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She "had made him see it", or How to Make Absence Visible in Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls

Marie-Odile Salati
p. 55-65


Cet article explore la façon dont Hemingway s’efforce de rendre le néant de la mort tangible dans son roman de la guerre d’Espagne, For Whom the Bell Tolls, par une représentation en creux qui subvertit l’assimilation traditionnelle de l’absence à l’invisibilité. Pour éclairer la méthode de l’auteur, le propos s’attache en un premier temps à la technique de narration du chapitre 10, le fameux récit par Pilar du lynchage des fascistes, récit qui, par l’ostensible mise en relief du cadrage et des obstacles opposés au regard, fait ressortir la présence de l’horreur indicible maintenue hors champ, en accusant les contours de l’objet. Il est ensuite démontré que par le même jeu de la négativité, le néant de la mort imminente qui guette Robert Jordan est convoqué comme l’envers vide du plein que constitue l’ici et maintenant, à travers un double travail sur la temporalité et la sensation. L’instant présent est porté à un paroxysme d’intensité dans une tentative désespérée d’en repousser les limites, alors que passé et futur sont assignés à une absence rendue manifeste par les visions de la mémoire et de l’imagination. En outre, les innombrables impressions corporelles enregistrées avec un détail minutieux se donnent comme la conscience aiguë d’exister éprouvée par le protagoniste et corrélativement la somme de tout ce dont il va bientôt être dépossédé.

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  • 1 At the beginning of her discussion about Hemingway’s ideological commitment during the Spanish civi (...)

1In spite of its wide acclaim, Hemingway’s novel on the Spanish civil war, For Whom the Bell Tolls, met with sharp criticism among the first generation of Spanish reviewers, who failed to recognize either their national history or their country in the portrayal.1 No wonder. The author’s purpose was not preeminently testimonial or militant, particularly at the time of publication, when the Loyalists’ defeat was sealed, but his fresh war experience supplied him with new material to tackle his lifelong concern with death. That this issue prevailed over historical or documentary considerations is evidenced by the title and its central image. The phrase borrowed from John Donne’s metaphysical poem to encapsulate the content of the book may strike one as being at least a quadruple variation on the theme of absence. The toll announces the everlasting disappearance of a human fellow being; the name of the unmentionable event has been suppressed from the title; the metaphor used as a substitute is a trope replacing a present object with an absent one; lastly, intertextuality recalls the late 17th century British poet from the limbo. Therefore, from the very threshold of the book, the paratext does its best to point out the writer’s main preoccupation without appearing to do so, striving, with the indirect means available to language, to make absence visible.

  • 2 I am here referring to Merleau-Ponty’s two groundbreaking books—Phenomelogy of Perception (1945) an (...)
  • 3 Such is the theory that Georges Didi-Huberman developed in the 1990s and that I will use further do (...)

2Now that Platonian dualism has been overturned and the traditional sets of oppositions challenged, the oxymoronic character of the phrase "absence made visible" no longer sounds as an irreducible paradox. For a few decades, a whole branch of French theory has been engaged in a revision of the notion of visibility, that is not predicated on presence. The new outlook was initiated by Merleau-Ponty’s phenomenological approach to perception, which questions the clearcut boundary between visible and invisible, highlighting the eye’s ability to see more than is actually there, and which emphasizes the prominent role played both by the object and by the body in a relation that proves to be of an empathetic nature.2 The philosopher’s notion that the object looks back at the observer, converging with art theorists’ awareness that a painting can arrest the viewer’s gaze and trigger a special response owing to an invisible force beyond intended form and recognizable figures, has then been connected with the symptom in Freudian psychoanalysis, that is, suppressed meaning made manifest in a trace signalling the absent signified.3 In other words, a presence is felt in spite of its eradication from the stage of visual representation. Therefore, visibility is no longer assumed to depend on the presence of identifiable intelligible signs and on the subsequent effect of legibility, but it can be fruitfully tackled via its interaction with absence while conversely absence does not necessarily go hand in hand with invisibility.

3Approaching Hemingway’s novel along such lines, I will explore the way in which the loss announced in the title is made palpable, even though it is left out of the represented scene. I will start with the account of the Republicans’ atrocities given by the female leader of the Spanish guerilla group, Pilar, in Chapter X, since her tale is praised as a feat of verbal technique by the protagonist, Robert Jordan. I will examine the strategy by means of which she makes him see it all while at the same time subverting traditional perceptual categories, thus providing a clue to the author’s own method. It will appear that the invisible object lying outside the field of representation nevertheless looms large thanks to a conspicuous art of framing, which emphasizes its off-camera presence and underlines its contours. I will then investigate the modalities of this approach relying on negativity and argue that absence is made perceptible and accessible through an emphasis on the vivid actuality of this world, since the nearby vacuum is felt, as the negative other, in contrast to the fullness of the here and now stretched to the utmost so as to push back its limits. As the doomed dynamiter achieves the highest form of being in time and space, provided by the intense present moment and by his crowded bodily impressions, he is simultaneously made aware of all that he is about to be deprived of.

  • 4 The fact that the account of the horrifying event should be produced in retrospect through the medi (...)
  • 5 Unlike André Malraux, who took an active part on the spot during the first months of the civil war (...)

4In answer to Robert Jordan’s enquiry about the start of the Republican insurrection, Pilar undertakes to narrate the mass killing of local Fascists conducted under the supervision of her lover Pablo in her provincial town on the previous year (98). The account, produced in retrospect by an intermediary teller,4 literally aims at supplying the unseen, since it makes up for the twofold absence of protagonist and author from the gruesome scene of death.5 And indeed, at the end of the story, the listening focalizer marvels at the woman’s remarkable skill: "Pilar had made him see it in that town. If that woman could only write. […] God, how she could tell a story" (134). Her artistry lies in her ability to give actuality and tangible form to the abstract, immaterial fact of human death, which usually occurs out of sight: "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" (134). The thinly disguised reflexivity of the comment allows us to read it as a mise en abyme of Hemingway’s approach to the representation of absence in the book, especially since a distinct ambivalent strategy of disclosure is implemented, subverting the traditional identification of visibility with presence and of invisibility with absence. By repeatedly drawing attention to the obstacles thwarting sight of the unmentionable horror, which is supposed to remain unseen and suppressed from the stage of representation, the narrative ultimately enhances its existence and makes it keenly felt.

5A subtle art of framing keeps narrowing the focus of the eye-witness until it finally removes the crucial scene from view. The observer, Pilar, watches the doomed Fascists confined in the city-hall, from outside a window, precariously perched on a chair from which she steals occasional glimpses. She eventually topples down at the very moment when the prisoners are lynched by the unleashed mob, thus being spared the final horror and the sight of death’s fatal stroke. Significantly, the visual arrangement is mirrored in the embedded story of Robert Jordan’s similar childhood experience, as the seven-year old boy was gazing at a black man’s street lynching in Ohio from a window, being too small to have a full view of the scene, until he was snatched away by his mother before the end, a further mise en abyme pointing out the issue of representing images banned from the consciousness (116-117).

6Pilar’s frantic attempts to catch a glimpse of the scene at any cost place her in the situation of a voyeur, whose compulsive desire, according to Clément Rosset, does not stem from forbidden possession of the object so much as from the anxiety of being unable to see and to appropriate all there is to see (L’école du réel, 447). The voyeuristic vein of the episode as well as the ostentatious use of framing, the function of which Louis Marin defines as "representation presenting itself in the act of representing something" (De la représentation, 318, my translation), enhance the existence of something to be seen; repeated frustration of the desire to catch sight of it ultimately contributes to asserting its off-camera presence. Like a black hole in physics, the object signals its being through resistance to visual capture. The obstacles standing in the way set off the contours of the suppressed, invisible element, much as the mangled bodies of the Fascists are conjured up in outline as the unmentioned recipients of the hail of blows delivered by the gesticulating assailants who conceal them. The effect is conveyed by the unusual intransitive verbal structures resulting from the delayed occurrence of the complement: "And in that moment, looking through the bars, I saw the hall full of men flailing away with clubs and striking with flails, and poking and striking and pushing and heaving against people" (125). The presence of unseen resilient matter is further brought home by the close-up on the damages sustained by the rudimentary weapons: "with the white wooden pitchforks that now were red and with their tines broken" (125).

  • 6 In an interior monologue of the empathetic older waiter, who understands the desperate loneliness o (...)

7The narrative strategy displayed in Chapter X is emblematic of Hemingway’s representation of absence throughout the book and indicative of his conception of writing as making absence visible, particularly death and the nothingness surrounding man in the universe, the nada exposed in the short story "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place".6 The aesthetic issue, which the author was confronted with, can be summed up by Georges Didi-Huberman’s question in Ce que nous voyons, ce qui nous regarde: "Comment montrer un vide ? " (15) A clue may be found in a significant passage of the novel, when the glow of a cigarette end restores the vanished presence of Pablo’s body engulfed in the night, while at the same time setting off the enveloping darkness: "in the glow, as he drew on the cigarette, his round face showed"; "In the dark the cigarette glowed bright" (61). In his study of shadow, L’ombre et la différence, Vladimir Troubetskoy explains how the materiality of the body is paradoxically enhanced by the impalpable dark contours: "L’ombre, ce contour en sombre de notre corps, cette carence en photons, pourrions-nous dire, qui souligne en creux notre plénitude matérielle" (31). The vignette of the smoking guerilla fighter is emblematic of the way the author proceeds, condensing intensity in a single point. Indeed, the novelist makes the pressure of the surrounding vacuum tangible by densely filling the present moment as if attempting to fight back the threatening forces of annihilation. Hemingway’s world is what Clément Rosset would describe as a non-metaphysical alternative to the Platonian system, in which the material reality disclosed by the senses provides the highest form of being and is the one endowed with fullness, whereas the invisible other is the vacant one (Rosset 53). In this inverted perspective, the latter proves the negative double of the former and becomes more conspicuous as the here and now gains in intensity, as will be plain with a close examination of the writer’s particular handling of time and marked focus on the body.

8At the climactic moment when Robert Jordan feels most happy and fulfilled through his passionate love for Maria, he realizes that he is doomed to condense the meaningful experience of an entire life within barely three days: "Maybe that is my life and instead of it being threescore years and ten it is forty-eight hours or just threescore hours and ten or twelve rather" (166). The invisible presence of death is thus felt through the pressure of time. The awareness of nothingness closing in on the hero is conveyed in a passage of interior monologue by his desperate attempt to get hold of and to freeze the elusive moment of perfect bliss, which defies capture, as suggested by his going through the various translations of such abstract notions as "now" and "tonight" into several European languages (166). During the last love scene, in which "now" coincides with sexual climax, the protagonist strives to cram as much consciousness of self as possible into the minute and to stretch the moment to its utmost limit: "there is no other one but one now, one, going now, rising now, sailing now, leaving now, wheeling now, soaring now, away now, all the way now, all of all the way now" (379). In so doing, Jordan is at the same time keenly aware that, like the flicker of the cigarette soon engulfed in darkness, he will inevitably return to the nothingness of non-existence at some point in the after-"now". As a matter of fact, as the moment achieves its highest significance to the hero, it can only be lamely reduced to the very lexeme "now" obsessively repeated over and over again: "Oh, now, now, now, the only now, and above all now, and there is no other now but thou now and now is thy prophet" (379). The urgency of the character’s utterance paradoxically conjures up visions of annihilation, because, even as he proclaims the primacy of "now", the endless iteration of the word and its proliferation by means of syntactic transgression eventually empty it of meaning and turn it into a lifeless signifier.

9Emphasis on the intensity of present experience only serves to set off vacancy outside it, since what comes before is already lost and in all likelihood there will be no after: "this was all and always; this was what had been and now and whatever was to come. This, that they were not to have, they were having" (379). In the last sentence of the quotation, which clearly links the fullness of the present moment with the denied future, loss is asserted contrapuntally in the very speech act which proclaims possession. The protagonist’s acute sense of reality here and now consequently consigns past and future to absence, an absence literally made visible, since it takes shape in immaterial scenes that are not accessible through the senses but that are conjured up in the mind’s eye with a symptomatic shift from sight to vision. Pre-war pleasures can only be recalled from the past artificially thanks to the hallucinatory powers of absinthe, and the nostalgia that tinges the remembrance unmistakably posits their being forever out of reach, removed in time by the past perfect tense. Unsurprisingly, the sensations of the old days, which alone could be evidence of the actuality of those pleasures, are edged out of the narrative discourse by the corrosive physical effects of the liquor in the present: "one cup of it took the place of the evening papers, of all the old evenings in cafés"; "all the things he had enjoyed and forgotten and that came back to him when he tasted that opaque, bitter, tongue-numbing, brain-warming, stomach-warming, idea-changing liquid alchemy" (51, my emphasis).

10As for the future envisioned in the novel, it is immaterial as well, because of Jordan’s perceptible awareness of being out of it. The confidence conveyed by the recurrent modal "will" in Maria’s vows to take care of him after the destruction of the bridge sounds like wishful thinking as it meets with the hero’s scepticism and weak tentative denials, which echo her words in the negative form: "'and when thou art wounded I will care for thee and dress thy wound and wash thee and feed thee——' 'Maybe I won’t be wounded', Robert Jordan said" (171). Ironically, the future becomes most distinctly visible at the very point when it is irretrievably doomed, that is, when the severely injured American must bid farewell to his beloved and stay behind to await sure death. The ambivalent verb "to see", which no longer has anything to do with sight, points out the protagonist’s physical absence from the scheme of escape involving the girl alone, his own presence being limited to a linguistic delusion and made possible only by the performative function of language: "'Now you see it', he said. 'Now I see it is clear. Now thou wilt go. Good. Now you are going. […] Now you are going well and fast and far and we both go in thee'" (463-464). Once the fugitives have vanished behind the ridge, Jordan mentally pictures the landscape they are supposed to be riding across, in order to stave off agonizing pain and to refrain from killing himself. In so doing, he is projecting his thoughts into a prospect from which he is excluded: "Think about them going up the slope. Think about them O.K. tonight. Think about them travelling all night. Think about them hiding up tomorrow" (470). Thanks to this narrative feat, the author manages to make the character’s absence from the future visible, and more strikingly, to stretch the dying man’s consciousness until after the moment when it should have faded out.

  • 7 Madrid is the closer place where the protagonist wished to take Maria after the explosion of the br (...)

11In fact, the passage may be read as Hemingway’s attempt to get imaginatively as close as possible to the disappearance of human subjectivity and to represent verbally the invisible reality beyond man’s experience, namely death. Logically, the mind of the protagonist cannot reach very far into distant time and space, such as Montana or Madrid.7 It can only settle on a pedestrian bodily sensation, "a cool drink of water", likely to alleviate his present suffering and thus apt to furnish him with an adequate metaphor to figure out what dying can possibly feel like. However the intellect is finally checkmated by the impossibility of picturing nothingness: "That’s what it will be like. Like a cool drink of water. You’re a liar. It will just be nothing. That’s all it will be. Just nothing" (470). After this authorial hint that the truth of the situation cannot be approached through analogy to previous personal experience, the only remaining narrative solution to represent imminent nothingness is to dramatize the final ebb of consciousness through mimetic style, with a triple mention of near fainting then the gradual suppression of the focalizer from the last sentence of interior monologue before the ultimate switch to external focalization: "And he lay very quietly and tried to hold on to himself that he felt slipping away from himself as you feel snow starting to slip sometimes on a mountain slope, and he said, now quietly, then let me last until they come" (470-471). In spite of the emphasis on the protagonist’s self with the repetition of the reflexive personal pronoun, his consciousness is shut off through a fade-out which shifts to the extradiegetic general experience of the reader.

  • 8 Hiding in a train taking him away from the front after his desertion, Frederic Henry declares in a (...)

12Besides highlighting the intensity of the present moment, Hemingway also dwells on the spatial pole of the here and now, bringing the body into special focus as the locus of being. The body had already been given prominence in the earlier war novel, A Farewell to Arms, as part of the novelist’s realistic approach to warfare and as an antidote to the anxiety produced by obsessional thinking.8 In For Whom the Bell Tolls however, the stress is put on the myriad sensations, through which the reality of the world is impressed on the character’s consciousness and fills him with the sense of being alive. Michel Collot, in his study on emotion, based on the subversion of the classical mind-body dualism, posits the empathetic nature of sensation, as opposed to the distance involved in perception, and describes it as the mode by which the subject experiences himself as being part of the world, going out of himself to meet the object (La matière-émotion 16-20).

13That is how the repeated emphasis on Robert Jordan’s sharp sensory impressions may be understood. The world is real to him because he is bodily affected by it, particularly as the sensations closest to physical contact, like smell and touch, are given special prominence. Amidst the tension of his perilous mission, the American walking out of the cave of the Spanish guerilla hungrily absorbs as many details of the scenery as he can, an appetite underscored by a triple variation on the fact of taking deep breaths (59). In so doing, he becomes aware of the fullness of the world which he is about to leave, a wealth conveyed by the lengthy accumulation of extremely accurate and minutely dissected sensory notations, occasionally reinforced by the anaphoric reiteration of a verb of perception: "he heard first […] and then he heard. Then inside the cave he could hear …". Each tiny odour, whether of human, animal or natural origin, is a source of renewed wonder and well-being, and the hyper-receptivity thus denoted tends to suggest that these sensations, pleasant and unpleasant alike, are small earthly joys, the more keenly felt as the protagonist has a foreboding that he is soon to be deprived of them forever and that he should therefore cram as much life experience as possible before it is too late. Further on, clinging to Maria’s youthful body at night, he "held her tight as though she were all of life and it was being taken from him" (264). He drops an intensity of observation on the world around him as if he were gazing at it for the last time. This obsessive latent contrast between life and death is explicitly confirmed when Jordan points out to one of the Spanish fighters remarking on his zest for food, which the unfortunate dynamiter preceding him lacked: "'There is one great difference'. […] 'I am alive and he is dead'" (289).

  • 9 The painting, dated approximately 1664, is called Memento Mori. It shows an hourglass on the left, (...)

14By means of crowded sensory notations, the text provides an inverted picture of impending death, which can be read between the lines as the negative of those multitudinous assertions of life. Death becomes visible as the absence of all the familiar details, which its imminence brings into focus and which turn human existence into a unique experience. It looms as the so far unseen backdrop against which the rich, colourful present world stands out. As happens with a painting, the viewer suddenly becomes aware of the presence of the transparent background, which makes the grasp of the central figure possible. Louis Marin argues the point forcibly when he comments on Philippe de Champaigne’s 17th century still life called Vanita,9 explaining that the black background leaps out at the gazer after a while and strikes them as the nothingness which endows the represented objects with meaningful form (De la représentation 344). That is what actually takes place in the last pages of the novel, when Jordan’s gaze is arrested by the elements of the surrounding landscape in his final moments. The blank left by the disappearance of his fleeing companions over the ridge and materialized on the page by suspension dots, is immediately filled in by the sloping hill, the road and the bridge to which he turns his eyes, so that the fullness, which he substitutes for the yawning vacancy—itself foreshadowing a more final void—is the representation of all he is about to relinquish (466).

  • 10 Didi-Huberman conceives of seeing as a tactile experience ("une expérience du toucher"), since the (...)
  • 11 Because of the solid substance of the objects, suggested by the preposition "against" and by the re (...)

15The loss looks back at him, to borrow Georges Didi-Huberman’s intriguing statement "nous sommes regardés par la perte" in Ce que nous voyons, ce qui nous regarde, a confirmation of the art theorist’s understanding of seeing as losing in his aesthetic of the symptom: "quand voir ; c’est sentir que quelque chose inéluctablement nous échappe, autrement dit : quand voir ; c’est perdre" (60, 14). The realization is given a haptic intensity,10 with the sense of touch taking over from sight, when Jordan gropes around to get the feel of the pine bark and needles close to him: "He touched the palm of his hand against the pine needles where he lay and he touched the bark of the pine trunk that he lay behind" (471). The detail has the twofold effect of asserting the materiality of the living world one more time and of making the nothingness of impending death both visible and palpable as the underside of that world, precisely in the way the contours of the pine fragments are imprinted on the body’s perceptual surface.11 The final focus of the narrative on the meeting-point between light and shadow, open country and dense forest ultimately encapsulates Hemingway’s overriding concern with the borderline between human consciousness and inhuman emptiness throughout the novel. Just like his protagonist taking aim at the war enemy who is about to step across the line into the light, the writer has endeavoured to get as close as possible to the experience of death and to make it visible to readers through verbal representation.

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Collot, Michel, La matière-émotion, Paris : PUF, 1997.

Didi-Huberman, Georges, Devant l’image, Paris : Les Éditions de Minuit, 1990.

——, Ce que nous voyons, ce qui nous regarde, Paris : Les Éditions de Minuit, 1992.

Hemingway, Ernest, A Farewell to Arms, London: Arrow Books, 1994 [1929].

——, For Whom the Bell Tolls, New York: Macmillan, Scribner, 1987 [1940].

——, "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place", The Complete Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway, The Finca Vigía Edition, New York: Scribner, 2003 [1987].

Malraux, André, L’Espoir, Paris : Gallimard, 2010 [1937].

Marin, Louis, De la représentation, Paris : Gallimard / Le Seuil, 1994.

Merleau-Ponty, Maurice, Phénoménologie de la perception, Paris : Gallimard, 1976 [1945].

——, Le visible et l’invisible, Paris : NRF Gallimard, 1964.

Rosset, Clément, L’école du réel, Paris : Les Éditions de Minuit, 2008.

Sanders, David, "Ernest Hemingway’s Spanish Civil War Experience", American Quarterly 12.2 (Summer 1960): 133-143.

Troubetskoy, Vladimir, L’ombre et la différence, Paris : PUF, 1993.

Twomey, Lisa A., "Taboo or Tolerable? Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls", The Hemingway Review 30.2 (Spring 2011): 54-72.

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1 At the beginning of her discussion about Hemingway’s ideological commitment during the Spanish civil war, American critic Lisa Twomey mentions the disappointment voiced by Spanish critics of the author’s generation when the novel came out. She quotes José Marra-Lopez deploring that For Whom the Bell Tolls "is not our civil war, nor is it Spain—a country that Hemingway knew well—nor does it reflect a reality that is fundamental to us." ("Taboo or Tolerable?" 54).

2 I am here referring to Merleau-Ponty’s two groundbreaking books—Phenomelogy of Perception (1945) and The Visible and the Invisible (1964).

3 Such is the theory that Georges Didi-Huberman developed in the 1990s and that I will use further down to support my argument.

4 The fact that the account of the horrifying event should be produced in retrospect through the mediation of a character other than the protagonist, points out the desire to remove the scene at a distance.

5 Unlike André Malraux, who took an active part on the spot during the first months of the civil war and produced a fictionalized version of his first-hand experience in his novel L’Espoir in 1937, Hemingway did not reach Spain until late February 1937, when the Loyalist cause was already in a bad way. For a compared study of the two writers’ responses to the war, see David Sanders.

6 In an interior monologue of the empathetic older waiter, who understands the desperate loneliness of an addicted customer, the climactic repetition of the Spanish word meaning "nothingness" comes to invade the whole discourse, thus becoming the new empty faith substituted for the former religious credo : "he knew it all was nada y pues nada y nada y pues nada. Our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name thy kingdom nada thy will be nada in nada as it is in nada" (CSS 291).

7 Madrid is the closer place where the protagonist wished to take Maria after the explosion of the bridge and Montana the farther location of his past life as well as of a possible future with the Spanish girl as man and wife.

8 Hiding in a train taking him away from the front after his desertion, Frederic Henry declares in a mental soliloquy : "Hard as the floor of the car to lie not thinking only feeling"; "I was not made to think. I was made to eat. My God, yes. Eat and drink and sleep with Catherine" (207, 208).

9 The painting, dated approximately 1664, is called Memento Mori. It shows an hourglass on the left, a skull in the middle and a tulip in a small vase on the right, set in a line on a table and etched out against a uniformly black background.

10 Didi-Huberman conceives of seeing as a tactile experience ("une expérience du toucher"), since the object leaps out at the gazer and makes its presence felt as with a touch (Didi-Huberman 1992, 11).

11 Because of the solid substance of the objects, suggested by the preposition "against" and by the reiteration of the central verb of perception "touched", it may be reasonably surmised that the pine fragments imprint their shapes on the surface of Jordan’s palm like figures in an etching. The idea is further supported by the process of duplication at work in the syntax, with the repetition of three different lexemes ("touched", "pine", "lay") and the symmetrical pattern of the sentence.

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Bibliographical reference

Marie-Odile Salati, « She "had made him see it", or How to Make Absence Visible in Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls », Caliban, 56 | 2016, 55-65.

Electronic reference

Marie-Odile Salati, « She "had made him see it", or How to Make Absence Visible in Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls », Caliban [Online], 56 | 2016, Online since 01 October 2016, connection on 03 December 2020. URL : ; DOI :

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About the author

Marie-Odile Salati

Université de Savoie Mont Blanc

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Caliban – French Journal of English Studies est mis à disposition selon les termes de la licence Creative Commons Attribution - Pas d'Utilisation Commerciale - Pas de Modification 4.0 International.

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