-97.

Moorehead, Caroline. Gellhorn: A Twentieth Century Life. Holt, 2003.

Nelson, Cary. "Honor and Trauma: Hemingway and the Lincoln Vets." Remembering Spain: Hemingway's Civil War Eulogy and the Veterans of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade, edited by Cary Nelson, U of Illinois P, 1994, pp. 19-39.

Payne, Stanley G. The Spanish Civil War, the Soviet Union, and Communism. Yale UP, 2003.

Orwell, George. Politics and the English Language and Other Essays. Benediction Classics, 2010.

Vernon, Alex. Hemingway's Second War: Bearing Witness to the Spanish Civil War. U of Iowa P, 2011.

Watson, William Braasch. Introduction. "Hemingway's Spanish Civil War Dispatches," The Hemingway Review, vol. 7, no. 2, Spring 1988, pp. 4-13.

--. Introduction. "Humanity Will Not Forgive This: The Pravda Article," The Hemingway Review, vol. 7, no. 2, Spring 1988, p., 115.

--. "Joris Ivens and the Communists: Bringing Hemingway into the Spanish Civil War." Blowing the Bridge, pp. 37-57.

Milton A. Cohen University of Texas, Dallas
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