Word: hemingways
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Courage in battle has fascinated writers from Homer to Hemingway, precisely because it contained a human mystery, an almost perverse will to rise to impossible occasions. Perhaps no modern army can rely upon the mysteries of heroism. But there is something odd and poignant in a bureaucracy spending $700,000 to try to make the fear of death manageable...
Ortolans and Failure. For the next 2½ years it was girls, flasks and sis-boom-bah. But the public image concealed an all-night reader who forged through Flaubert, Rimbaud, Joyce, Proust, Eliot, Pound, Cummings, Stein, Hemingway. In the fall of 1926, with a wad in his wallet and a life of leisure in view, he changed his name to Nathanael West and sailed off to Paris to join the Lost Generation. It was going to be ortolans all the way. But that winter the family fortune showed signs of imminent collapse. Early in 1927, West found himself working...
WHEN THE JUNK artists come out from under the table, traditionally insular critics are pressed into finding a new vocabulary. You would not discuss Mickey Spillane and Ernest Hemingway with the same terms. Hence the meta-language of criticism has to be stretched beyond the usual valuations and interpretations in order to examine the structure of the creator's perceived world. The perceived world of a Spillane or a Russ Meyer becomes as important a tool for understanding our melieu as the far more complex world of Hemingway...
...Miss Lonely-hearts and The Day of the Locust reflect West's own isolation. He was always very shy, had few friends and never attended school regularly. After graduating from college he left immediately for Paris and from a dark corner in Sylvia Beach's bookshop watched Joyce and Hemingway browse through the stacks...
...them seem uncomfortable with the major theses of life and death. Their concerns are more with language and style, as is the case with John Updike, 38, or with a relatively narrow range of human experience, as is true of Philip Roth, 37. There is no Faulkner, no Hemingway, no Fitzgerald, no O'Neill in our lost generation. The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test may well be our Great Gatsby, and Oh Dad, Poor Dad, Mamma's Hung You in the Closet and I'm Feeling So Sad our Desire Under the Elms...