There is something about the way Ernest Hemingway writes about alcohol that makes you think he may have knocked back a few cold ones in his day. One might even speculate that, at one time or another, he understood the word addiction very well. It would be no surprise to find, then, that several characters in The Sun Also Rises exhibit an incredibly complex representation of addiction, of whom the best example is perhaps Lady Ashley. I have yet to read this novel and not come away frustrated by Brett, among others, and the fatalistic way in which her decisions seem to be made. It suggests a lack of agency that is almost unbelievable; yet, the more neuroscientists and philosophers have come to understand addiction, the more an addict’s agency (or free will, if you like) has been called into question. There is one passage in particular that demonstrates Brett’s inability to control her decisions, agency, fate, or what-you-will. Just before Jake takes her to meet with Pedro Romero, they have a discussion in which both Brett and Jake’s inability to check her desire, a desire that all symbolism in the book suggests is catastrophic, is put on display:
"Do you still love me, Jake?"
"Yes," I said.
"Because I'm a goner," Brett said.
"How?"
"I'm a goner. I'm mad about the Romero boy. I'm in love with him, I think."
"I wouldn't be if I were you."
"I can't help it. I'm a goner. It's tearing me all up inside."
"Don't do it."
"I can't help it. I've never been able to help anything."
"You ought to stop it."
"How can I stop it? I can't stop things. Feel that?"
Her hand was trembling.
"I'm like that all through."
"You oughtn't to do it."
"I can't help it. I'm a goner now, anyway. Don't you see the difference?"
"No."
"I've got to do something. I've got to do something I really want to do. I've lost my self-respect."
What is so frustrating about the passage, both for the reader and the characters involved, is the way it discredits our deeply individual value of agency. Why can’t she do any of these things? She must be able to and she just won’t, is what we would like to think. We judge her character, instead of analyzing her responses. When Brett assures Jake “I can’t stop things,” it might be appropriate to take her at her word. As I mentioned earlier, neuroscientists and philosophers have made advances in our understanding of addiction that suggest Brett may be sincere. In short, there is a compound in the brain called dopamine that is connected to our motivation in decisions based on pleasure or rewards, such as taking the bull-fighter back to his hotel room for a night of fun. Addiction is the mark of a person’s ability to respond to dopamine that enters the neural pathways in anticipation of a potential instance of pleasure or reward. This ability is one that can be conditioned; so, if Brett is addicted to sex, when the desire presents itself, she is much more likely to acquiesce than Barbara, who is a nun. And it is more likely not just because the receiver is more conditioned to respond to dopamine, but also because the mind has gotten more proficient at negating and even removing alternate responses. So, it is entirely likely that Brett does not have the ability to stop herself, and perhaps allows us a pathway to empathy for her, as well as a better understanding of why this generation felt so lost.