I read this book for the prompt: Read a book written by an author or artist of The Lost Generation
I’ve been meaning to read A Moveable Feast for several years. In 1920’s Paris Gertrude Stein held salon gatherings where artists and writers shared ideas, opinions and criticism. Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald were two of the most well known writers associated with this lost generation, so I read books by both of them for the play harder challenge. I read other books by or about Hemingway in the past, and saw movies that glamorized the whole group. I can’t say I ever really liked Hemingway, but I still felt the need to read this book. The title led me to expect that this book would be big, lush, and full of life. And parts of it were lyrical and entertaining. I always wondered how they could all afford to live in Paris, going out drinking every night. Here Hemingway describes a city that was inexpensive if you aren’t fussy about where or how you live. (Or if you have friends who will pay for things.) In several segments he describes a rather spare, lonely and impoverished life. He often drank alone or worked in cafes, and would at times antagonize others to make them go away. A few of the essays were very sketchy, with gossip or insults of other writers. Hemingway seemed to insult just about everyone he knew, even his mentors and friends. Though to his credit, he spared his wives and lovers from criticism in the book. He acknowledged some of the ways that he hurt them through his behavior.
When I first read one of the essays about F. Scott Fitzgerald I found it quite poignant and sad. At another reading his comments seemed to be cruel and demeaning to a generous friend. I got the sense that he was motivated by his own insecurities and competitive nature. In another short section he described a private conversation he overheard involving a friend and her lover. He used vague descriptions or innuendo that could be interpreted in different humiliating ways. There was nothing specific that could be proven or defended, but his careful phrasing exacted a deep cut. I think that’s hard to justify, but we know that he was in poor mental health during this time, and committed suicide before the book was completed. I like to think that Hemingway would have edited out some of the worst personal insults if he was in a better frame of mind.
I’ve been meaning to read A Moveable Feast for several years. In 1920’s Paris Gertrude Stein held salon gatherings where artists and writers shared ideas, opinions and criticism. Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald were two of the most well known writers associated with this lost generation, so I read books by both of them for the play harder challenge. I read other books by or about Hemingway in the past, and saw movies that glamorized the whole group. I can’t say I ever really liked Hemingway, but I still felt the need to read this book. The title led me to expect that this book would be big, lush, and full of life. And parts of it were lyrical and entertaining. I always wondered how they could all afford to live in Paris, going out drinking every night. Here Hemingway describes a city that was inexpensive if you aren’t fussy about where or how you live. (Or if you have friends who will pay for things.) In several segments he describes a rather spare, lonely and impoverished life. He often drank alone or worked in cafes, and would at times antagonize others to make them go away. A few of the essays were very sketchy, with gossip or insults of other writers. Hemingway seemed to insult just about everyone he knew, even his mentors and friends. Though to his credit, he spared his wives and lovers from criticism in the book. He acknowledged some of the ways that he hurt them through his behavior.
When I first read one of the essays about F. Scott Fitzgerald I found it quite poignant and sad. At another reading his comments seemed to be cruel and demeaning to a generous friend. I got the sense that he was motivated by his own insecurities and competitive nature. In another short section he described a private conversation he overheard involving a friend and her lover. He used vague descriptions or innuendo that could be interpreted in different humiliating ways. There was nothing specific that could be proven or defended, but his careful phrasing exacted a deep cut. I think that’s hard to justify, but we know that he was in poor mental health during this time, and committed suicide before the book was completed. I like to think that Hemingway would have edited out some of the worst personal insults if he was in a better frame of mind.