I finished reading A Moveable Feast yesterday. Not sure what to think of it. There are stories in which Hemingway demonstrates compassion and delicacy. There are stories which confirm my long-held opinion that I wouldn’t have liked him much, had I known him.
Which I guess just proves that he was human, as I am human, and maybe he wouldn’t have liked me much, either.
I don’t know how to interpret the last story in the book, in which he describes the end of his first marriage. It was a situation similar to Middlest’s, wherein the generosity of one and the selfishness of two caused chaos and heartbreak. It was interesting to get a male perspective on that situation, and I think it may not have been all that different for Middlest’s former spouse. I still have the odd moment where I would like to wipe the floor with that little man. Not as many as I used to, so we are making progress on the work-in-progress which is Ms. Ravelled.
But I digress. I cannot tell from the writing if Hemingway was being a journalist, just giving the facts as he observed them, or if he was trying to justify his behavior.
I do not have any overwhelming urge to read more of his work. On the whole, I liked the book better than I thought I would, but I’m not sure if that is damning with faint praise, or praising with faint damns.
I promised you ballet shoes, a few days ago when Adobe was not cooperating.
Look at the negative space near the bottom of that scarf. Doesn’t it look like ballet slippers? Which gave me the idea to plop my own on top of the scarf and snap away.
If all goes well, this is my Friday. Cross everything you can, and wish me luck.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!