Old man and the Sea

I’m written out, burnt out, my skin feels sunburnt just reading this. Hemingway writes in a way that makes you do more than follow a story: you feel the exhaustion, the sting of salt, and the urgent need for long sleep right alongside Santiago.

This book is heartbreakingly tough. Santiago goes 84 brutal days without catching a single fish. On the 85th, when he finally hooks one, it’s a giant marlin longer than his skiff. I even wonder, how can a gaunt, scrawny old man who hasn’t eaten much put up a worthy fight with a supersized marlin?! And then later on, how the hell does he manage to defeat SO many sharks with just a harpoon, and subsequently with a knife-edged oar..

Throughout the journey Right before he drives the harpoon into the marlin, he doesn’t treat it like a prize. He speaks to it with deep respect, like a brother he honors even as he kills it.

After spearing the harpoon into the Marlin, He can’t pull it into the boat without capsizing, so he has no choice but to lash it to the side. Watching it get systematically devoured by sharks on the way back—first by the mako, then by the brown-nosed sharks taking chunk after chunk—just hurts. You’re sitting there, internally screaming for him to haul it in, or cheering him on that he’ll make it to shore with some Marlin left intact.

And then there’s Manolin. (what a cute relationship between the old man and the young boy). Every time Santiago struggles out on the water and thinks about how much better it would be if the boy were there, it adds a quiet warmth to an otherwise punishing ordeal.

In the end, he comes home with nothing but a giant skeleton. It’s devastating, but he endures. It’s not about winning against nature. Maybe we can never win against nature?

To me, maybe it’s about never letting yourself be broken, no matter how much you lose.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to sleep for three days.