Showing posts with label Hemingway. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hemingway. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

A farewell to Hemingway's boyish innocence

This is difficult for me. I can't very well be trusted to offer an unbiased opinion of A Farewell to Arms when I am clearly in love with its author. But I was a journalist . . . I can be unbiased. *struggles to keep a straight face*

So young and full of hope.

This is the story of Frederic Henry, an American ambulance driver in the Italian army during World War I. This is also, in many ways, the story of Hemingway himself, who was, coincidentally, an American ambulance driver in the Italian army during World War I. But that's not all. According to the back of my 1957 copy, it's "one of the most moving love stories ever written." Really, blurb writer? That's the description you're going with?

I was skeptical of that summary before I read the book (this isn't my first Hemingway rodeo), and the more I read, the more irate I became at said blurb writer. Is this deserving of the label "classic"? Of course. Is it poignant? Absolutely! Is it the greatest love story ever told? Dear God, I hope not.

Fred's love interest, British nurse Catherine Barkley, is said to be based on Agnes von Kurowski, the real-life nurse who cared for Hemingway in Milan after his legs were nearly blown off by a mortar. I'm not sure how closely the fictional relationship between Fred and Catherine parallels that of Ernest and Agnes, but the two stories certainly don't end the same. In real life, Agnes broke Ernest's heart, which was allegedly the catalyst for his future pattern of leaving one wife after another; in book world . . . well, let's just say that Ernest rewrote history a bit.

She's a heart breaker, dream maker, love taker.

Saturday, November 26, 2011

The importance of being Ernest (Hemingway)

I'm a little more than halfway through A Farewell to Arms, and I'm having thoughts. Many thoughts. Mainly about how Ernest and I would have been BEST FRIENDS and how I kind of hate Gil in Midnight in Paris because he gets to hang out with this guy:


I realize dear Ernest had some, shall we say, less-than-desirable qualities. I also realize he was a cat person . . . but we could have made it work.