The short happy dichotomy reversal of Francis Macomber

A once-popular practice wherein the systematic slaughter of defenseless animals was considered sport, big-game hunting challenges the notion of what it means for humans to dominate the food chain. In Hemingway’s story “The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber,” the titular protagonist finds himself on more than one occasion unable to face fearsome charging animals and thereby fails to meet the standards for bravery and masculinity imposed upon him by traditional society and his spectating wife, resulting in the eventual collapse of their relationship and his murder at her hand. When humans utilize their technological advantage to execute scores of helpless animals for pure sport, with no necessity to consume their flesh for sustenance, which can really be considered the “animalistic” player in the relationship? Hemingway’s treatment and depiction of his characters in the story, human and animal alike, speaks volumes about his ideas regarding the natures of each. Through his use of visceral imagery, his narration of the inner thoughts of animals, and his portrayal of the human characters as primitive and barbaric, Hemingway depicts the respective definitions of humans and non-humans as near-congruent, with his human characters lowering themselves to animalistic actions and his non-human characters exhibiting human ideals.

One of the easiest indicators of Hemingway’s ideas regarding the animal targets of Macomber’s safari is his shift in narrative to relate their inner thoughts and motivations. “There was no man smell carried toward [the lion] and he watched the [silhouette], moving his great head a little from side to side” (552)¹. Why would the author take so much time—more than half of that particular page—to elaborate on the observations and reflections of an animal? His personification of the lion effectively transforms it—him—into a semi-human character, showing that Hemingway considers animals as something more than mere beasts. It shows that his definition of non-human animals is shaped by a respect for and understanding of their psyches, however limited, and of their ability to make judgements and educated decisions.

It is evident that Hemingway values the experience of the lion in this passage, but what’s even more revealing is his tone and vocabulary choices when Macomber finally fires on the animal:

“[the lion] felt the slam of a .30-06 200-grain solid bullet that bit his flank and ripped in sudden hot scalding nausea through his stomach… he felt the blow as it hit his lower ribs and ripped on through, blood sudden hot and frothy in his mouth” (552)¹.

An author with such control of tone and verbiage as Hemingway would never employ such visceral and disturbing descriptors to relate the experience of a creature he considers a mere beast. The language here forces readers of any opinion to sympathize or even to empathize with the suffering of the lion, calling to mind ghastly and violent imagery of the sort PETA would be well-served to incorporate into their campaigns. The personification of the lion in these aforementioned lines and his intimate detailing of the lion’s feelings and sensory experience suggest that he values animals more than the culture normally would dictate, and certainly more than the fictional hunting party in his narrative, a perspective that blurs the line between human and non-human characters for the reader. Hemingway here apparently considers animals to be pseudo-human characters, possessing an innate ability to reason and even to experience emotions. In two related instances, the lion’s “big yellow eyes, narrowed with hate, looked straight ahead” and “[a]ll of [the lion], pain, sickness, hatred and all of his remaining strength, was tightened into an absolute concentration for a rush” (556)¹. The attribution of emotional responses to the animal adds another dimension to Hemingway’s definition of non-humans, allowing them not only reasoning and original thought but also emotional complexity and motivation for revenge. Here the lion is aware of its own impending doom but is driven to survive if only to strike back at the human responsible for maiming him, a train of thought which strikes the reader as being profoundly human.

In reading the story this way, it’s difficult not to notice the degree of respect and admiration Hemingway seems to harbor for these animal creatures. While he may have only done so to juxtapose his barbaric human characters against them, his animals seem to have mental capacities, a sense of humility and even self-worth. They’re ideal organisms, living simply and minding their own business until some meddling humans decide to blow them to smithereens with their advanced weaponry. The animals are the moral characters in Hemingway’s tale, victims at the hands of aggressive and unforgiving human tourists looking to shed some blood to entertain themselves. It’s a curious perspective Hemingway offers, and their representation certainly leaves a lot to be desired from the animals’ human counterparts.

If Hemingway has thus elevated his animal characters almost to the status of humans, what degree of humanity is applied to the actual people in the story? Are they monsters, ravaging the peace and harmony of nature that existed in the Serengeti before their obnoxious interference? Could these hunters retain any of their redeeming qualities after behaving in such inhumane ways? These are the sort of people who follow up the “mutilation” of a lion who was “horrible-looking now, with half his head seeming to be gone,” with a response as flippant and immature as “Want to take pictures?” (556–7)¹. These people are the type who will choose their potential mate based on how admirably they perform whilst executing animals, with Mrs. Macomber choosing the true hunter Wilson over her coward of a husband and “kiss[ing] him on the mouth” (557)¹. She even regards his cowardice offensive enough to warrant her shooting him “about two inches up and a little to one side of the base of his skull” with a “6.5 Mannlicher” (571)¹, an act doubtless inspired by her attraction to and intentions with their guide Wilson and her resentment towards her husband for being unable or unwilling to gore a defenseless and wounded animal. These people are all motivated by their most primal intentions, by their bloodlust and regular lust alike.

In addition, the author makes it explicitly clear on more than an isolated occasion that the human characters are unable to relate to the animals’ experiences. “Macomber had not thought how the lion felt as he got out of the car,” Hemingway reminds us on page 552 of his short story, and solidifies the point in later pages with,

“Macomber did not know how the lion had felt before he had started his rush, nor during it when the unbelievable smash of the .505 with a muzzle velocity of two tons had hit him in the mouth, nor what kept him coming after that, when the second ripping crash had smashed his hind quarters and he had come crawling on toward the crashing, blasting thing that had destroyed him” (557–8)¹.

Here, again, we see both the manipulation of verbiage to force the reader to sympathize with the lion’s experience and the question of the animal’s motivations brought into question, but the important element of this passage is the focus on Macomber’s ignorance of—or, perhaps more appropriately, indifference to—the lion’s unthinkable suffering. Macomber is only interested in winning back the affections of his wandering spouse, and therefore cares little about the feelings or experiences of the animals he aimlessly murders to prove his worth and masculinity. It is a primitive romantic framework the Macomber couple works within, their affections and wooing rituals defined in terms of violence and domination, a process not wholly unlike the alpha male in many animal communities having his pick amongst the females for the most satisfactory mate. Similar mating elements as these persist in even our more civilized factions of culture today, but they are never more evident and disturbing than in Hemingway’s story.

Through this interpretation of the narrative, Hemingway would seem to define humans as the organisms with a distinct strategic and technological advantage over their animal prey, but without the moral capabilities or limitations which are the cornerstone of true humaneness. Within the context of this story, he views humans as the lesser half of the hunter-prey relationship, stooping to ethical depths in search of entertainment and sport at the expense of their animal playthings. Unlike the vast majority of stories involving some form of violent exchange between people and animals, it is the human element in this case who becomes the monster, the brute, the barbaric and uncaring force of violence and ill-will into the fray of a once-harmonious animal kingdom. This reversal of traditional behavioral roles is perhaps the hallmark of Hemingway’s definition of human and other in “The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber.”

If one were to imagine a spectrum with “human” at one end and “non-human” at the other, Hemingway would be placing all of his characters—human and animal alike—somewhere in the middle. He defines humans in animal terms and vice versa, painting a very unfamiliar and radical picture in the minds of his readers. Hemingway not only continually reverses the hunter-prey dichotomy in having the mere human hunt the natural predator, but he also reverses the perceptions of what makes humans and non-humans distinct from one another. Within the context of the story, it is the human characters who behave violently, primitively and murderously, while the animal’s motivations are consistently focused on self-preservation and, in one example, on the human idea of revenge. There is little doubt that the respective natures of humans and animals were questions Hemingway intended to bring to light in this particular story, and he did so by challenging the traditional qualifications for a character to fit snugly into either category. Hemingway portrays the endeavoring humans as monsters, pillaging the defenseless wilderness for mere sport and, in the process, compromising the very humane aspects that made them humans in the first place. In this way, since the non-humans in the story are almost glorified as admirable and ideal, it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume that Hemingway would toast along with Wilson when he says, “here’s to the lion” (542)¹.