Hemingway

HEMINGWAY WAS A WRITER WHO HAPPENED TO BE AMERICAN,

BUT HIS PALETTE WAS INCREDIBLY WIDE

AND DELICIOUS AND VIOLENT AND BRUTAL AND UGLY,

ALL OF THOSE THINGS.

IT'S SOMETHING EVERY CULTURE CAN BASICALLY UNDERSTAND.

EVERY CULTURE CAN UNDERSTAND FALLING IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE,

THE LOSS OF THAT PERSON,

OF HOW GREAT A MEAL TASTES,

HOW EXTRAORDINARY THIS JOURNEY IS.

THAT IS NOT NATIONALISTIC.

IT'S HUMAN,

AND I THINK WITH ALL OF HIS FLAWS,

WITH ALL THE DIFFICULTIES, HIS PERSONAL LIFE, WHATEVER,

HE SEEMED TO UNDERSTAND HUMAN BEINGS.

MAN, AS HEMINGWAY: YOU SEE, I'M TRYING IN ALL MY STORIES

TO GET THE FEELING OF THE ACTUAL LIFE ACROSS--

NOT JUST TO DEPICT LIFE OR CRITICIZE IT--

BUT TO ACTUALLY MAKE IT ALIVE

SO THAT WHEN YOU'VE READ SOMETHING BY ME

YOU ACTUALLY EXPERIENCE THE THING.

YOU CAN'T DO THIS WITHOUT PUTTING IN

THE BAD AND THE UGLY, AS WELL AS WHAT IS BEAUTIFUL,

BECAUSE IF IT IS ALL BEAUTIFUL YOU CAN'T BELIEVE IN IT.

THINGS AREN'T THAT WAY.

IT IS ONLY BY SHOWING BOTH SIDES--

3 DIMENSIONS AND IF POSSIBLE 4--

THAT YOU CAN WRITE THE WAY I WANT TO.

[THE BENNY GOODMAN SEXTET'S "A SMO-O-O-OTH ONE" PLAYING]

ERNEST HEMINGWAY REMADE AMERICAN LITERATURE.

HE PARED STORY-TELLING TO ITS ESSENTIALS,

CHANGED THE WAY CHARACTERS SPEAK,

EXPANDED THE WORLDS A WRITER COULD LEGITIMATELY EXPLORE,

AND LEFT AN INDELIBLE RECORD OF HOW MEN AND WOMEN LIVED

DURING HIS LIFETIME.

GENERATIONS OF WRITERS WOULD FIND THEIR WORK

MEASURED AGAINST HIS.

SOME FOLLOWED THE PATH HE'D BLAZED.

OTHERS REBELLED AGAINST IT.

NONE COULD ESCAPE IT.

HE MADE HIMSELF THE MOST CELEBRATED AMERICAN WRITER

SINCE MARK TWAIN,

READ--AND REVERED-- AROUND THE WORLD.

IT'S HARD TO IMAGINE A WRITER TODAY

WHO HASN'T BEEN IN SOME WAY INFLUENCED BY HIM.

IT'S LIKE HE CHANGED ALL THE FURNITURE

IN THE ROOM, RIGHT, AND WE ALL HAVE TO SIT IN IT

TO SOME--YOU KNOW, WE CAN KIND OF SIT

ON THE EDGE OF THE ARMCHAIR, ON THE ARM OR DO THIS,

BUT, YOU KNOW HE CHANGED THE FURNITURE IN THE ROOM.

THE VALUE OF THE AMERICAN DECLARATIVE SENTENCE, RIGHT,

THE WAY YOU BUILD A HOUSE BRICK BY BRICK OUT OF THOSE.

WITHIN A FEW SENTENCES OF READING A HEMINGWAY STORY,

YOU WERE NOT IN ANY CONFUSION AS TO WHO HAD WRITTEN IT.

I CAN'T IMAGINE HOW IT'S POSSIBLE

THAT ANY ONE WRITER COULD HAVE SO CHANGED THE LANGUAGE.

PEOPLE HAVE BEEN COPYING HIM FOR NEARLY A HUNDRED YEARS,

AND THEY HAVEN'T SUCCEEDED IN EQUALING WHAT HE DID.

IF YOU'RE A WRITER, YOU CAN'T ESCAPE HEMINGWAY.

HE'S SO DAMN POPULAR THAT YOU CAN'T BEGIN TO WRITE

TILL YOU TRY AND KILL HIS GHOST IN YOU

OR EMBRACE IT,

AND I THINK I IDENTIFY THAT MOST ABOUT HEMINGWAY

IS THAT HE WAS ALWAYS QUESTING.

THE PERFECT LINE HAD NOT HAPPENED YET.

IT IS ALWAYS A STRUGGLE TRYING TO GET IT RIGHT,

AND YOU NEVER WILL.

FOR 3 DECADES, PEOPLE WHO HAD NOT READ

A WORD HE'D WRITTEN THOUGHT THEY KNEW HIM--

WOUNDED VETERAN AND BATTLEFIELD CORRESPONDENT,

BIG-GAME HUNTER AND DEEP-SEA FISHERMAN,

BULL-FIGHT AFICIONADO, BRAWLER, AND LOVER

AND MAN ABOUT TOWN...

BUT BEHIND THE PUBLIC FIGURE WAS A TROUBLED AND CONFLICTED MAN,

WHO BELONGED TO A TROUBLED AND CONFLICTED FAMILY

WITH ITS OWN DRAMA AND DARKNESS AND CLOSELY-HELD SECRETS.

THE WORLD SAW HIM AS A MAN'S MAN,

BUT ALL HIS LIFE, HE WOULD PRIVATELY BE INTRIGUED

BY THE BLURRED LINES BETWEEN MALE AND FEMALE,

MEN AND WOMEN.

THERE WERE SO MANY SIDES TO HIM,

THE FIRST OF HIS 4 WIVES REMEMBERED,

THAT HE DEFIED GEOMETRY.

HE WAS OPEN TO LIFE.

HE WAS OPEN TO TRAGEDY.

HE WAS OPEN TO FEELING.

I LIKED THAT HE FELL IN LOVE,

AND HE FELL IN LOVE QUITE A FEW TIMES.

HE ALWAYS HAD THE NEXT WOMAN

BEFORE HE LEFT THE EXISTING WOMAN.

HE WAS OFTEN KIND AND GENEROUS TO THOSE

IN NEED OF HELP AND SOMETIMES JUST AS CRUEL

AND VENGEFUL TO THOSE WHO HAD HELPED HIM.

MAN, AS HEMINGWAY: I HAVE ALWAYS HAD THE ILLUSION

IT WAS MORE IMPORTANT, OR AS IMPORTANT,

TO BE A GOOD MAN AS TO BE A GREAT WRITER.

I MAY TURN OUT TO BE NEITHER

BUT WOULD LIKE TO BE BOTH.

HEMINGWAY'S STORY IS A TALE OLDER EVEN

THAN THE WRITTEN WORD OF A YOUNG MAN

WHOSE AMBITION AND IMAGINATION,

ENERGY AND ENORMOUS GIFTS BRING HIM WEALTH AND FAME

BEYOND IMAGINING,

WHO DESTROYS HIMSELF TRYING TO REMAIN TRUE

TO THE CHARACTER HE HAS INVENTED.

ONE OF HIS WEAKNESSES--

I WAS GOING TO SAY, "FAILINGS," AND IT WAS A GREAT PITY--

IT'S A GREAT PITY FOR ANY WRITER--

HE LOVED AN AUDIENCE.

HE LOVED AN AUDIENCE, AND IN FRONT OF AN AUDIENCE,

HE LOST THE BEST PART OF HIMSELF

BY TRYING TO IMPRESS THE AUDIENCE.

I HATE THE MYTH OF HEMINGWAY,

AND THE REASON I HATE THE MYTH OF HEMINGWAY,

IT OBSCURES THE MAN,

AND THE MAN IS MUCH MORE INTERESTING THAN THE MYTH.

I THINK HE WAS A TERRIFIC FATHER SOMETIMES.

I THINK THAT HE WAS A LOVING HUSBAND SOMETIMES.

I THINK HE WAS LIKE SO MANY PEOPLE

EXCEPT THIS ENORMOUS TALENT.

HEMINGWAY IS COMPLICATED. HE'S VERY COMPLICATED.

MAN, AS HEMINGWAY: THE GREAT THING IS TO LAST

AND GET YOUR WORK DONE

AND SEE AND HEAR AND LEARN AND UNDERSTAND;

AND WRITE WHEN THERE IS SOMETHING THAT YOU KNOW;

AND NOT BEFORE;

AND NOT TOO DAMNED MUCH AFTER.

[SCOTT JOPLIN'S "PARAGON RAG" PLAYING]

WOMAN, AS GRACE HEMINGWAY: MY BOY DELIGHTS IN SHOOTING

IMAGINARY WOLVES, BEARS, LIONS.

ALSO LIKES TO PRETEND HE IS A SOLDIER.

HE STORMS AND KICKS AND DANCES WITH RAGE WHEN THWARTED.

WHEN ASKED WHAT HE IS AFRAID OF,

HE SHOUTS OUT "'FRAID OF NOTHING!"

ERNEST MILLER HEMINGWAY WAS BORN

JULY 21, 1899, THE SECOND OF 6 CHILDREN

AND ENJOYED WHAT SEEMED TO BE AN IDYLLIC BOYHOOD.

HE HAD 4 ADORING SISTERS

AND A WORSHIPFUL YOUNGER BROTHER.

THEY ALL LIVED IN A BIG, COMFORTABLE HOME

IN THE PROSPEROUS CHICAGO SUBURB OF OAK PARK,

A COMPLACENT, WELL-MANNERED COMMUNITY

WITH NO SALOONS AND SO MANY CHURCHES

IT LIKED TO CALL ITSELF "SAINT'S REST."

THE HEMINGWAYS SPENT LONG SUMMERS AT WINDEMERE,

THEIR COTTAGE ON WALLOON LAKE IN MICHIGAN.

ERNEST'S FATHER CLARENCE HEMINGWAY--

KNOWN TO EVERYONE AS ED-- WAS A FAMILY DOCTOR.

HE KEPT OFFICE HOURS EVERY DAY OF THE WEEK

BUT WAS OFTEN FORCED TO MAKE HOUSE CALLS

IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT,

PERFORMING EMERGENCY CESAREAN SECTIONS

BY LANTERN LIGHT.

SOMETIMES, HE FAILED TO SAVE THE MOTHER OR THE BABY OR BOTH.

"MY FATHER WAS VERY DEVOTED TO MY MOTHER,"

ERNEST'S YOUNGEST SISTER REMEMBERED,

"BUT SHE WAS DEVOTED TO HERSELF."

HIS MOTHER GRACE HALL HEMINGWAY

HAD MARRIED AFTER ABANDONING HER DREAM

OF BEING AN OPERA SINGER, BUT SHE GAVE

VOICE AND VIOLIN AND PIANO LESSONS,

DIRECTED A CHOIR,

AND EARNED MORE THAN HER HUSBAND.

GRACE EXPOSED ALL OF HER CHILDREN TO THE ARTS,

BUT SHE NEVER LET THEM FORGET THAT SHE HAD SACRIFICED

A CONCERT CAREER TO RAISE THEM.

IF THEY LOVED HER, SHE SAID, THEY WOULD DO

WHATEVER SHE TOLD THEM TO DO.

IT AMUSED HER FOR A TIME TO PRETEND THAT ERNEST

AND HIS OLDER SISTER MARCELLINE WERE SOMEHOW TWINS,

SOMETIMES TWO BOYS, SOMETIMES TWO GIRLS.

SHE DID THIS THING OF TWINNING HIM WITH HIS SISTER.

SHE DRESSED THEM ALIKE.

SHE DRESSED THEM IN DRESSES OFTEN,

BUT THEN SHE'D PUT THEM IN OVERALLS.

SHE DIDN'T ONLY DRESS HIM UP AS A GIRL.

SOMETIMES, SHE'D DRESS THE GIRLS UP AS BOYS,

AND THERE'S THIS--THERE IS THIS ANDROGYNY GOING ON.

WOMAN, AS MARCELLINE: WE WORE OUR HAIR EXACTLY THE SAME

IN A SQUARE-CUT DUTCH BOB.

WE PLAYED WITH SMALL CHINA TEA SETS.

WE HAD DOLLS ALIKE, AND WHEN ERNEST WAS GIVEN

A LITTLE AIR RIFLE, I HAD ONE, TOO.

ONE OF HIS TEACHERS THOUGHT GRACE TOO CLOSE

TO HER SON, TOO CONTROLLING.

SHE REMEMBERED WONDERING IF, "GIVEN THE LUSH MOTHERHOOD

HE KNEW, HE WOULD FIND WIFE."

[BIRDS CHIRPING, DUCKS QUACKING]

MAN, AS HEMINGWAY: HIS FATHER CAME BACK TO HIM

IN THE FALL OF THE YEAR,

OR IN THE EARLY SPRING WHEN THERE HAD BEEN JACKSNIPE

ON THE PRAIRIE,

OR WHEN HE SAW SHOCKS OF CORN,

OR WHEN HE SAW A LAKE,

OR IF HE EVER SAW A HORSE AND BUGGY,

OR WHEN HE SAW, OR HEARD, WILD GEESE,

OR IN A DUCK BLIND.

HIS FATHER WAS WITH HIM, SUDDENLY,

IN DESERTED ORCHARDS AND IN NEW-PLOWED FIELDS,

IN THICKETS, ON SMALL HILLS,

OR WHEN GOING THROUGH DEAD GRASS,