I honestly have never been much of a Hemingway fan – is that ok for an English major to say? After hearing it mention in “City of Angels” back in the late 90’s, I ran across his book A Moveable Feast at a used bookstore. It sat on my shelf for years until about a month ago when I picked it up.
It is a collection of autobiographical accounts regarding his early years in Paris. It is amazing. Having lived in Europe during my 20’s (and having completely left my heart there) it was so relateable and came to life. He really draws you into the simplicity he lived in while newlywed, writing and happy. It’s an amazing collection that takes you on a journey, meeting writing legends, Scott Fitzgerald and Gertrude Stein and tasting wines and cafe drinks. He exposes the mockery of fame in these individuals, unaware of the similar path he will take, ending in a regrettable mistake that seemingly haunts him for the remainder of his years.
It was beautiful.
After reading it, I decided to give his other works a second chance. Not the same; they were all tainted with the poison of regret and steeped in cyclical depression. He had lost his innocence and zeal for all things pure and while he is known for these works, the beauty of his writing, I believe, is in this early piece.