This blog post examines the meaning of aging, time, and artistic rebirth through Santiago’s battle with the marlin in The Old Man and the Sea.
As is often the case with Hemingway’s works, and particularly with The Old Man and the Sea, the diversity of its themes is striking. Like many works that have attained classic status, this novel also acts as a mirror, allowing critics and readers alike to discover different reflections within it as they engage with the text. Furthermore, as is characteristic of classics, this work is reinterpreted with new meaning each time the times change. Moreover, this novel transcends universal meaning, simultaneously possessing specific significance shaped by geographical and cultural differences. Works that pursue such exquisite balance and harmony between universality and particularity, generality and specificity, are rare even in the history of world literature.
Above all, in The Old Man and the Sea, Hemingway profoundly embodies the inner anguish he himself felt as a novelist. Ultimately, no writer exists who does not leave traces of their life within their work in some way. This is precisely why the British novelist D. H. Lawrence once said, “A writer spills his own blood on the manuscript.” No matter how consciously one tries to conceal one’s life, the traces of the writer’s hard-lived existence inevitably seep into the work. In this novel too, the blood Hemingway poured out—that is, the trajectory of his life as a novelist—is relatively clearly discernible.
In The Old Man and the Sea, Hemingway can be seen artistically portraying the human struggle against old age. He was already fifty-two when writing this work. By today’s standards, this might still be considered middle age, but at that time, medicine was not as advanced as it is now. Moreover, for Hemingway, who had devoted himself to intense outdoor activities like hunting, fishing, and war reporting since his youth, enduring repeated accidents both big and small, that age was effectively the onset of old age. Moreover, around this time, he suffered from several chronic illnesses, including high blood pressure and diabetes, and was also struggling with depression and alcoholism. Photographs taken in the late 1940s or early 1950s show Hemingway looking like a man who had already passed middle age and entered old age.
In this novel, Santiago’s act of risking his life to catch the enormous marlin can be interpreted, without much stretch, as a symbolic attempt to defy the advancing old age that had overtaken him. If the white whale Captain Ahab pursued at the cost of his life in Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick symbolizes the cosmic evil, then this marlin—measuring a whopping 5.5 meters and over 60 centimeters longer than Santiago’s fishing boat—can be seen as symbolizing old age and frailty. Just as William Shakespeare sang in one sonnet that “time carves furrows like plowlines on a fair face,” he also stated in another poem, “Nothing escapes the scythe of time,” likening the passage of years to a grass-cutting scythe. Thus, in Western culture, the sickle is often an icon symbolizing old age and the relentless passage of time. In the passage where the narrator of The Old Man and the Sea describes the marlin Santiago caught, stating, “The old man saw the tail, which looked like a great sickle, disappear into the water, and the line began to run out again at a rapid pace,” the sickle-like tail can be interpreted as representing time and the passage of years itself.
Throughout world literary history, fictional characters battling the destructive force of time have appeared frequently. Hemingway’s protagonist Santiago is no exception in this lineage. He engages in a struggle lasting several days against an enormously huge marlin. Ultimately, landing that fish represents a challenge to time; more specifically, it can be interpreted as an expression of will, refusing to passively accept old age and instead striving to demonstrate youthfulness. During the fight, Santiago experiences a moment when his left hand goes numb and his strength wanes. However, the cramp soon breaks, his stamina returns, and he judges that he holds a far more advantageous position in the battle against the marlin, having secured ample provisions.
“Hey, Mr. Fish, how do you feel now?” he called out loudly. “I feel fine. My left hand is much better. I’ve got food for tonight and tomorrow day. Come on, friend, pull the boat.”
But in truth, the old man’s condition was far from good. The pain in his back, straining against the line, had reached a point bordering on numbness. Yet he repeated to himself: He had endured worse pain than this. His right hand was merely slightly scratched. The cramp in his left hand had already subsided. Both legs were still sound. Moreover, when it came to the food situation, he believed he was far more advantageous than that fish.
If he were to lose to the marlin despite such an advantageous position, Santiago would ultimately be defeated by old age. In the desperate struggle with the marlin, the fish continued to circle slowly through the water. After several hours, the old man was drenched in sweat, and fatigue seeped deep into his bones. Yet, judging by the fish’s increasingly smaller circles, it becomes clear the marlin is swimming steadily toward the surface. This blood-draining struggle is not only a battle against old age but also symbolizes a fight against poverty, loneliness, and death itself.
During this period, Hemingway was in a state of severe artistic exhaustion, no less severe than his physical decline. As mentioned earlier, after publishing For Whom the Bell Tolls, he failed to produce any significant new work for a long time, leading some critics to conclude that Hemingway’s creative vitality as a writer had already been exhausted. For Hemingway, who regarded art almost as a religion, the inability to produce great works anymore must have been an irreplaceable, fatal agony. He wanted to prove he was still artistically viable. In this context, the marlin symbolizes the glorious artistic heights he sought to reclaim, and his desperate struggle to haul it in can be read as a desperate struggle for artistic revival.
In this light, the narrator’s statement—“The old man had seen many big fish before. He had seen fish over 450 kilograms many times, and though he hadn’t caught them alone, he had caught fish of that size twice before”—takes on new meaning. Perhaps at this point, Hemingway himself yearned to haul in another literary giant like The Sun Also Rises, A Farewell to Arms, or For Whom the Bell Tolls. Considering these points, it would not be far off to say that The Old Man and the Sea is a work deeply etched with the author’s life trajectory, an autobiographical novel steeped in his essence, and a work possessing autobiographical character.
