The Mailer Review/Volume 5, 2011/Hemingway and Women at the Front: Blowing Bridges in The Fifth Column, For Whom the Bell Tolls, and Other Works: Difference between revisions

{{dc|dc=O|ne of the central issues on which critics}} of ''A Farewell to Arms'' focus is the vexed relationship between love and war, a response Hemingway invites with his punningly ambiguous title. Certainly Frederic Henry rejects the arms of war in his “separate peace,”{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=243}} an act of desertion validated by the confused and murderous actions of the Italian officers in the army he serves. Yet Frederic is also pulled from the arms of war by the arms of love in the person of Catherine Barkley. The two flee the war arena—she abandoning her post as nurse in the American Red Cross Hospital in Milan—for a safe retreat in neutral Switzerland, an idyllic haven that protects them from wartime reality. That Frederic must ultimately say farewell to the arms of love when Catherine dies in childbirth is tragedy of a different order from his first farewell—existential or perhaps ontological tragedy, the tragedy of life itself, not the sociopolitical tragedy of war.

Some nine years later Hemingway revisits this same vexed relationship in his 1938 play ''The Fifth Column'', whose setting is the Spanish Civil War. Whereas Frederic Henry ultimately chooses love over war, Philip Rawlings chooses war over love, declaring, “We’re in for fifty years of undeclared wars and I’ve signed up for the duration.”{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=80}} He rejects his lover Dorothy Bridges, along with her fantasy of sharing “a long, happy, quiet life at some {{pg|370|371}} place like Saint-Tropez or, you know, some place like Saint-Tropez ''was''”{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=23}}—that is, an idyllic haven outside of time. Instead, he embraces the wartime reality, declaiming, “Where I go now, I go alone, or with others who go there for the same reason I go.”{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=83}} Loyalty to his comrades in arms supersedes loyalty to his lover, whom he pointedly stops calling “comrade” in a politically and emotionally significant act. Not a separate peace but voluntary enlistment “for the duration” is the fate Philip Rawlings chooses.

Perceptions about World War I and the Spanish Civil War were also markedly different. The causes of World War I were murky, the conduct of the war disconcerting because traditional ways of battle had been rendered obsolete, and the meaning of the Allied victory in this war of attrition was unclear. The only hope was that this was the war to end all wars—ironic, given that the Treaty of Versailles in effect set up the circumstances that led to World War II. Speaking for an entire generation, Hemingway’s Frederic {{pg|372|373}} Henry famously says, “I had seen nothing sacred, and the things that were glorious had no glory and the sacrifices were like the stockyards at Chicago if nothing was done with the meat except to bury it”{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=185}}—in short, a slaughter without meaning or higher purpose.{{efn|Hemingway draws an equivalent relationship between the Chicago slaughterhouse and World War I, and then between the Spanish bullfight and the knightly tournament. He deconstructs the seeming equality of these sets of terms, revealing the hierarchical relationship that always already obtains, the first set of terms being subordinated to the second set of terms. For an argument as to the central significance of these terms to an interpretation of ''Farewell'', see {{harvtxt|Moreland|2008}}‘’World War I’’.}} As such, Frederic Henry is justified in making his famous “separate peace.”{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=243}}

Moon notes that “[camp-following] women belonged to the army, but they belonged to it in the same way they belonged to anything else—as domestic attachments.”{{sfn|Moon|1999|p=275}} Typically ordered to “accompany the baggage and stay out of the way,”{{sfn|Moon|1999|p=14}} they were regarded as outsiders, historically marginalized though they traveled with and supported the army. Mayer notes that this community was class-inflected, such that officer’s wives were “ladies” who typically visited only during winter quarters and created a social life for the officers, while lower-class women not only traveled year- {{pg|376|377}} round with their men-folk but also necessarily worked to support themselves and their families, thus rendering them suspect since some female merchants inevitably “supplement[ed] their incomes by engaging in prostitution.”{{sfn|Mayer|1996|p=7}} Prostitutes from nearby and typically urban areas also saw encamped armies as commercial opportunities. Moon notes that “the degree to which military prostitutes’ lives have been controlled or regulated by the armed forces has depended on [a variety of factors],”{{sfn|Moon|1999|p=210}} and Herbert asserts that “historically, in many instances prostitution was organized, or at the very least made available, by the military.”{{sfn|Herbert|1998|p=64}} In ''A Farewell to Arms'', Hemingway describes a relatively regulated degree of military control, Frederic observing that Gorizia has two separate “bawdy houses, one for troops and one for officers.”{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=5}} Rinaldi alludes to “bad administration,” complaining that “for two weeks now they haven’t changed [the girls, who have become] . . . old war comrades.”{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|pp=64–65}}  

Hemingway reflects these rules in ''A Farewell to Arms'' when Catherine de- scribes the restrictions on the nurses’ behavior at the hospital in Gorizia, only a mile from the front: “The Italians didn’t want women so near the front. So we’re all on very special behavior. We don’t go out.”{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=25}} Though the rules are more relaxed at the American Red Cross Hospital in Milan, Frederic notes that “they would not let us go out together when I was off crutches because it was unseemly for a nurse to be seen unchaperoned with a patient who did not look as though he needed attendance.” {{sfn|Hemingway|1969|pp=117-118}} Increased personal freedom resulted inevitably, however, in increased sexual freedom, as represented in the actions of Catherine Barkley and Brett Ashley; indeed, Clara Barton’s intimate relationship with the married Colonel John Elwell, quartermaster for the Department of the South, is illustrative in this regard.{{efn|For discussions of the relationship between Clara Barton and John Elwell, see {{harvtxt|Oates|1994|pp=148–158}} and {{harvtxt|Pryor|1987|pp=112–117}}.}} Of course, the same point about increased sexual freedom might be made about male soldiers. But only the female nurses labored under moral opprobrium, whether external or introjected, as Hemingway represents. It is no accident that the name of the sexually promiscuous Brett rhymes with that {{pg|384|385}} of the prostitute Georgette, nor that Jake Barnes confuses their voices. Similarly, Catherine Barkley voices the internal anxiety surrounding the new female role of wartime nurse when she says, “I never felt like a whore before”{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=152}} to her patient-lover. Of course, he is more truly her impatient lover, whose return to the battle front results in her agreeing to a sexual encounter as atonement for her sexual refusal of her now-dead soldier-fiancé.

It would seem that ''The Fifth Column''’s Dorothy Bridges is a war corre- {{pg|385|386}} spondent—how else to explain her residence in Madrid’s Hotel Florida, the presence of a large military map and war poster and typewriter in her room, and her announcement late in the play that she has “sent away three articles?”{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=82}}  But her lover Robert Preston, himself a war correspondent, calls her “a bored Vassar bitch”{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=4}}—a change from the 1937 Madrid typescript where she is identified with Martha Gellhorn’s own Bryn Mawr. Rather than protesting, Dorothy agrees that she doesn’t “understand anything that is happening here.”{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=5}} Dorothy’s stereotypical characterization as a dumb blonde renders her presumed identity problematic. For example, Philip confusedly shouts, “Aren’t you a lady war correspondent or something? Get out of here and go write an article. This [the assassination of a Loyalist soldier in Philip’s room] is none of your business.”{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=33}} Her role as war correspondent cannot stand alone, but must be delimited by the modifier “lady”—or better yet relegated to the unnameable “or something.” But if the assassination of a soldier is not the business of a “lady” war correspondent, then what is? Indeed, what is the appropriate material for the article Philip directs her to write while simultaneously identifying what is off limits to her? In this telling scene, Philip places Dorothy in an untenable position because her identity and her subject matter remain unsayable. She fits into neither of the historically accepted categories of women at the battle front, prostitute or rape victim, nor into that of the more recently accepted category of nurse. But there she is nonetheless, at the war front instead of the home front, practicing it would seem the male profession of war correspondent.

As soon as Philip falls in love with Dorothy, a romance that she boldly initiates, he demands that she “move out of this hotel and . . . go back to America.”{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=31}} But Dorothy refuses to leave, calling him an “impudent, impertinent man.”{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=31}} An independent woman, she need not comply with his demand that she return to the home front. That is, after all, the realm of wives, as evidenced by Preston’s wife, about whom he is “always going on,” according to Dorothy, who adds, “Let him go back to his wife and children if he’s so excited about them. I’ll bet he won’t.”{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=25}}  

Though Dorothy commits herself to remaining near the battle front, she has simultaneously worked to make her own room homey, and she makes over Philip’s adjoining room as well. In the context of the play, Dorothy’s redecoration of Philip’s room signals her desire to domesticate him, to lure him away from the war to the home front. Certainly that is how Philip interprets it. His ambivalence about this domestication is revealed by his dis- {{pg|386|387}} comfort in the redecorated room and by his conflicted responses to Dorothy. In the midst of the war, she has created a home front of sorts, a conflation that confuses Philip. He attempts to reestablish the division by associating nighttime with the home front and daytime with the war front, declaring during the night not only his love but more tellingly his desire to marry her, and repudiating these declarations during the day. Dorothy reacts to both nighttime and daytime pronouncements with equanimity, enjoying Philip’s nighttime fantasies which she also shares, yet recognizing them as such. When Philip rejects her at the end of the play, he does so because he fears he will be unable to withstand the temptation she represents to abandon the war front for the home front, a concern that his German comrade Max reinforces. But Philip’s rejection of Dorothy, however painful, does not result in her departure from Madrid.{{efn|In Benjamin Glazer’s adaptation of the play for production, the much-revised character of Dorothy ''does'' leave Madrid, hoping but not expecting Philip to follow her. Glazer’s Dorothy is more conventional than Hemingway’s, an attempt to make her more sympathetic to the audience. Notably, she is only pretending to be a war correspondent while she is actually searching for her lost brother who has joined the Lincoln Brigade. In Glazer’s adaptation she is, bizarrely, raped by Philip. She is thereby transformed from Hemingway’s female war correspondent into the conventional female rape victim of war. Despite the rape, Glazer’s Dorothy falls in love with Philip, a response that the audience is expected to approve. For a discussion of Glazer’s version as compared to Hemingway’s, see {{harvtxt|Fellner|1986|pp=5–30}}.}} Just as Philip has volunteered for the duration, so too, it would seem, has Dorothy. But she is better able to assimilate fantasy and reality, nighttime and daytime, home front and war front, into a complex whole. For Dorothy, the conversations about other places are “just ''playing'',”{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=62}} a kind of bedtime story ritual. Realist to his romantic, she accepts the constraints placed on them by their mutual presence at the war: “But can’t we just go on now, as long as we have each other, I mean if we aren’t going to always keep on, and be nice and enjoy what we have and not be bitter?”{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=63}}

In creating a home front at the war front, Dorothy does not split but compounds her loyalties, voluntarily remaining at home in war-torn Madrid. Gellhorn asserts in her 1959 Introduction to The Face of War: “War was our condition and our history, the place we had to live in.”{{sfn|Gelhorn|1978|p=viii}} In making the war front their home, women were thus making themselves at home in the public sphere of the world at large. In “The War in Spain” section of ''The Face of War'', Gellhorn specifies: “Thanks to ''Collier''’s I had the chance to see the life of my time, which was war  For eight years, I could go where I

In the next scene Anita—“a Moorish tart” as the stage directions initially refer to her rather than by name—is brought by Philip to Dorothy’s room, where Anita objects to the sign because “all the time working, isn’t fair.”{{sfn|Hemingway|1968|p=10}} She insists that Dorothy give her the sign as a means of forestalling unfair competition. Anita is, in fact, in competition with Dorothy for Philip’s affections and his sexual favors. At one level, the play presents a choice between Dorothy and Anita. And the final scene of the play presents the high-minded Philip, having rejected Dorothy, initiating a sexual encounter with Anita. Sexuality without strings is preferable to the entanglements of love and marriage when one has committed oneself to fighting for the Cause, although this loveless encounter seems like torture to Max, who responds to it exactly as he does to an interrogation scene earlier.{{sfn|Hemingway|1968|p=76, 85}} In “Night Before Battle,” one of the Spanish Civil War stories that Hemingway blocked out while revising ''The Fifth Column'' in Key West, the only difference between “two American girls at the Florida [who are] newspaper correspondents” and two prostitutes is that a soldier must talk to the female war correspondents before sex, while he may simply pay the prostitutes for their sexual services.{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=118}} Max’s confused articulation of Dorothy Bridges’ name—“Britches?”{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=64}}—reinforces her redefined identity as sexual object, indeed as whore.

Employing understatement like Philip’s own, Dorothy later comments to Philip in passing, “I work when you’re not around,” a claim that Philip could also make.{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=57}} Yet Philip has a history on which to draw to enact his role successfully, whereas Dorothy must create a new role without history’s support, {{pg|392|393}} rendering her circumspect as she defines this identity. Nancy Sorel notes of the women war correspondents who reported World War II—“fewer than a hundred in all”{{sfn|Sorel|1999|p=xili}}—that “every women felt vulnerable in regard to her professional status,” whether because of “discriminatory treatment by generals,” “denigrating remarks from hostile male reporters,” or unwanted romantic or sexual advances.{{sfn|Sorel|1999|p=xiv}} Dorothy disguises her vulnerability at enacting her new role as war correspondent just as Philip does at enacting his role as counterespionage agent. But Dorothy has no one to talk to about her secret life, while Philip has Max, to whom he confides his doubts and fears, and even the hotel manager, to whom he confides information in a code they both understand. As Pilar tells Robert Jordan in ''For Whom the Bell Tolls'', “Everyone needs to talk to someone. Now for every one there should be some one to whom one can speak frankly, for all the valor one could have one becomes very alone.”{{sfn|Hemingway|1968|p=89}} And secretly valorous Dorothy is in this regard far more alone than Philip.

Like Dorothy’s first lover Preston, Hemingway had a wife and children on the home front, and his coverage of the Spanish Civil War provided him with a reason to be away from his family as well as with an environment of danger and intensity where a shared cause subsumed any other differences, encouraging the pleasures of a sexual liaison without thoughts of consequences. Indeed, a wife and children seemed to preclude consequences. Hemingway demonstrates a degree of masculine self-awareness when he has Dorothy say, “Those wife-and-children men at war . . . just use them as sort of an opening wedge to get into bed with some one and then immediately afterwards they club you with them.”{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=25}}

Yet Hemingway came to resent the very qualities that had attracted him because he was fearful, not without reason, that these women would refuse to return permanently to the home front upon becoming his wife—an iden- {{pg|396|397}} tity to his mind that subsumed all others. When angry at Mary in later years, he called her a “camp-follower,”{{sfn|Kert|1983|p=455}} saying, “I haven’t fucked generals to get my information"{{sfn|Whiting|1999|p=20}}—a sexually demeaning remark that redefined her war-front identity from war correspondent to whore while simultaneously signaling his uneasy sense of professional rivalry. In calling Mary “you goddamn smirking, useless female war correspondent,”{{sfn|Lynn|1987|p=515}} he indicted all female war correspondents because the adjective “female” is joined in this list by uniformly pejorative adjectives. And Hemingway’s indictment of Mary was an indictment of Martha Gellhorn, whose war correspondence he chose to criticize at one of their last meetings, knowing exactly how to hurt her. Indeed, it was an indictment of all those women whose positions at the home front had been compromised by their experiences at the war front, which were among the most exaggerated of the public-sphere activities in which modern women were involved. Such activities rendered them simultaneously more fascinating and more terrifyingly unpredictable to modern men.

Martha Gellhorn came to recognize the dilemma that inevitably resulted when modern men were attracted to modern women for qualities that they {{pg|397|398}} would abjure in a wife, playing it for comedy in the 1945 play she and Virginia Cowles wrote, ''Love Goes to Press'' (originally titled ''Men Must Weep'' and then, with wonderful ambiguity, ''Take My Love Away''). The two female protagonists, Annabelle Jones (based on Gellhorn) and Jane Mason (based on Cowles), are successful war correspondents who report from the front lines of World War II, when “any decent woman would stay at home” according to Philip, the British Public Relations Officer and Jane’s love interest.{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=10}} Joe Rogers, war correspondent and Annabelle’s ex-husband, “says war’s no place for a woman” according to his new fiancée, actress Daphne Rutherford.{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=14}} She is entertaining the troops rather nearer to the front line than she had expected, and he promises to “bundle [her] up and send [her] straight off to America where it’s safe.”{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=14}}

While the male correspondents are satisfied to rewrite military communiques, Annabelle and Jane show remarkable ingenuity in finding ways to get to the front so as to report the action firsthand. However, their efforts are denigrated, Joe Rogers repeatedly complaining, to the widespread agreement of the other men, that they “run this lousy war on sex-appeal.”{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=45, 49}} As Sandra Spanier notes in her Afterword to the play:

<blockquote> The fact is, of course, that being female is a definite occupational handicap for a war correspondent, and both Jane and Annabelle know it. But because their womanhood is something that they have never been allowed to forget, they have great fun flaunting it. With a perfect understanding of the currency of power, they turn a handicap to their own advantage in repeated acts of subversion that the authors exploit to comic effect.{{sfn|Spanier|1995|p=82-83}} </blockquote>

Jane and Annabelle find it a minor irritant that everyone assumes they must inevitably be nurses. “No, I’m not a nurse,” Jane patiently repeats.{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=16}} But this correction implies criticism of the stereotype alone, not the role itself. Indeed, Jane forgoes a scoop in order to render medical aid to a wounded officer on the battlefield, just as Gellhorn helped the medical staff with the wounded on the hospital transport ship where she had stowed away {{pg|398|399}} in the toilet so as to get to Normandy to report on the D-Day landing. Even the “repugnant” Daphne is recuperated.{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=36}} When Philip criticizes Daphne because “all she can think about is her dreadful career,” Jane responds with exquisite irony that “it isn’t the career that’s silly,” and she notes with admiration that Daphne “certainly knows what she wants.”{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=63}}

Jane briefly thinks that what she herself wants is marriage to Philip, who suddenly expresses admiration for her independence and professionalism as a war correspondent. But soon he says, “I can’t have you going to the front any more. . . [because] you’re mine now.”{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=60}} He sabotages her work by arranging for her to sleep through an attack she is to report, and he makes plans to send her to his family home in England. This last is too much for Jane. She is appalled by his description of the life his mother and sister lead there—notably, not because she finds it trivial, but rather because the riding and hunting, the bee-keeping and cow-tending, the war committees and the uniformed “land army” all require a different sort of courage and a different set of talents than she possesses.{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=76}} She is horrified to discover, for example, that there are no “field dressing station[s]” at fox hunts, and she bewails the fact that “there’s no one to pick up the wounded.”{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=69, 64}} Imagining a future where she will be “kicked by horses and stung by bees and finally die of mastitis from a cow,” she envies Annabelle whom she envisions “in a lovely dry dug-out somewhere.”{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=73, 69}} Jane changes her mind about marrying Philip and lights out for the territory—to Burma, in fact, with Annabelle, to report on the war front there.

Annabelle does indeed plan to continue her war correspondence, but she hopes to do so with Joe Rogers, who has proclaimed not only his continuing love for her but also a new attitude of respect for her work: “No other girl would have dared to fly that mission  You’re everything. You’re pretty and funny and brave. I think being so brave is one of the things I’m proudest of.”{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=67}} He promises never again to steal her stories as he did during their brief marriage. “He said he did it because he loved me so much he couldn’t bear to have me in danger,” Annabelle tells Jane, but “it turned out he married me to silence the opposition.”{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=19}} Joe now asserts, “Nothing means anything without you,” and he promises never to interfere in her work again.{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=67}} Annabelle imagines a future with this “beautiful, funny, fascinating man” in which they will cover wars together in happy comradeship,{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=20}} having learned that marriage is “too dangerous” and that “you risk ruining everything with marriage.”{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=69}} But Annabelle discovers that Joe has not {{pg|399|400}} changed when he steals her trip to Poland. The theft is bad enough, but his condescending explanation is still more infuriating: “Hawkins sent for you, but it’s too dangerous. I love you too much. It doesn’t matter for a man. P.S. Back tomorrow.”{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=73}} Annabelle’s earlier comment, “If there’s anything I really loathe, it’s a woman protector,” resonates for she senses personal motivations beneath this seemingly generous sentiment.{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=25}} Moreover, the same sentiment is expressed by Philip, as one of the male correspondents tells her: “You’ve got to be more tolerant, Annabelle. The poor guy’s been away from England for three years, fighting to protect womankind from the horrors of war. And then the womankind walks in on him. He might as well have spared himself the trouble. You can see it would upset him for a while.”{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=25}}

Annabelle is terribly hurt by Joe’s betrayal, but she vows not “to let any worthless man ruin [her] job,”{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=74}} and she is cheered at the prospect of covering the war in Burma: “It sounds too terrible. Those poor men, and no one to tell what they’re doing. Forgotten Army. How dare people treat them like that”{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=75}} Annabelle proves herself “still out to save the world,” as Jane had earlier described her, claiming, “We have to write, Jane. The people who fight can’t. It’s our job.  Our duty, really.”{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=19, 18}} So Annabelle and Jane go off to yet another war front, finding it “lovely to be at the same war” but regretting that the men they love cannot somehow tolerate sharing the ex- perience with them.{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=23}} Hemingway’s Philip Rawlings had criticized Dorothy, saying that “the first thing an American woman does is try to get the man she’s interested in to give up something,”{{sfn|Gellhorn|Cowles|1995|p=24}} but in ''Love Goes to Press'' it is the men who try to change the women. As Sandra Spanier notes in her Afterword, ''"Love Goes to Press'' portrays men and women in love and at war from a distinctly female point of view, a lens through which we rarely have had the opportunity in American literature to view any war. And in this wartime drama, the European Theater of Operations is literally that— the stage set for the main action: the War between the Sexes.”{{sfn|Spanier|1995|p=82}}

In ''The Fifth Column'', Hemingway also portrays what he called “the great unending battle between men and women,”{{sfn|Baker|1969|p=481-482}} though he plays it for tragedy rather than comedy. His biting portrait of Dorothy Bridges, Philip Rawlings’ potential wife, provided a cautionary example that Hemingway proceeded to ignore, as so many critics have pointed out, and as Philip seems to know when he famously confesses, “I’m afraid that’s the whole trouble. I want to make an absolutely colossal mistake.”{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=42}} But in order to render evident this colossal mistake, which Philip actually avoids, {{pg|400|401}} Hemingway is reduced to caricaturing Martha in the role of Dorothy—in point of fact, underplaying those characteristics that he found most attractive in Martha and also most disconcerting. But the play didn’t work, critics citing most often as its primary flaw the unbelievable characterization of Dorothy. And so he easily ignored his own warning, as Martha also apparently did, though her fictional counterpart quite rightly says of Philip, “You’re a very serious problem for any woman.”{{sfn|Hemingway|1969|p=24}} These two willful, talented, independent people came together in the heat of battle, then waged their own personal war, from which Martha emerged an accomplished war correspondent and Hemingway emerged as husband to a woman whom he had persuaded to abandon war correspondence—not a pocket Reubens, as he affectionately termed her, but a pocket female war correspondent whom he packed up for the home front once he decided he wanted to leave the war behind. But given the modernist merging of home front and war front, Hemingway should not have been surprised to discover that in moving Mary into Martha’s room at the Finca Vigía, he had not emerged as victor in the war between the sexes but had merely shifted the battlelines.

* {{cite book |last1=Gellhorn |first1=Martha |last2=Cowles |first2=Virginia |date=1946 |title=Love Goes to Press |editor-last=Spanier |editor-first=Sandra |location=Lincoln |publisher=U of Nebraska P, 1995 |ref=harvtxt }}

* {{cite book |last1=Gellhorn |first1=Martha |author-mask=1|last2=Cowles |first2=Virginia |title=Love Goes to Press |editor-last=Spanier |editor-first=Sandra |script-title=Afterword |location=Lincoln |publisher=U of Nebraska P, 1995 |pages=79-90 |ref=harvtxt }}

* {{cite book |last=Hemingway |first=Ernest |author-mask=1 |title=A Farewell to Arms |year=1929 |url= |location=New York |publisher=Scribner, 1969 |pages= |ref=harvtxt }}

* {{cite book |last=Hemingway |first=Ernest |author-mask=1 |title=The Fifth Column |chapter=The Fifth Column ''and Four Stories of the Spanish Civil War'' |year= |url= |location=New York |publisher=Scribner, 1969 |pages=3-85 |ref=harvtxt }}

* {{cite book |last=Hemingway |first=Ernest |author-mask=1 |date= |title=''The Fifth Column'' and Four Stories of the Spanish Civil War |chapter=Night Before Battle |url= |location=New York |publisher=Scribner, 1969 |pages=110-139 |ref=harvtxt }}