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My paperback copy of A Moveable Feast. It's by Ernest Hemingway, the author of Islands in the Stream, according to the cover. That's not how anyone refers to Ernest Hemingway. (Photo by Mark C. Taylor)
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My paperback copy of the 2009 Restored Edition of A Moveable Feast, by Ernest Hemingway. The Paris Wife is next on my list to read.
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A Moveable Feast is Ernest Hemingway’s posthumous
memoir of Paris during the 1920’s. It’s been on my list of books I should read
for a long time and watching
Ken Burns’ and Lynn Novick’s documentary about Hemingway pushed me to finally pick it up. It’s an entertaining book comprised
of short sketches that detail Hemingway’s life as a young writer with his first
wife Hadley.
Is A Moveable Feast meant to be read as a work
of fact or fiction? In the Preface, Hemingway wrote, “If the reader prefers,
this book may be regarded as fiction.” What is that supposed to mean? Does that
mean that everything in it is a lie? Or is Hemingway referencing the notion
that truth is subjective, and his recollections will inevitably differ from
someone else’s? It’s an interesting statement to make for a writer as concerned
as Hemingway was with getting the truth down on paper, even when he was writing
fiction. As he famously wrote at the beginning of A Moveable Feast:
“’Do not worry. You have always written before and you will
write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest
sentence that you know.’ So finally I would write one true sentence, and then
go on from there. It was easy then because there was always one true sentence
that I knew or had seen or had heard someone say.” (p.12)
A Moveable Feast was written in the late 1950’s,
after Hemingway rediscovered a trunk of his that had been left in storage at
the Ritz Hotel in Paris. The trunk contained notebooks that Hemingway had kept
during his time in Paris in the 1920’s. This fortuitous rediscovery spurred
Hemingway on to revisit this material for a possible book. Hemingway worked on
the material off and on for the rest of his life, until his suicide in 1961.
Hemingway’s provisional title was “The Paris Sketches,” and the book would not
acquire its famous title until writer and Hemingway pal A.E. Hotchner recalled
a conversation he had with Papa about Paris.
Hemingway used A Moveable Feast to settle old scores,
and despite the interest inherent in reading about great artists in Paris, I
was left with an overwhelming sense of bitterness after finishing the book. The
only people who come off well in the book are Hadley, Ezra Pound, and Sylvia
Beach. Perhaps coincidentally, they were the only major characters in A
Moveable Feast who were still alive when Hemingway was writing the book in
the late 1950’s.
The prevailing attitude of Hemingway’s voice throughout the
book is one of a smug superiority. He presents himself as a hard worker who is
also very poor. Hemingway hits so hard on the theme of “I was working very hard
all of the time.” And maybe he was. But maybe part of the reason he hits this
theme so hard is because during the time he was writing this, he was not able
to work that way anymore. Being a Midwesterner, Hemingway is very adept at the
art of the passive-aggressive half-compliment, half-insult, and these crop up throughout
the book.
As you keep reading the book, you wonder what in it is true.
You start to wonder if he really was that poor. (According to biographers, no,
he wasn’t that poor—Hadley’s trust fund paid some of the bills.) And you wonder
if he had any close friends that he actually liked and was he really ever fast
enough to catch a pigeon in the Luxembourg Gardens and did he ever learn Alice
B. Toklas’s name.
I found it ridiculous how in the chapters about Gertrude
Stein, Hemingway very pointedly does not refer to her partner Alice B. Toklas
by name, instead calling her “the friend who lived with her,” or “her
companion.” I felt like shouting at him, “Her name is Alice B. Toklas! She
invented marijuana brownies, Ernest! Her name is in the title of Gertrude’s
most famous book, for crying out loud! If you know Gertrude’s name, then you
should know Alice’s name! They’re like the Simon and Garfunkel of 1920’s
Paris!” (Okay, so the internet is telling me that Brion Gysin actually wrote
the infamous recipe for marijuana brownies.)
Hemingway was friends with Gertrude Stein for a while, and
then eventually the friendship soured. He writes of Stein in the chapter about
the end of their friendship: “There is not much future in men being friends
with great women although it can be pleasant enough before it gets better or
worse, and there is usually even less future with truly ambitious women
writers.” (p.115) Ouch.
As a fan of F. Scott Fitzgerald, I can’t help but be annoyed
at the way Hemingway has chosen to present Fitzgerald in the pages of A
Moveable Feast. Everything Hemingway writes about Fitzgerald is meant to
make Fitzgerald look like an idiot. Scott can’t hold his liquor! His wife is
crazy! He’s wasting his time writing trashy short stories! He isn’t a good
speller! He never drinks wine straight from the bottle! He’s worried about the
size of his penis!
However, despite all of Hemingway’s slanders against
Fitzgerald, I’d argue that Scott is the only character in the book who jumps
off the page and resembles a real person in all of his complexity. I’m not
going to defend F. Scott Fitzgerald’s behavior during his escapades with Ernest
Hemingway. Anyone who has read anything biographical about Fitzgerald is aware
that he could behave terribly at times, mostly when he was under the influence
of alcohol. But Hemingway makes little attempt to show us other dimensions to
Fitzgerald, and he deliberately withholds information from the reader that
would paint a fuller portrait of their friendship.
At the end of the first chapter about Scott, Hemingway even needlessly
insults the dust jacket of The Great Gatsby. “It had a garish dust
jacket and I remember being embarrassed by the violence, bad taste and slippery
look of it. It looked the book jacket for a book of bad science fiction…I took
it off to read the book.” (p.174) Congratulations Ernest, you just trashed one
of the most famous dust jackets of all time! Ernest would no doubt be chagrined
to know that Scribner’s most recent edition of The Great Gatsby still
has that same cover, all these years later.
Hemingway is careful to give Fitzgerald no credit for any
assistance during the editing of The Sun Also Rises. Hemingway writes
that Scott wanted to read a manuscript of the novel in progress, but Ernest didn’t
let him see the book until very late in the process. Hemingway makes no mention
of the fact that it was Fitzgerald who persuaded Hemingway to switch publishers
to Scribner’s, and it was Fitzgerald who alerted the editor Maxwell Perkins to
Hemingway’s talent and promise.
Hemingway and Fitzgerald scholar and biographer Scott
Donaldson offers proof of Fitzgerald’s contribution to the editing of The
Sun Also Rises in his excellent 1999 book Hemingway vs. Fitzgerald. Using
Fitzgerald’s letter to Hemingway about the beginning of the novel, and
Hemingway’s subsequent letters to Maxwell Perkins, Donaldson shows that Fitzgerald’s
criticism convinced Hemingway that the beginning of the novel was flabby and
should be trimmed down.
In the “Restored Edition” of A Moveable Feast, published
in 2009, there’s an additional passage concerning Fitzgerald and the editing of
The Sun Also Rises. Hemingway writes of Fitzgerald and the novel’s
proofs, “We discussed them. But I made the decisions. Not that it matters.”
(p.158) Of course it doesn’t matter, old sport. For whatever reason, Hemingway
finds it so painful, if not impossible, to acknowledge anyone else’s talent as
a writer. To me, this shows his fundamental insecurity.
In Hemingway vs.
Fitzgerald, Scott Donaldson also
points out how Hemingway’s comments about Fitzgerald became more and more
denigrating as the 1950’s went on and Fitzgerald’s literary reputation began to
quickly rise. Donaldson writes of A
Moveable Feast’s criticisms of all
of Hemingway’s friends: “For every fault singled out and satirized, Hemingway
by implication assumes the opposite virtue. It is, finally, too much to
believe.” (p.271)
The “Restored Edition” of 2009 isn’t that much different
from the original version of 1964. I read the 1964 version and then thumbed
through the 2009 version page by page to see what was different. There is
additional material included in the “Restored Edition,” including an
interesting bit about Ernest and Hadley growing their hair to the same length,
which is echoed in scenes in Hemingway’s novels A Farewell to Arms, and The
Garden of Eden.
The biggest difference in the “Restored Edition” is that part
of the last chapter, titled “There is Never Any End to Paris” in the 1964
edition, and now retitled “The Pilot Fish and the Rich,” has been moved to the “Additional
Paris Sketches” section of the 2009 book, after the main text of the book. In
that chapter, Hemingway writes about a “pilot fish” who led the rich to Switzerland,
where Ernest and Hadley were spending the winter skiing. The pilot fish is meant
to be the writer John Dos Passos, and the rich are Gerald and Sara Murphy, a
wealthy American couple who were patrons of the arts. (The Murphys were partial
models for Dick and Nicole Diver in Fitzgerald’s novel Tender Is the Night.)
So, why move the section about skiing in Switzerland to the
very end? Well, this is the part of the book where Ernest meets Pauline Pfeiffer,
a wealthy American woman who will become his second wife. And Pauline just happens
to be the grandmother of Sean Hemingway, who edited the Restored Edition of A
Moveable Feast. However, there is additional material included in this
section in the Restored Edition, and that material sheds more light on Ernest’s
dilemma as he fell in love with two women, and ultimately decided to leave Hadley
for Pauline.
A Moveable Feast is a fascinating book, although it
needs to be read with a large grain of salt.