Hemingway: It’s a Love/Hate Thing
How the author simultaneously inspires and repels me.
I’m binge-watching the recent PBS documentary about Ernest Hemingway’s life. This follows a recent view of the film Hemingway & Gellhorn. I’m not seeking Hemingway out — he keeps finding me. And, if there is one life lesson that sticks with me beyond all the sensible lessons that don’t, it’s to take notice when a theme keeps repeating itself.
Like a dutiful English major and student of writing, I sat at the altar of Hemingway and spent my younger years not really understanding why he was such a big deal. The guys that I wrote with thought he hung the moon. The women around me didn’t talk about Hemingway that much. We were too busy exploring mid-century, women authors who were finally finding equal publishing rights.
I understood that Hemingway was important and that I should read his stories, but he didn’t reel me in (I swear that’s the only fishing metaphor I’ll use here) like his contemporaries Gertrude Stein and Dorothy Parker. Hell, I thought Fitzgerald was more interesting. My views on that have changed as I’ve aged. The Great Gatsby was a Less than Zero for the prohibition bunch.
I thought Hemingway didn’t write for me.
The older I get, the less I believe this is true. I’m more willing now to explore topics that I don’t agree…
