On a whim, I've taken to reading Hemingway. I was sitting in my statistics class, letting my mind wander (as usual) as the teacher spoke enthusiastically about probabilities. It occured to me that I really haven't read that many "good" books in my life, that is, the classics that everyone who knows anything (or those who pretend to) say we should.
The first book that came to mind is Old Man and the Sea, probably because it is considered by many to be a classic, while others think it is a rather pointless book in which nothing happens. Having never read the book, and being eager to form my opinion on it (as I am wont to form my own opinion about all sorts of things), I committed myself to checking out a copy from Shields.
I discovered Hemingway's books are located on the fourth floor, and a good shelf is committed both to his works and critical analysis of his work. I couldn't find Old Man and the Sea (perhaps it was checked out), and being pressed for time, I chose the two books that seemed most interesting—Green Hills of Africa, and a small anthology entitled Earnest Hemingway on Writing. Having made my choice, I was able to get from the fourth floor to the checkout counter and then onto the bus in less than five minutes. On the bus, I cracked open the anthology and started reading. It's a collection of snippets from thirty-odd years of Hemingway letters, books, and interviews.
It was like meeting an old friend that I never knew, if you can imagine that. As I read on the ride home, and during stats lecture over the next few days, I found myself taking an immediate liking to Hemingway—I admired his attention to detail, his gruff yet personable style, his brooding passion, his dedication to making the most of a few words. This was a man I could imagine myself conversing with in a Paris café, as he listed all the authors a young writer should read—Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Crane, Flaubert, and half dozen others (who, incidentally, I've added to my reading list). I'd sit back in wonder while he spoke, and smoked, and drank whiskey.
Only, I don't drink, nor do I smoke, and the Paris café would be Crépe Bistro downtown.
