A brilliantly leisure filled afternoon at my local bookshop, coffee in hand, I overheard an extremely loud patron utter, repeatedly: “Ugh! I hate hate hate Ernest Hemingway. Why do people think he was great? He is just plain awful. Awful. Kurt Vonnegut…there’s another one…”
Which, as I tend to take these things (particularly when they pertain to one of my favorite authors to boot), meant I’d immediately return home and pick up some Hemingway; I’ve read them all, but why not another go around with The Sun Also Rises.
And in the interest of discussion around Hemingway, do go see Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris, if you’re into that kind of thing…
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