"Big Two-Hearted River" by Ernest Hemingway

A lot of people hate Hemingway stories because "they don't say anything," or because "nothing happens," or because "he uses sentences that are shorter than the Lollipop Guild." The reason people think that "nothing happens" in his stories is probably because he includes almost nothing that is abstract; he uses clear sentences that state quite clearly what is happening, and little else. His stories are usually very physical and very straightforward, and believe it or not, all kinds of things happen. Just nothing fake.

Hemingway stories are more real than most stories, I think, because they don't claim to be anything or know anything that they could never be or know. Hemingway doesn't have any sentences that are rife with symbolism; he doesn't obsess over sensations and details; he doesn't paint a picture. He tells stories. Stories that can feasibly represent reality, because he doesn't get caught up with all of the little writing tricks that present the prose as an alternate reality where wordplay is more important than reality.

No offense to amateur poets, but sounds don't smell like anything, and touch doesn't taste like anything. There are not actually any worlds underneath your fingernails, it is not raining hatred outside, and ignorance does not look like shackles. Life is not abstract. It is real. It is physical. And that is pretty meaningful in and of itself.

So both parts of "Big Two-Hearted River" make for an incredibly real experience, and that experience is especially real because of everything that is not written. Abstract concepts are, by definition, impossible to ground to reality. So Hemingway works from the ground up.