For the Macy’s parade yesterday, they found a girl who looks like Natalie Wood in Miracle on 34th Street. Stranger, though, is that Santa looks not like Edmund Gwenn but Ernest Hemingway. Put Santa in a turtleneck sweater and you’ve got Papa from his book jacket photo. I’m pondering such things rather than shopping on Black Friday.

Ernest Hemingway and His Son Jack – Europe, 1944.

Ernest Hemingway and The Battle of Hurtgen Forest: October – December, 1944.

Ernest Hemingway Goes on Trial, France, October 1944 – Part Two.

sometimes i have stuff to do

sometimes i feel like dyin

i wish i wanted to go home

wait i have no home

the future looks bleak

sometimes i feel like i will live a great life

sometimes i feel like i should  die pretty soon

last night i had a dream about jenny lewis and ernest hemingway

jenny lewis and i were  waiting at a bus stop near the sunland park mall on the westside of el paso texas

we smoked cigarettes together and i held her hand

it was august , it was hot, the sun was setting

jenny lewis looked at a palm tree

i looked at some cars

she said ‘ were not taking the bus’

i said ‘ how will we get back to our houses than’

she said her friend ernest hemingway is picking us up

i looked at a palm tree and put my head down and said ‘ okay’

she said ‘ we can’t hold hands in front of ernest hemingway’

i said ‘ why’

she said because ernest hemingway likes me and i don’t want anybody’s feelings hurt

i said well it should not matter because your my ” girlfriend” and that is what people do when they are going out

she said yeah  but i like him too and i don’t want to ruin my chances with him

i said ‘ how is that supposed to make me feel

she said your acting like an asshole

i said  i am not acting like an asshole

she let go of my hand

ernest hemingway’s car pulled up to the bus stop

i said i am not getting in

she smiled and said ‘ okay’

i got close to her face and tried to kiss her

she pushed me away

and ernest hemingway beeped

and yelled ‘ stay the fuck off my girlfriend’

she got in the car and kissed ernest hemingway

ernest hemingway sped off in his shitty car and it made ‘ loud noises’

i texted her ‘ i’m going to kill myself’

i woke up and remembered that  it was not a dream

the whole thing happenned and but there never was jenny lewis or ernest hemingway

just some stupid girl and some loser who worked at subway or taco bell or some other shitty job like that

and it never took place in el paso texas

for  thnxfgvngs day i will say thank god :

that we broke up

that i never really even liked her  so  it’s easy to forget what she looked like

that  she ended up more unhappy than i was

for the other girls that i meet who are 1,000 times better

azns

my new found abilty to spot out sociopaths/bitches/losers/sadists/hippies

i don’t give a shit

i am sometimes hopeful for ‘ good things’ to happen to me

i feel overwhelmed in general

i want to lock myself in a room with a lap top and a fast internet connection and maybe a supply of vegan treats and rockstar energy drinks and bottles of adderall

i will be alone for two months

i did that

i felt simple

i felt alone

i did not feel happy but i never felt intense feelings of sadness

i went two months with out going outside or talking to a person

i went to buy some vegan treats  twice but that was it

and  i kept my head down and said nothing

it was easy

Wassily Kandinsky Composition 8

Man Ray (Emmanuel Radnitzky) moved from Greenwich Village, New York, to Paris, France, on July 14, 1921, to meet up with his friend Marcel Duchamp.  It was French Independence Day.  Ray fell right in with the Dadaists.   He made Rayographs (his patented camera-less photography) with Tzara, pioneered film-making techniques with Duchamp and took portraits of Jean Cocteau and his famous or soon-to-be famous friends.   And Ray got laid a lot.  He speaks eloquently of this in his biography Self-Portrait (1963). 

Ernest Hemingway’s Parisian romances and sexual sabotages are well documented, most notably by him in his memoir A Moveable Feast (1964).  But he ain’t got nothin’ on Man Ray.  Charming, handsome, self-assured and inventive, Ray managed to capture nudity in a modern way, and managed to get beautiful women naked a lot.   While Hemingway was reassuring Scott Fitzgerald about his penis adequacy over lunch at Michaud’s, Ray and Duchamp were filming the Baroness Elsa von Feytag-Loringhoven shaving her pubic hair.  There is something to be said about French independence.

I’m told by my salon professional friend that all the young girls today are wearing that Baroness look, later popularized by the Brazilian J. sisters in New York.  Following surgery for cancer at age 20, I kept the Baroness’ style for many years.  The man I married was the only man who didn’t seem to like it.  I made a lot of changes for him.  Unlike the Baroness, an artistic innovator whose found object assemblages pre-date Rauschenberg by fifty years, who did exactly as she pleased.  Some would argue that she sought attention through her sexuality, but none would argue that most of her outfits were less than sexy.  Her crotch wasn’t the only thing she shaved and she could been seen sorting through garbage in the East Village with a bald head painted green, spoons dangling from her breasts, and striped tights with men’s boots.  In 1909, mind you.  Pre-dating Punk by 65 years. 

Back in 1922 Paris, Sylvia Beach was publishing Joyce’s Ulysses and Jungian archetypes were being discussed in the cafes.   Carl Jung’s ideas about the shadow self revealed themselves through the poetry of Pound:

IN A STATION OF THE METRO

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;

Petals on a wet, black bough.

Erik Satie

Riusciranno il Comune di Menfi ed altre pesone ed enti ad ottenere che l’acqua sia di nuovo pubblica? Sinceramente non lo so, ma forse sì. Manifestazione, comunque, contro la privatizzazione dell’acqua stamattina, mercoledì venticinque novembre, davanti a Palazzo dei Normanni (sede del Parlamento regionale) a Palermo. Si comincia dopo le dieci e… buona protesta.

24.11.09 La privatizzazione dell’acqua al centro di Così stanno le cose di La7 con la conduttrice Luisella Costamagna. Fino all’incirca alle cinque di oggi pomeriggio – martedì ventiquattro novembre – si discuterà di decreto Ronchi ed «acqua più cara» in Italia. Quando si tornerà all’acqua pubblica? Presto?

22.10.09 Beh, sicuramente ci saranno numerosissimi “viaggi”, ma forse incuriosiscono molti la Nuova Zelanda o forse anche la Florida in Alle falde del Kilimangiaro di Raitre oggi pomeriggio, domenica ventidue novembre dopo le tre.

Vietnam e Cambogia. Mi chiedo anche quanti di noi conoscano le isole Keys, che dovrebbero essere  in questo Stato degli Usa, o la costa dell’oceano Atlantico, il golfo del Messico, il Vietnam e la Cambogia. Una domanda, inoltre, se posso porvela. Quali libri vi piacciono di più di Ernest Hemingway? E cosa pensate della privatizzazione dell’acqua, uno dei temi di questo programma sul turismo?

17.01.09 Sono piuttosto contrario a quanto si vorrebbe decidere a livello nazionale sulla privatizzazione dell’acqua. Mi auguro ci siano malumori e, soprattutto, voti contrari. E voi?

N.b. Purtroppo, poi, non è stato così.

Menfi ed alla radio. Avete sentito della manifestazione-protesta di giorni fa a Menfi, provincia di Agrigento? In quel caso un parroco locale, don Saverio Catanzaro, e gli altri protestatari avevano utilizzato pistole ad acqua contro la privatizzazione della gestione del servizio idrico. Del resto, il presidente della Provincia di Agrigento, Eugenio D’Orsi, aveva ipotizzato la rescissione del contratto di gestione, se ricordo bene, con la società affidataria.

Tema nazionale , quello della privatizzazione dell’acqua, se se se ne occupa Radio3 Scienza domattina, martedì diciassette novembre, poco prima delle undici. Con la conduttrice Rossella Castelnuovo, un certo Giulio Conte, biologo, a quanto pare, ed autore di tale libro Nuvole e sciacquoni di una certa casa editrice Edizione ambiente. E poi dovrebbe esserci un tale Giulio de Leo, che sarebbe professore di ecologia all’Università di Parma, ed un altro docente (forse fisica dell’atmosfera all’Università di L’Aquila) di nome Guido Visconti.

Beh, forse a qualcuno potrebbe anche interessare il fatto che le musiche che saranno trasmesse una certa Afterglow da un certo Amazing Blondel ed una tale Parveneh (Butterfly) ad opera di tali Archive.

25.06.09 Incontro sulla privatizzazione dell’acqua a Palermo (Sala delle lapidi, sede del consiglio comunale cittadino) dalle 9 di giovedì 25 giugno.

14.04.09 Eccovi l’inizio di un confronto fra le portate complessive d’acqua in provincia di Agrigento.A Licata la portata ammontava a 130 litri medi di acqua al secondo in base a dati resi noti lo scorso 21 maggio, molti di più rispetto ai 75 rilevati intorno al 2 dicembre dello scorso anno e relativamente di più rispetto a poco prima del 10, 25 e 28 novembre. Sono, invece, meno rispetto ai 133 stimati poco prima del 18 novembre, ai 135 del periodo precedente al 18 novembre e dei 139 di quello precedente al 14 novembre.

A Canicattì la portata ammontava, invece, sempre intorno al 21 maggio a 92 litri al secondo (anche in questo caso molti di più rispetto ai 56 di qualche giorno prima del 18 novembre ed ai 54 più o meno nello stesso periodo o intorno al 25 e 28 novembre) ed a Racalmuto a 22 litri. Quest’ultimo dato rappresenta un aumento discreto rispetto ai sedici rilevati sempre poco prima del 25 novembre e 2 dicembre o ai diciotto calcolati intorno agli scorsi 18 e 28 novembre.

A Naro poco prima del 21 maggio e 18 febbraio la portata media era di 24 litri di acqua al secondo e dati precedenti indicavano quindici litri o sedici, mentre a Favara nello stesso periodo (poco prima del 18 febbraio) la media era migliore, di 69 litri di acqua al secondo. Alla prossima, dunque, per altre date e città e… cosa ne pensate di tutti questi dati?

Due strade licatesi. Vietati dalle 6 alle 19 di venerdì 3 luglio il transito e la sosta in via Incorvaia ed in via San Paolo, a Licata, nel tratto fra le locali via Marotta e Chiesa di San Paolo.

- La musica. Quale il vostro brano preferito? (Vota)

- Quale di questi monumenti italiani vi piace di più? (Vota)

- Località turistiche straniere (Vota)

- Luoghi turistici siciliani (Vota)

- Crema al cacao con nocciole ed anacardi, cioccolato fondente con nocciole o gianduia con nocciole intere oppure al latte con nocciole e nocciole intere

Spreadthesign, dizionario e linguaggio dei segni. Commissione europea – Istruzione e formazione

Un browser europeo – Opera – e Mozilla o il sistema operativo di Apple

14 aprile 2009 – aggiornato 25 novembre ‘09

calogeromira.wordpress.com – e-mail

Risparmio energetico (forse)?

Dags för läsresumé. Det har gått undan på bokfronten den sista tiden, och det är bara att tacka och ta emot. Har aldrig kunnat styra det där – vissa perioder plöjer man litteraturåkern som en traktor på metaamfetamin, andra är det valium i tanken.

Jag tror, för egen del, att det beror mycket på i vilken ordning jag läser böckerna. Jag måste variera mig annars tröttnar jag. Dessutom är det mest rättvist mot berättelserna, eftersom jag tenderar att blanda ihop böcker om jag läser flera snarlika på raken. Och det är ju inte bra.

Så sent som idag både började och avslutade jag Fyrväktaren av Jeanette Winterson. En poetisk berättelse om en flicka som lär sig hitta livets ljus med hjälp av en blind fyrväktare. Borde egentligen låta den smälta innan jag skriver om den, men den grep tag och ställde en del spännande frågor. Vi har alla en historia, frågan är bara var den börjar, och slutar.

Innan den ömsom lusläste och ömsom skummade jag Stewart Copelands självbiografi Strange Things Happen – A Life with The Police, Polo and Pygmies. SC var trummis i The Police, inihelvete bra sådan, och det var till stor del på grund av det här som den hamnade i läshögen. Den var tyvärr inte så bra som jag hoppats på. Likt hans trumspel var den intensiv, infallsrik och driven, men vissa partier var tämligen ointressanta. Sen hör det ju till saken att jag hade sett fram emot att frossa i The Police-kuriosa, vilket jag fick, dock inte om deras framgångsår (1978-1984) som avhandlades tämligen raskt och odetaljerat. Däremot berättade han en hel del om återföreningen, vad som föranledde den och hur han hanterade en viss basists (läs Sting) tendens att agera envåldshärskare över bandet. De partierna var klart läsvärda; resten – gäsp.

Och nu säger jag emot mig själv om att variera mig, men innan Copeland klämde jag till med två Ernest Hemingway på raken. Anledningen var dels att jag bibliotekslånat dem och var tvungen att förhålla mig till återlämningsdatumen, men även för att jag varit rejält sugen på EH länge.

Och Solen Har Sin Gång var hans första storsäljare, en magnifik berättelse om ”den förlorade generationen” i 1920-talets Europa. Rumlande festnätter i Paris, närgången skildring av tjurfäktningslivet i Madrid och en befriande osentimental beskrivning av ytliga romanser som tröst mot livsledan och sorgen över den oförlösta kärleken. Sprängbra.

Den andra var Den Gamle och Havet, som många betraktar som hans absoluta mästerverk. Och jag förstår det. Så enkelt, närvarande, och innerligt beskriven är den gamle Santiagos kamp mot naturen, att jag var DÄR. Jag satt bredvid honom i båten och kände sorg över att inte kunna sträcka ut en hand och hjälpa honom dra in svärdfisken, att inte kunna bryta en åra och bistå honom i hans kamp mot hajarna eller stödja honom när han utmattad föll ihop efter att ha nått land. Rörande, realistiskt och vackert. Har du inte läst den – gör det.

Det var det. Nästa på tur blir Middlesex av Jeffrey Eugenides. Pulitzerpris-vinnande tegelsten om ”det moderna Amerika: från massinvandringens ström av fattiga, rädda och sargade människor, över 20-talets förbudstid och sextiotalets raskonflikter in i vår egen tid”. Återkommer om den.

That´s a wrap.

S-a deschis ( pana duminica, 22 noiembrie inclusiv ) targul de carte de toamna Kilipirim 2009. Nush care e titulatura exacta, don’t really care anyway. M-am dus in vreo doua zile pe-acolo ( nu mi-au ajuns banii pentru un singur raid printre tarabe ) si am fost orientat spre zona macho a literaturii in tot ce am cumparat.

Ca de exemplu Hemingway ( “Batranul si marea”, editia cartonata de la Polirom ), cu barbatii lui stoici, seducatori, macho, laconici si impenetrabili, dar undeva in spatele evenimentelor care ii conduc. Ca de exemplu Irvine Welsh ( “Porno” ), scotianul in cartile caruia eroii sunt niste anti-eroi, niste drogati, si/sau niste ratati, intotdeauna membri ai clasei de jos, huligani, etc. Ca de exemplu Sam Savage ( “Firmin” ). Ok, poate asta nu, dar oricum, e vorba despre un sobolan care-si doreste sa fie barbat, so why not?

Si mai ales ca de exemplu Charles Bukowski ( “Femei” ), in al carui roman semi-auto-biografic personajul central e un alcoolic afemeiat, un fel de satír literat ( de altfel si seamana fizic ), pe langa care Henry Miller pare o domnisoara din pension.

Un soi de bonus, la final:

November 20, 2009
By SHELDON MCCRAYSTEIN

Kansas City, MO–

In an announcement Friday, noted Hemingway biographer and researcher, Matthew Buccoli, confirmed that several “personal items” found in a Kansas City apartment building once belonged to the Nobel Prize winning author. Buccoli said the items were found in an Armour Boulevard apartment that a young Ernest Hemingway rented while working as a cub reporter for the Kansas City Star newspaper.

“The collection of—ahem—exotic, erotic paraphernalia was found by a tenant who now lives in the apartment,” said Mr. Buccoli. “While installing a new heating duct, the tenant found a small box hidden in the base of a wall. Intrigued, he opened the box and found several beautifully handcrafted sexual ornaments; ornaments I would describe as Oriental in nature,” he said.

Buccoli hypothesized that Hemingway came across the items while visiting local opium dens, known to dot the city’s more perverse areas during Hemingway’s time in Kansas City. “As a reporter covering the local police beat, Hemingway would have been no stranger to such places, having done stories on the seedy underbelly of Kansas City,” said Buccoli.

DNA tests on semen found on a deck of nude playing cards confirm that Hemingway had ejaculated on at least seven of the cards. According to sources, tests on the anal beads were inconclusive.

“We found some fossilized fecal matter on a set of carved jade beads—to be exact, we found matter on 4 of the 12 beads—but don’t yet know, and may never know, if Mr. Hemingway or another individual actually inserted the beads into his anal cavity,” said Dr. Patel Gounish, Director of Laboratory Investigations at the University of Missouri Kansas City.

Dr. Gounish theorized that whoever used the beads must be a “big guy” because the usual number of beads on a standard anal bead set usually number between 4 and 8. “Whoever used these bad boys had an insatiable capacity for life,” said Gounish. “Which, if you look at the myth, the legend of Mr. Hemingway, his whole life was taking in as much as he could: exotic locales, food, drink, women…anal beads.”

Stories abound of Hemingway’s possible proclivities. As a boy, Ernest’s mother dressed him as a girl. His second wife, Pauline, was known to keep her hair in a boys cut to please Ernest. His third son, Gregory, was a cross-dresser—as Hemingway was rumored to have been—and eventually died in a Florida jail after being arrested while dressed as a woman.

Winston Churchill’s fight on the beaches  speech might have stirred the hearts and minds of the people to whom it was addressed, but it failed to impress a computer marker.

David Wright, chief executive of the Chartered Institute of Educational Assessors (CIEA), an umbrella body for exam boards and other organisations, said that Churchill’s speeches to the nation in 1940 had not impressed the computer. It criticised his repetition of the words “upon” and “our” and did not identify “broad, sunlit uplands” as a metaphor.

The computer didn’t think much of the prose of Ernest Hemingway or William Golding either.

The idea that a computer could mark an English essay doesn’t altogether thrill me. But its assessment of Churchill’s speech and the other writers’ work makes me feel much better about the arguments I have with the grammar checker on my PC.

Hat Tip: Society of Authors’ newsletter.

Hemingwaywantabes, pleased to report that my new Thomas Merton biography, Beneath the Mask of Holiness, has been released. One nice review thus far:

Mark Shaw’s latest captures a most controversial period of time in the life of a very enigmatic personality, Thomas Merton. Mr. Shaw doesn’t fail to envelop the reader in a fair, honest, provocatively enlightening, and highly entertaining read. Mr. Shaw treats his subject with dignity, sensitivity, and profound reverence. For followers of Merton, this is a must read. For those just now learning about Merton or those barely acquainted with the man and his work, “Beneath the Mask” cannot be more recommended.

That’s from Peter Mursak, a fellow monk of Merton’s. More at www.markshawbooks.net. Savings at amazon.com

Not sure what exactly is up with the release date (this was originally scheduled for October 16) but The Road is now set to open nationwide on November 25. I, for one, will be there. And I may add, I’m not a moviegoer. I’ve maybe gone to two movies in the past seven years.

But if The Road is even 1/4 as good as Cormac McCarthy’s novel (which I absolutely consumed in less than two days) then this film may jump into my all-time Top 5. A few things:

• Viggo Mortensen is the perfect actor for the role of the unnamed father
• Regarding post-apocalyptic tales, this will be far superior than anything the movie 2012 and its special effects can offer
• Hopefully Charlize Theron’s character won’t play a substantial role and the movie will not be turned into some kind of sappy love story. The wife in the book plays a significant part, yes, but only in placing the context properly and acting as a vehicle for the husband/father’s motivation
• One of GQ Magazine’s movie critics said the film is more violent and brutal than the novel to which another of GQ’s movie critics responded saying, how can you get any more violent than the novel? It had babies roasted on a spit in one scene
• Read the novel first. Actually, read T.S. Eliot’s poem The Wasteland first and then Ernest Hemingway’s Big Two-Hearted River.
• Cormac McCarthy is the author behind “No Country for Old Men” and “All the Pretty Horses”
• It has Robert Duvall. Days of Thunder. Enough said

And now for a short synopsis from the novel’s Wikipedia entry following by the movie’s trailer,

The Road follows an unnamed father and son journeying together toward the sea across a post-apocalyptic landscape, some years after a great, unexplained cataclysm has destroyed civilization and almost all life on Earth. The setting is extremely bleak: the sun is obscured by a layer of ash so thick that the pair must breathe through masks, and plants do not grow. The surviving remnants of humanity have been largely reduced to thoughtless violence and cannibalism. Realizing that they will not survive another winter in their present location, the father leads them through this desolate landscape towards the sea, sustained by a vague hope of finding other “good people” like them.

The Sun Also Rises was Ernest Hemingway’s first serious success – published in 1926, only four years after James Joyce’s Ulysses.  It is hard to imagine two books less like each other than these: Joyce, the great Irish modernist, exploring the limits of language (not to mention the patience and fortitude of his readers) and Hemingway, the great American exponent of plain language and tough, terse prose.

Anyone who wants a review, analysis, or crib notes about The Sun Also Rises has only to Google for them and there they are in abundance.   I don’t intend to add to the plethora of words about this ground-breaking book except to make a case for why a lover of Australian literature should make the time to read it, and why wannabe Hemingways should tread carefully when they seek to emulate his style.

I think that anyone who’s a serious booklover should read at least some of the great 19th century classics: Pride and Prejudice; Jane Eyre: Great Expectations; Wuthering Heights; Silas Marner; a Thackeray, a Trollope; a Thomas Hardy; one of the Russians – preferably Tolstoy; something by Balzac; and something by Henry James.  Yes, there could be endless arguments about these choices, which are basically just the classics that I read as a teenager.  Yes, I could be more inclusive; more international; less Eurocentric; and yes, I could suggest a better gender balance or fewer dead white males.  Blah-blah-blah.  (I could even suggest an Australian classic as you might have expected me to).  Well, there is nothing to stop people choosing other books as well, or substituting different authors and titles.  My point is that  these few would give any reader a sense of 19th century style and preoccupations, and would also demonstrate the universality of the human condition over time.

A reader with that kind of understanding of the development of the novel is then in a position to recognise the audacity of Hemingway’s departure from existing writing styles and his influence on 20th century writing.  It’s also easy to understand his appeal: straightforward, direct, minimalist, easy to read.  Anyone can whip through a Hemingway in a day or two.  And because he was a master of his art it works: his stories are original, powerful, and haunting.

But alas for many who admire his writing, it’s too easy for copycat efforts to become tiresome reading.  Few can achieve the impact that Hemingway did with short, declarative sentences, vivid images and simple prose.   (A little too vivid if you don’t care for bullfighting!)  Most writers need an adjective or adverb here and there if the prose is not to become pedestrian.    Lyricism laid on with a trowel is painful to read, but it’s equally easy for minimalism to degenerate into paucity of vocabulary.  Simplicity that lapses into dull, plodding sentences is all too common, especially in novels that feature the seamy side of life where the characters have the vocabulary of eight year olds.   

It’s important to read Hemingway, and enjoyable too, but it seems to me that we have all moved on and his heyday is over.  In a multicultural and global world, book characters ought not all sound the same, and writing styles should reflect the rich diversity of the cultures we share.

Ernest and Hadley Hemingway in Chamby, Switzerland 1922

Hadley Hemingway, John “Bumby” Hemingway, and Ernest Hemingway in Schruns, Austria, 1926.

Paris, 1924

With Lady Duff Twysden, Hadley Hemingway, and three unidentified people at a cafe in Pamplona, Spain, during the Fiesta of San Fermin in July 1925.

Paris, March 1928. Photograph by Helen Pierce Breaker

Ernest and Pauline Hemingway attend a bull fight, Pamplona, Spain, summer 1928. Photograph by “Rodero”

All Photographs in the Ernest Hemingway Photograph Collection, John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum, Boston.

-N.

The first of my non-sporting posts on the blog, as trailed in my 100th post. Thank you for indulging me dear readers!

I recently read the Ernest Hemingway book, A Moveable Feast. One thing that was so striking about it was how Hemingway weaves multiple threads into such a short book (140-odd pages), and with such taut prose. For me, there were three distinct elements.

First, it is a postcard, maybe even a love letter, from 1920s Paris. Written with many years hindsight (it was one of the last books Hemingway wrote and was published posthumously), it details his life as a poor, struggling writer in Paris, with a young family. He had simple needs and pleasures, all that Paris seemed to fulfill.

The bookseller told me I’d want to live in Paris after reading the book, and she wasn’t far off. Here is Paris in all its glory, and a life of fine wine, good books and interesting company will eternally appeal. In Paris, a simple potato salad and a cold beer can bring immeasurable joy, as can a day at the races, or fishing at the canal. In Hemingway’s Paris you can be poor and happy.

The second strand, and I’m being a little flippant here, sees the book operate as a 1920s version of Popbitch or Heat, although obviously considerably better written, and perhaps even a little more scandalous in parts. We get Hemingway’s memories of the celebrities of the time, from Ezra Pound to James Joyce, Gertrude Stein to F Scott Fitzgerald. The passages on Fitzgerald are priceless, so I won’t ruin them for you. But you won’t think about Fitzgerald the same way again.

And the third strand is perhaps the most interesting to me. In chronicling his life as a young writer, Hemingway imparts his advice on the art of writing. For me, A Moveable Feast is the most concise and well thought out guide for writing I’ve encountered. One particular piece of advice that I think will stick with me is to always finish a day’s writing with something left to write for tomorrow.

There is also something in the tone of the book that suggests that he looked back at this simpler time as being good for his writing, and for learning his craft. The latter stages of the book perhaps hold a certain regret that life got more complicated. “We were very poor and very happy,” indeed.

But does this romantic idea of writing still exist? The Moveable Feast life will always have a certain pull. I’d love to wander cafés and bars writing, or arising early to watch the day begin whilst plotting my next story.

I think this romantic idea, at least in terms of freedom to write, and to live an exciting, interesting and diverse life does still exist. It’s not Paris in the 1920s, but the Wall Street Journal’s recent piece on how novelists write conjures up many scenarios where writing seems like a very good life. It may be in the routine, or the lack of it. Or in the research, or the opportunity to experiment. It might even be in the choice of stationery (I’m a sucker for stationery, but that is another post for another time). 

Malcolm Gladwell’s average day may not have the decadence, the adventure, or indeed the drinking of Hemingway’s Paris, but it still seems like a lovely life to lead, sitting in cafés, searching the libraries and enjoying a great city. A romantic life can be found in the small gestures as much as in the grand acts.

For me, the draw is as much in being a writer, and living that life, as in the writing itself. There is the freedom of having the time to write, and the freedom that sort of life affords. Much better than nine-to-five.

So, in books such as A Moveable Feast, and when reading articles like those linked above, the fascination for me lies as much in what surrounds the writing, as the writing itself. And just think: how wonderful would it be to have the time to develop and indulge a particular set of rituals for writing?

But ultimately, the romance for me in being a writer is in being able to earn money doing something you love, and to do so in any way you choose. Hemingway was a lucky man during his time in Paris, and so are those authors in the Wall Street Journal piece.

And so, wherever a writer may be, they hopefully can find that joy in their lives. And perhaps us amateurs can find that too, even without the security and freedom that a pay cheque ensures. I guess if we didn’t, we wouldn’t write at all.

We’ll always have Hemingway’s Paris, but that is not the only route to happiness and fulfillment.

Ernest Hemingway served as an ambulance driver on the Italian-Austrian border during the First World War and was familiar with the role played by bicycle troops on both sides of the conflict, but also with the importance afforded to racing cyclists in Europe. His character Aymo in A Farewell to Arms (1929), is loosely based on Bartolomeo Aymo who finished on the podium in the Giro d’Italia in 1921, 1922. 1923 and 1928. This exchange was obviously well before the arrival of the likes of Lemond, Armstrong and Hincapie on the scene.

“Maybe the war will be over,” Aymo said. We were going up the road as fast as we could. The sun was trying to come through. Beside the road were mulberry trees. Through the trees I could see our two big moving-vans of cars stuck in the field. Piani looked back too.

            “They’ll have to build a road to get them out,” he said.

            “I wish to Christ we had bicycles,” Bonello said.

            “Do they ride bicycles in America?” Aymo asked.

            “They used to.”

            “Here it is a great thing,” Aymo said. “A bicycle is a splendid thing.”

            “I wish to Christ we had bicycles,” Bonello said. “I’m no walker.”

Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms (1929)

After the war, Hemingway developed an interest in European cycling, particularly the Paris six day races and the Grand Tours. Late in The Sun Also Rises (1926), Jake Barnes gets caught up with the Tour de Pays Basque in San Sebastian.

Later when it began to get dark, I walked around the harbor and out along the promenade,

 and finally back to the hotel for supper. There was a bicycle-race on, the Tour du Pays Basque, and the riders were stopping that night in San Sebastian.

In the dining-room, at one side, there was a long table of bicycle-riders, eating with their trainers and managers. They were all French and Belgians, and paid close attention to their meal, but they were having a good time. At the head of the table were two good-looking French girls, with much Rue du Faubourg Montmartre chic. I could not make out whom they belonged to. They all spoke in slang at the long table and there were many private jokes and some jokes at the far end that were not repeated when the girls asked to hear them.

The next morning at five o’clock the race resumed with the last lap, San Sebastian-Bilbao. The bicycle- riders drank much wine, and were burned and browned by the sun. They did not take the race seriously except among them-selves. They had raced among themselves so often that it did not make much difference who won. Especially in a foreign country. The money could be arranged.

The man who had a matter of two minutes lead in the race had an attack of boils, which were very painful. He sat on the small of his back. His neck was very red and the blond hairs were sunburned. The other riders joked him about his boils. He tapped on the table with his fork.

‘Listen,’ he said, ‘tomorrow my nose is so tight on the handle- bars that the only thing touches those boils is a lovely breeze.’

One of the girls looked at him down the table, and he grinned and turned red. The Spaniards, they said, did not know how to pedal.

Hemingway (left)

I had coffee out on the terrasse with the team manager of one of the big bicycle manufacturers. He said it had been a very pleasant race, and would have been worth watching if Bottecchia had not abandoned it at Pamplona. The dust had been bad, but in Spain the roads were better than in France. Bicycle road-racing was the only sport in the world, he said. Had I ever followed the Tour de France? Only in the papers. The Tour de France was the greatest sporting event in the world. Following and organizing the road races had made him know France. Few people know France. All spring and all summer and all fall he spent on the road with bicycle road-racers. Look at the number of motor-cars now that followed the riders from town to town in a road race. It was a rich country and more sportif every year. It would be the most sportif country in the world. It was bicycle road-racing did it.

That and football. He knew France. La France Sportive. He knew road-racing. We had a cognac. After all, though, it wasn’t bad to get back to Paris. There is only one Paname. In all the world, that is. Paris is the town the most sportif in the world. Did I know the Chope de Negre? Did I not. I would see him there some time. I certainly would. We would drink another fine together. We certainly would. They started at six o’clock less a quarter in the morning. Would I be up for the depart? I would certainly try to. Would I like him to call me? It was very interesting. I would leave a call at the desk. He would not mind calling me. I could not let him take the trouble. I would leave a call at the desk. We said good-bye until the next morning.

In the morning when I awoke the bicycle-riders and their following cars had been on the road for three hours. I had coffee and the papers in bed and then dressed and took my bathing-suit down to the beach.

Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises (1926)

The Bottecchia referred to is Italian professional Ottavio Bottecchia who turned professional in 1923 when Hemingway first visited Spain. In 1924 he was the first Italian to win the Tour de France

Ottavio Bottechia

 when he dominated the race and won four stages. Bottecchia started his own bicycle company and continued to place in major races but got caught up in Italian politics and

Bottechia on the col d'Izoard (1924)

was found by the side of the road in a pool of blood in 1927. His anti-fascist leanings suggest a possible involvement by Mussolini’s blackshirts.

(from Esquire, October 1935)

Tolstoy- Anna Karenina / War And Peace

Captain Marryat- Midshipman Easy / Frank Mildmay / Peter Simple

Gustave Flaubert- Madame Bovary / A Sentimental Education

Thomas Mann- Buddenbrooks

James Joyce- Dubliners / A Portrait Of The Artist… / Ulysses

Henry Fielding- Tom Jones / Joseph Andrews

Stendhal- Scarlet And Black / The Charterhouse Of Parma

Dostoevsky- The Brothers Karamazov / “and any two others”

Mark Twain- Huckleberry Finn

Stephen Crane- The Open Boat / The Blue Hotel *

George Moore- Hail And Farewell

Maupassant- collected stories

Rudyard Kipling- “all the good ones”

Turgenev- “all of it”

W.H. Hudson- Far Away And Long Ago

Henry James- Portrait Of A Lady / The Turn Of The Screw

* Ernest Hemingway was a big denier of influences. He was aggressive about it. He hated people saying that his writing, and writing style, owed any kind of debt to others’. Desperate to avoid praising his contemporaries, Hemingway usually endorsed the books of safe, dead, so-called classic authors, compared to whom he wrote very differently. In interviews Hemingway boxed clever, maintaining that his formative inspirations were newspaper reports, and listening to vernacular.

But one of the main influences on Hemingway that his contemporaries used to point out was Stephen Crane’s The Red Badge Of Courage, a proto-modernist novel of the American Civil War, published in 1895. This novel is missing from Hemingway’s list.

If you ever find a copy of The Red Badge Of Courage, open it and have a look. You’ll immediately read a sentence along the lines of, ‘He took out the cartridge and threw it in the mud and wiped his face and took out another cartridge and put it in the breech and locked the breech…’ Which is to say, the novel reads precisely like Ernest Hemingway, and it’s no wonder reference to it made him cross.

Thank you Claire for hosting a wonderful discussion around the two editions of A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway.

A. E. Hotchner wrote a New York Times Op-Ed in July of this year about how he was with Hem when he discovered notebooks left at the Ritz in Paris with writings about the places, people and events of living in Paris in the 1920s.  There is also an article from June describing the ‘recast’ edition.

Here is an article from the Atlantic and another about Mariel Hemingway optioning the rights for film & TV. There’s another movie about Hemingway and his work.

“Never confuse movement with action. “

-Ernest Hemingway