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A Moveable Feast

by Ernest Hemingway

4.02 · rating details · 19,042 ratings · 1,977 reviews

Begun in the autumn of 1957 and published posthumously in 1964, Ernest Hemingway's A Moveable Feast captures what it meant to be young and poor and writing in Paris during the 1920s. A correspondent for the Toronto Star, Hemingway arrived in Paris in 1921, three years after the trauma of the Great War and at the beginning of the transformation of Europe's cultural landsca...more

Paperback, 211 pages

Published May 29th 1996 by Scribner (first published 1963)

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Feb 02, 2012

Chiara Pagliochini rated it

· review of another edition

Shelves: classici-americani

“Ma Parigi era una città molto vecchia e noi eravamo giovani e lì non c’era niente di facile, neanche la miseria, né i soldi improvvisi, né il chiaro di luna, né la ragione e il torto né il respiro di qualcuno sdraiato al tuo fianco al chiaro di luna.”

Sono sempre stata una persona di facili innamoramenti e di odi inspiegabili, repentini, istintivi. Ma giacché sono anche molto lunatica o debole di carattere o democratica, è facile che i miei odi si trasformino altrettanto inspie...more
“Ma Parigi era una città molto vecchia e noi eravamo giovani e lì non c’era niente di facile, neanche la miseria, né i soldi improvvisi, né il chiaro di luna, né la ragione e il torto né il respiro di qualcuno sdraiato al tuo fianco al chiaro di luna.”

Sono sempre stata una persona di facili innamoramenti e di odi inspiegabili, repentini, istintivi. Ma giacché sono anche molto lunatica o debole di carattere o democratica, è facile che i miei odi si trasformino altrettanto inspiegabilmente e repentinamente in amori. E certamente è vero anche il contrario.
Prendiamo il signor Ernest Hemingway, ad esempio. Non posso negare di essere stata piuttosto ostile e refrattaria per un certo periodo. Quando per caso ci trovavamo nella stessa stanza lui mi lanciava certe occhiate come se volesse abbordarmi. Erano occhiate molto possessive, il modo in cui guarderesti un libro sullo scaffale o una borsa in vetrina, quello sguardo che dice, “sei mia”. E tu, come il libro e la borsa, non puoi neanche esprimere il tuo parere. Ma siccome io non ero né una borsa né un libro e potevo voltare la testa a mio piacimento, mi giravo dall’altra parte e storcevo il naso. Tuttavia sentivo sempre il suo sguardo provocante solleticarmi l’attaccatura dei capelli. Il signor Ernest aveva un suo fascino indiscutibile, scriveva molto bene, ma ti guardava con quell’occhio, quell’occhio insopportabile. Avevi l’impressione di essere solo una bambola, una cosa inerte. Avevi l’impressione che, nel profondo, non gli importasse di te, ed era proprio così. Che se ne andasse a ubriacarsi o a pescare o in safari o a guidare l’ambulanza. Non gli avresti restituito lo sguardo né detto una parola gentile. Era un presuntuoso, un vanaglorioso, un finto duro, ecco tutto.
Poi, un giorno, qualcosa è cambiato. Non so se è partito da me o da lui, fatto sta che quella sera eravamo entrambi più malinconici del solito e siamo finiti a scambiare quattro chiacchiere per tirarci su di morale.
Lui fissava il fondo del bicchiere e parlava con una voce bassa e un po’ arrochita, che non pensavi potesse possedere mai. Mi raccontava di quand’era più giovane, della sua vita a Parigi, della gente che aveva conosciuto, del suo mestiere di scrittore, delle sue antipatie e della sua vita coniugale. Parlava di tante persone che io conoscevo solo per sentito dire e che lui, invece, aveva conosciuto tutte. Nomi che per te significavano tanto e che lui citava con quell’apparente trascuratezza, con la nonchalance di chi davvero ha vissuto con quelle persone momenti a loro modo indelebili.
Mi raccontò di Gertrude Stein, che assomigliava a una contadina friulana, non sopportava il turpiloquio, gli consigliava che libri leggere e gli diceva sempre di comprare quadri anziché vestiti. Aveva litigato con Ezra Pound perché lui le aveva rotto una sedia e Ernest le voleva molto bene, anche se spesso non era d’accordo con quello che diceva.
Mi raccontò di Ezra Pound, che aveva pochi soldi ma non temeva mai di prestarli, che credeva sempre che i suoi amici fossero artisti meravigliosi e a cui aveva imparato a tirare di box.
Mi raccontò di Ford Madox Ford, a cui puzzava l’alito e che diceva sempre bugie quand’era stanco.
Mi raccontò di quel poeta intossicato d’oppio che gli aveva tirato contro una bottiglia di latte e che, per essere un poeta, aveva un’ottima mira.
Mi raccontò dei camerieri della Closerie des Lilas, che una volta portavano i baffi e versavano sempre del whisky in più, ma poi avevano dovuto smettere e pure tagliare i baffi, e non s’erano più ripresi.
Mi raccontò della paura che non arrivasse la primavera, dei pescatori che pescavano nella Senna per portare a casa un po’ di pesce fritto. Raccontò della stanza in cui scriveva, riscaldata da un camino, in cui gettava le scorze dei mandarini. Quando aveva il blocco dello scrittore si diceva, “Ern, hai sempre scritto, e scriverai ancora, basta che cominci con una frase vera, il resto verrà da sé”. Mi raccontò di quando non aveva i soldi per mangiare e allora faceva lunghe passeggiate per distrarsi.
Mi raccontò di Hadley, la sua prima moglie, di quanto straordinaria fosse, di quanto si amassero, di quando andavano a sciare e di quando facevano l’amore stretti stretti. Mi raccontò del loro bambino, Mr Bumby, un piccolo filosofo che non piangeva mai, e del loro gatto, F. Puss, che era la bambinaia di Mr Bumby.
E poi, verso la fine, fece due nomi ancora e io sussultai e non potevo più stare per l’agitazione. Sì, aveva conosciuto Scott Fitzgerald, poteva assicurarmelo. Una volta, quando si conoscevano da poco, lo aveva accompagnato per un viaggio a Lione. Scott aveva bevuto troppo e si era convinto di avere una malattia ai polmoni. Lui si era arrabbiato molto, ma gli faceva pena, e l’aveva accudito come una brava infermiera. Diceva che il talento di Scott era come la polvere sulle ali di una farfalla: niente l’avrebbe potuto raschiare via. Niente e nessuno, nemmeno sua moglie Zelda, che pure ce la metteva tutta, e lo trascinava da una parte all’altra di Parigi in feste e festini col solo proposito di impedirgli di scrivere. Voleva averlo tutto per sé? Era invidiosa? Eppure Scott la amava così tanto, così tanto che era pronto a sostenerla nella sua pazzia e persino a diventare pazzo lui per colpa sua. Ecco, su questo punto era irremovibile, e io gli dissi che non potevo fidarmi del suo solo parere. E poi non dev’essere facile per due scrittori vivere sotto lo stesso tetto. Non è facile neanche essere amici, figuriamoci marito e moglie! Ma no, Ernest francamente non lo credeva: lui era sempre stato un amico sincero ed era tanto più sincero quanto migliori erano gli scrittori che aveva di fronte.
Alla fine mi trovai con gli occhi lucidi. Non sapevo se la sua storia fosse tutta vera, ma era passato tanto tempo e lui ormai era un uomo fatto e finito. Se anche aveva lavorato di fantasia, non c’era niente di cui poter accusarlo. I sentimenti c’erano, erano stati autentici ed erano quelli a farmi piangere, non tanto gli accadimenti in sé.
Poco prima di andarmene, misi una mano sulla sua, lo guardai negli occhi e dissi:
« Beato lei, signore, che è stato giovane a quei tempi. Sono tempi bellissimi per quelli di oggi. Ci pensa? Facevate quel che vi piaceva e lo chiamavate lavoro. Adesso noi ci tocca correre da una parte all’altra e quel che vogliamo fare lo confiniamo in un angolino, per farlo nei momenti di respiro. E pagare un affitto a Parigi… non ci voglio manco pensare. Vi chiamavano una generazione perduta ma, se fossero vissuti oggi, che termine avrebbero usato per noi? »
Ernest strinse il bicchiere, una stretta forte, di polso, e mi allungò di nuovo quella sua occhiata di possesso. Ma stavolta io ci leggevo malinconia e affetto e schiettezza. E decisi che potevo essere sua, che non c’era niente di male ad essere sua, perché mi avrebbe custodita teneramente.
« Tutte le generazioni sono perdute a modo loro. E questo significa che nessuna lo è davvero » rispose, e mi fece una carezza.
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Dec 07, 2009

Ellen rated it

· review of another edition

Shelves: re-read, autobiography-memoir

Though often containing gorgeous prose, Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast has a clear agenda. The book treats Hemingway’s life in Paris from 1921 to 1926. Although the book clearly is autobiographical, in the Preface, Hemingway, after explaining that several items were left out of his memoir, then suggests, rather coyly, that “If the reader prefers, this book may be regarded as fiction” and adds, “But there is always the chance that such a book of fiction may throw some light on what has been written...moreThough often containing gorgeous prose, Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast has a clear agenda. The book treats Hemingway’s life in Paris from 1921 to 1926. Although the book clearly is autobiographical, in the Preface, Hemingway, after explaining that several items were left out of his memoir, then suggests, rather coyly, that “If the reader prefers, this book may be regarded as fiction” and adds, “But there is always the chance that such a book of fiction may throw some light on what has been written as fact.” In essence, Hemingway wants it both ways: the book may be regarded as either fact or fiction. Although there is no reason for readers to read the work as fiction, Hemingway’s suggestion serves two ends. First, Hemingway introduces the idea that the book could be viewed as a novel, an idea that echoes the famous challenge he issued when he wrote The Green Hills of Africa where he ponders whether a work of nonfiction, if written truly enough, could compete with a work of the imagination. Aligning the work with fiction promotes its artistry; in addition, Hemingway’s Preface serves to justify his carefully reconstructed version of his early life.

However, Hemingway’s book does not seem like fiction because of what he leaves out, but rather for what he puts in. And, what Hemingway adds is gossip. Rather than the often vain, self-centered, and troubled person that Hemingway was, he presents a smoothed over, patient, loyal, and often loving version of himself. His first wife, Hadley, whom Hemingway unceremoniously dumped for Pauline Pfeiffer, is promoted to near sainthood. Ford Madox Ford is presented as hygienically challenged and a fool, Ezra Pound is a saint, and Ernest Walsh is a posturing liar. Yet, Hemingway presents his gossip artfully, even reluctantly. At one point, in reference to rumors about a writing award in which Ernest Walsh was involved, Hemingway disassociates himself from gossip and even attempts to admonish the reader: “If the news [about the writing award:] was passed around by gossip or rumor, or if it was a matter of personal confidence, cannot be said. Let us hope and believe always that it was completely honorable in every way” (125).

Despite Hemingway’s stated qualms about avoiding gossip and upholding honor, he shows no restraint in his portraits of Gertrude Stein and F. Scott Fitzgerald. Stein is introduced early in the memoir, and then destroyed completely in a later chapter entitled, “A Strange Enough Ending.” Tellingly, Hemingway begins the chapter by observing, “There is not much future in men being friends with great women…and there is usually even less future with truly ambitious women writers” (117). Significantly, Hemingway diminishes Stein’s writing ability by relegating her to a general group of “ambitious women writers.” Hemingway recounts visiting Stein’s house; as he waits for her, he overhears an intimate conversation. Hemingway writes, “…I heard someone speaking to Miss Stein as I had never heard one person speak to another; never, anywhere, ever.

Then Miss Stein’s voice came pleading and begging, saying, “Don’t, pussy. Don’t. Don’t, please don’t. I’ll do anything, pussy, but please don’t do it. Please don’t. Please don’t, pussy” (118). Hemingway takes pains to describe how he quietly exits and asks the maidservant to say she had met him in the courtyard, and that he had never entered the house. Nevertheless, Hemingway’s willingness to write the incident and include a private conversation belies the gentlemanly behavior he tries to portray. The intimate conversation Hemingway provides—word-for-word—is designed to make Stein look foolish and weak. Hemingway uses gossip to assert his superiority.

Despite the many pages devoted to Gertrude Stein, Hemingway’s portrait of F. Scott Fitzgerald serves as the book’s dramatic core. By the time Hemingway meets Fitzgerald, he has already published This Side of Paradise and had just completed The Great Gatsby. In contrast, Hemingway has not yet been able to write a novel and worries whether he can. When he reads The Great Gatsby, its genius stuns him. Hemingway’s artful vignette of Fitzgerald serves to cut him down to size. Throughout the book, Hemingway carefully constructs his writing persona and implies that the attributes he displays—discipline, diligence, and attention to craft—are the qualities of a true writer. In contrast, Hemingway introduces his portrait of Fitzgerald by implicitly comparing talent with craft.

Like Fitzgerald’s physique and character, which Hemingway dissects piece-by-piece, Fitzgerald’s writing ability is portrayed as weak and suspect. Fitzgerald, Hemingway implies, has not earned his ability to write; even worse, Fitzgerald only recognizes his talent after it is gone: “Later he became conscious of his damaged wings and of their construction and he learned to think and could not fly any more because the love of flight was gone and he could only remember when it had been effortless.” Hemingway implies that Fitzgerald’s writing was not an intellectual, crafted ability, but more a matter of luck. Fitzgerald was given a portion of talent, but he had not worked for it, and it contrasts with the sturdy and true writing that emerges from craft.

Not content with rendering Fitzgerald’s writing ability suspect, Hemingway continues to dissect Fitzgerald, taking direct aim at his manhood. Like a good gossip, Hemingway provides salacious details. However, Hemingway packages his gossip carefully. Hemingway writes, artfully: “Scott was a man then who looked like a boy with a face between handsome and pretty. He had very fair wavy hair, a high forehead, excited and friendly eyes and a delicate long-lipped Irish mouth that, on a girl, would have the mouth of a beauty…The mouth worried you until you knew him and then it worried you more.”

In the following chapter, “A Matter of Measurements,” Hemingway assuages the insecurity Fitzgerald feels because of a comment Zelda has made by taking Fitzgerald into the men’s room, inspecting him, and pronouncing the size of his penis normal. The content could hardly be more intimate and sensational. Hemingway performs verbal surgery throughout A Moveable Feast, and despite the book’s artistry, Hemingway spares almost no one his scathing memoir.
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Jan 03, 2008

Larissa rated it

Shelves: short-stories, vicarious-travel, 2008, usa

Reading A Moveable Feast was a strange combination of pure pleasure and pure torture for me. On one hand, what could be better than reading a pseudo-memoir written by the unabashedly self-absorbed, and yet enduringly charming, Hemingway--all white wine, manliness, and burgeoning craft, with an excess of anecdotes and remembrances (often unflattering and unfair, god bless him) of his eccentric and luminous contemporaries? Not much. Especially with such memories: of Gertrude "Aldous Huxley wr...moreReading A Moveable Feast was a strange combination of pure pleasure and pure torture for me. On one hand, what could be better than reading a pseudo-memoir written by the unabashedly self-absorbed, and yet enduringly charming, Hemingway--all white wine, manliness, and burgeoning craft, with an excess of anecdotes and remembrances (often unflattering and unfair, god bless him) of his eccentric and luminous contemporaries? Not much. Especially with such memories: of Gertrude "Aldous Huxley writes like a dead man" Stein, of Wyndham "Eyes of an Unsuccessful Rapist" Lewis, of confirming for Scott Fitzgerald that his endowment was of a sufficient dimension to please any decent woman (compared, when it was, with statues at the Louve).

Everything is romantic: unheated Parisian cafes, living on money borrowed from the woman who owns the bookstore/library, having dinner with fire eaters, skiing up into the tip-top of the Alps to learn about avalanches in the winter, losing 6 months' savings on the ponies, boxing with Ezra Pound, donating money to fund T.S. Elliot's departure from his humdrum bank job. Eating and drinking. Not eating and drinking.

But especially, 'Working.' That up-with-the-sun-to-work-on-my-craft self-imposed grindstone that one sweats over as one might laying bricks and mortar all day. For from the way Hemingway describes it, writing--working--is hard, physical (manly) labor. It taxes you and it costs you and it takes a whole morning to get a paragraph written, but all the better! Like a good climb up a tall mountain, your exhaustion only proves that you've done something real and worthwhile. Which is a sentiment that can make any writer-in-training feel grand and important. This isn't art or creativity or any pansy self-expression. This. Is. Work.

And yet...

Hemingway tells us of a time when one could travel through Europe on a seasonal basis, drink bottles of wine by the liter, eat out in cafes all the time, and still be considered poor. When you could make a living selling magazine stories and the odd piece of journalism. When these combined payments were not only enough to fund an apartment for you and your wife and son, but also for a nursemaid, and for a separate hotel room in which you could work (naked, if need be).

It's a particularly classy brand of poverty that doesn't sound impoverished at all.

Alas and alack. But it's still fun to read about.(less)

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Dec 11, 2007

Kirk rated it

Shelves: essential-reference

Whenever a friend/Roman/lover/countryman/debtor/student/
jackass bar brawler tells me that Hemingway lost it after THE SUN ALSO RISES or (being generous) A FAREWELL TO ARMS, I say: read this book. There are moments of vile approbation. It saddens me infinitely to hear EH bang on Gertrude and Scott, and some of the dialogue is transparently punchdrunk. But when I want to read a book by someone who lost his shit and knew he lost it spectularly, this be the one. There are few passages more sel...more

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Feb 01, 2012

David Lentz rated it

· review of another edition

During the early days of Hemingway's career Paris was was the most prolific writer's colony on the planet. The cost of living was cheap, the wine and food were good, and Paris attracted the talents of James Joyce, Ezra Pound, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ford Maddox Ford among others. Paris was truly a moveable feast in his day and, although Hemingway was poor at age 25, he was devoted to a career in which his primary objective was to capture a true sentence and then to follow it with another. This s...more

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David Lentz Kristen wrote: "Love your review. Moving this one further up my to read list. By any chance have you seen Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris? Sounds...more
Feb 03, 2012 05:00am

David Lentz Ian wrote: "Wonderful review and thread.

I was quite annoyed with the voice and bearing of the actor who played Hemingway in the film.
...more
Feb 03, 2012 05:18am

Apr 25, 2011

Brad rated it

· review of another edition

Shelves: autobiography, classic, travel, to-read-again, faves, hemingway, novel-in-short-stories, memoir

A Moveable Feast is a beautiful book. Gorgeous. The prose is Hemingway-crisp, concise and evocative, but even with the Ezra Pound love fest midway through the book (fascinatingly against the grain in an America predisposed to loathe the poet for his ties to Nazism), A Moveable Feast isn’t A Moveable Feast until Scott Fitzgerald and Zelda appear on the scene.

Fans of Fitzgerald’s probably cringe at Papa’s descriptions of the Scott’s sad debasement. Zelda is a mad bitch; Scott is a dr...more

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Feb 22, 2010

Cait rated it

Recommended to Cait by: Nicole

Shelves: classics, memoirs-and-autobiography, read-in-2010, owned

It's official. I'm a gossip whore. Try as I might to deny it, I love hearing the dirt on other people. It should come as no surprise then that my favorite sections of this books were about Hemingway's relationships with Gertrude Stein and (especially) F. Scott Fitzgerald. Holy crap, who knew Hemingway was a gossip whore too? The man can really dish it out. I'm embarrassingly unfamiliar with the Stein christened "Lost Generation" though, so I don't know whether to take what he say...more

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Sep 28, 2011

Teresa rated it

4 and 1/2 stars

This memoir (Hemingway coyly says in the preface that the reader may consider it fiction), with its idyllic tone, surely romanticizes Hemingway's life in France with his first wife and their child. It includes rather unflattering portraits of Stein, Madox Ford and the Fitzgeralds, while certainly leaving out things that would've made Hemingway himself look bad. But, perhaps, it is as he says here of his fiction writing: what is omitted is what strengthens the story. ...more

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Aug 12, 2008

Matt rated it

· review of another edition

Shelves: classics

My sister spent some time in Paris recently, and told me I had to read a book. The book in question was ‘A Moveable Feast’ by Hemingway, which to be honest I never heard of.
The competition between Hemingway and Fitzgerald has been immortalized for a long time. I always sided with Fitzgerald as the better writer. I’ve read ‘The Great Gatsby’ three times, and ‘Tender is the Night’ three times, and will return to those books every four to five years. Fitzgerald writes beautifully, in deapth,...moreMy sister spent some time in Paris recently, and told me I had to read a book. The book in question was ‘A Moveable Feast’ by Hemingway, which to be honest I never heard of.
The competition between Hemingway and Fitzgerald has been immortalized for a long time. I always sided with Fitzgerald as the better writer. I’ve read ‘The Great Gatsby’ three times, and ‘Tender is the Night’ three times, and will return to those books every four to five years. Fitzgerald writes beautifully, in deapth, and has round characters. He is one of my favorite writers. I read ‘The Beautiful and Damned’ and was amazed by it. I think this was after college and maybe in the Kent State days and I said to someone in paraphase ‘Beautifual and Damned is a great book, why is it considered bad and his worst.’ This person replied to me, ‘The worst of the best is probably good.’
For Hemingway’s fiction I don’t have the same passion about. ‘Sun Also Rises’ was good, but ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls’ I thought it had clipped bad dialogue. Basically I do not like his short writing style, but like more long winded or poetic prose. So with that in mind, giving up Hemingway years ago, it makes siense that I never new of ‘A Moveable Feast’ or cared.
Now that I had a family recommendation, and looked it up that it was a memoir of his Paris years. I read it in about two days, last night drinking coffee at midnight so I could stay awake and pay attention. This is a wonderful book for a couple of reasons. First and foremost for the name dropping. The expatrieate of the era have always fascianted me, a ton of writers found ways to live and write, and Paris was the location. I thought Hemingway had the finances and his Paris was analagous to Fitzgeralds, but it turns out it started more on the Henry Miller experience with the debauchery. What’s fascinating is Hemingway, got by from some small regular journalism gigs, but moved around the literary circles and kind of became a celebrety there before he had his success. In grad school, an a banned book presentation of ‘Tropic of Cancer,’ I researched a lot of this period. I checked out a book called ‘Slyvia Beach and the Lost Generation’ with attentions to read, but it was too academic. But I was aware of this woman’s exsitence who was the center of the English speaking lit community in Paris. Hemingway portrays her as a dominite woman that loaned books to him at first meeting with no monetary reward. She treated him as if he was Joyce. Also, in this Hemingway memoir he drops a lot of names including Stein, Pound, Ford, and others. I don’t think they’ll ever be a circle like that now, with computers people live wherever they want. Hemingway also talks in depth about Fitzgerald, and some of it was harsh on my hero, but it felt like he was telling the truth. That Fitzgerald could not handle his drink and that along with his wife ruined him. Hemingway also displays through a memory put in writing how Fitzgerald had a total lack of impulse control, pay for the best and not shop around.
The other reason this book is good, it shows an emotional side of Hemingway not seen in his macho fiction. Toward the end he’s talking to someone years later, and says there all dead, and then names the ones who died. I can’t imagine liveing through something so impressive and to see it crumble within your own times. The beat poets probrably experienced the same thing.
Lastly, this book is great because Hemingway talks of the process of writing, and gives his opinion on others of his day.
Read it!
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Oct 10, 2008

James Spina rated it

· review of another edition

Recommends it for: Ernie's great and not-so-great grandchildren

I'm heading for Paris on a work related trip in a few weeks so I thought I'd get in the mood by dipping into papa. BIG MISTAKE. I guess you had to be there. This is nothing but a bunch of mundane moments strung together by some boring name dropping and squalid hygiene habits.
I've never really been a fan of anything other than Ernie's shorter stories and now I remember why. He didn't write briefly for effect. He did it because he didn't really know enough words. It always sounds like he's p...more

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May 05, 2008

Christine rated it

· review of another edition

Shelves: biography

Is it literature just because Hemingway wrote it? True, his name has become synonymous with The Modern Canon, but this gossipy tell-all might give you some inroads to the real person behind the monolith of drinking and literature. And if you're too high-brow to get your rocks off on reading about the bad behavior of whatever vacuous it-girl dons the cover of Life and Style this week, maybe the juicy gaffes of F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ezra Pound, Gertrude Stein and James Joyce will take you there. ...more

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Nov 09, 2011

Evan rated it

Shelves: 1920s, bohemian-rhapsodies, erin-collection, essay, history-euro, men-behaving-badly, journalism, booze, 2011-reads

To say that Hemingway writes clear, declarative sentences would be far too simplistic and inaccurate. I actually find his sentences twisty and harder to read oftentimes than more flowery and "correct" prose written in a more classical parallel fashion. I do miss the breather commas, for instance, in places where the conjunctions separate what are actually different clauses, which sometimes causes me to have to read the sentences twice. Honestly, I've never been a great fan of the way H...moreTo say that Hemingway writes clear, declarative sentences would be far too simplistic and inaccurate. I actually find his sentences twisty and harder to read oftentimes than more flowery and "correct" prose written in a more classical parallel fashion. I do miss the breather commas, for instance, in places where the conjunctions separate what are actually different clauses, which sometimes causes me to have to read the sentences twice. Honestly, I've never been a great fan of the way Hemingway writes sentences. He broke rules but the fact that so few continue to write like him perhaps "proves" the lack of enduring fondness for his style of writing, at least as it pertains to actual practicing authors.

This is the main reason that I've not delved very deeply into the Hemingway oeuvre. This is not to say at all that I don't dig what he has to say, or appreciate the word-pictures he places in my mind. Now that I've read this "non-fiction" work and two of his novels, I have to say that, for me, his style works better for non-fiction. In A Moveable Feast the Hemingway poetic and journalistic voices merge beautifully, and on the whole I found this to be the most interesting and informative work I've read by him so far, and by far. It is definitely the most fun I've had with him; I dashed this off, rapt, at one sitting in just one afternoon. I think I can go out on a limb even more and say it's the best thing I've ever read about Bohemian Paris, at least the Paris of the 1920s.

One thing I really like about it is that his observations of the people, places and habits of the city are balanced with a real sense of his own work life, family life and personal struggles with poverty. The sense of him as a working writer is vivid; he tells us what he is striving for in his writing, how he is trying to accomplish that and what his work habits are toward achieving it, without becoming too insufferably preachy as many self-proclaimed artistes do in extolling their own nobility as channelers of the muse.

The book was written in retrospect, and in spite of Hemingway's oft-quoted wisdom about putting truth on paper or "bleeding onto the page" this book has to be classed as at least part fictional, and also vague in how it skates over certain "truths" to which it alludes (particularly his affairs). There are at least a couple of instances where he claims to have forgotten dates and names and other details but then proceeds to perfectly reconstruct conversations that happened more than 30 years in the past.

But, that is all fine. He was there, and I was not, and I trust him.

I enjoyed reading about Hemingway's encounters with Gertrude Stein and Sylvia Beach and Ford Madox Ford and lament that such a generous literary artistic colony no longer really exists in the world. And, as it happens, neither does the Paris he writes about. Hemingway, with perhaps the benefit of hindsight, already claimed to have sensed that that very world was dying right before his eyes. Certainly the kind of affordable Paris, where even the poorest artists could live high on the hog for just $5 a day is lost in the mists.

The three chapters dealing with F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald--particularly a disastrous trip Hemingway made to and from Paris and Lyon with Scott at the time the latter's The Great Gatsby was in the works--are utterly essential reading. The trip the two take to look at classical museum sculptures--to help the emasculated Scott stop fretting about his wife's disparagement of his allegedly small penis--is a sad and funny escapade.

Funny, too, is Hemingway's asking of the question eternal to all serious writers--one dealing with the purity of one's self-expression versus the temptation to pander to the marketplace: "If these bastards like it what is wrong with it?"

The book is evocative and immersive and I can easily see myself reading it again someday.(less)

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Apr 25, 2010

Wayne rated it

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Recommends it for: those interested in Expatriate Paris but there are much better accounts.

Recommended to Wayne by: Di and Kylie

Shelves: americana, art-and-artists, memoirs-biography

ADITIONS to this review below...

What an abominable old Bore Ernest Hemingway is.

I really hoped to come out liking him ,at least a bit, but came out not trusting him and his faithless friendships.
Very few come out of this looking good after Ernie has gone to work with his poison pen...all except Ernie of course!!!(Surprising THAT!!!)

There are MUCH better books about the Paris of the Ex-patriates between the Wars - Janet Flanner who wrote a wee...more

ADITIONS to this review below...

What an abominable old Bore Ernest Hemingway is.

I really hoped to come out liking him ,at least a bit, but came out not trusting him and his faithless friendships.
Very few come out of this looking good after Ernie has gone to work with his poison pen...all except Ernie of course!!!(Surprising THAT!!!)

There are MUCH better books about the Paris of the Ex-patriates between the Wars - Janet Flanner who wrote a weekly column about Paris for the New Yorker and Sylvia Beach who set up an English bookshop at the legendary Shakespeare & Co., Alice B.Toklas and Gertrude Stein are only a few of the talented and great personalities that put Ernie and his macho lusts in the shade.

Recollected in Bitterness rather than Tranquillity, in his dotage, Ernie had much to regret, especially in his four marriages. Obviously, according to the final pages, it was mostly downhill after he threw over Hadley and their small son. But Ernie, in the final chapter, inaptly titled "There is Never Any End to Paris",for it is all set in Austria, degenerates into a diatribe against the Rich who destroyed their Austrian Idyll and his marriage.(Oh, Yeah!!!!)
- a maudlin self-indulgent conclusion which is rather fitting for an inferior and self-indulgent look at a much more fascinating time and peopling of Paris than Ernie ever was capable of realising.

LATER: I have been doing some further research on EH, especially as I recalled hearing about a new edition of "A Movable Feast", revised by EH's grandson, Sean. Some very unflattering comments about EH's 'Boswell', A.E.Hotchner. Everyone seems to have added to or subtracted from this book for various reasons...a real'Jamesian' type situation, as the critic below wryly observes.
"Hemingway's Paradise Lost - Love and Remorse:Life.Art.and Paris" was the title of the article in Princeton's "TownTopics" paper by Stuart Mitchener which I highly recommend.
He is much kinder to Hotchner; much more wary of the motives of the 'fiddlers'; and totally aware of EH eg."EH could be nasty, petty and self-indulgent in his personal life as well as his writing"...but in this last piece of writing he self-censored as "he knew when he was going over the top and was usually able to balance his score-settling with his art." One of the 'over the top' chapters "Birth of a New School" was published in the 1963 publication because, although EH had finally omitted it, his last wife, Mary, had seen to it that it was included. It was also Mary who gave the final chapter its inappropriate title.
Inappropriate to ME, that is. Because finally it all becomes a bit Miss Marple-ish. How can we ever know!! Are mere words ever enough to pass any sort of judgment on the writer. We must take what is written and how we react all with a grain of salt.(less)

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Jan 08, 2011

مريم شهریاری rated it

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Shelves: زندگينامه-خاطرات

اولین چیزی که با خوندن این کتاب تو ذهن آدم به وجود میاد آرزوی زندگی کردن توی اون دوران پاریس هست. دورانی که می‌شد با فقر هم خوشبخت زندگی کرد. توی یه هتل یه اتاق اجاره کنی که فقط برای نوشتنت ازش استفاده کنی و بعد از نوشتنت هم راهی کافه‌ها بشی و با آدم‌های مشهور معاصرت دیدن کنی و شب هم بری خونه و با همسرت که عاشقش هستی عشق بازی کنی و از زندگیت لذت ببری. یه زندگی شاید ایده آل برای خیلی‌هایی که دلشون می‌خواد نوشتن حرفه اصلی زندگی‌شون باشه.‏

همینگوی نویسنده کوچیکی نیست. نمی‌دونم هم که چند در...moreاولین چیزی که با خوندن این کتاب تو ذهن آدم به وجود میاد آرزوی زندگی کردن توی اون دوران پاریس هست. دورانی که می‌شد با فقر هم خوشبخت زندگی کرد. توی یه هتل یه اتاق اجاره کنی که فقط برای نوشتنت ازش استفاده کنی و بعد از نوشتنت هم راهی کافه‌ها بشی و با آدم‌های مشهور معاصرت دیدن کنی و شب هم بری خونه و با همسرت که عاشقش هستی عشق بازی کنی و از زندگیت لذت ببری. یه زندگی شاید ایده آل برای خیلی‌هایی که دلشون می‌خواد نوشتن حرفه اصلی زندگی‌شون باشه.‏

همینگوی نویسنده کوچیکی نیست. نمی‌دونم هم که چند درصد از حوادث و دیالوگ‌های این کتاب رو باید واقعی بدونم. فقط می‌دونم که به نظرم نقشی که هدلی همسر همینگوی تو زندگیش داشته اونقدر زیاد بوده که از اون یه نویسنده بزرگ بسازه. خیلی دوست داشتم هدلی هم نویسنده می بود و می نوشت تا بشه از زاویه‌های دیگه هم به همون بخش زندگی‌شون تو پاریس نگاه کرد.
جاهایی که همینگوی از نقش زن اسکات فیتز جرالد توی نوشتن اسکات میگه این میل من بیشتر میشد. زن اسکات به خاطر رسیدن خودش به خواسته‌هاش خیلی جاها باعث به دردسر افتادن و عقب موندن اسکات از کار نوشتنش شد. پس حتماً زن همینگوی از خیلی چیزهایی که دوست داشته زده تا همینگوی به کارش برسه. :)
همین جاهاس که میگن پشت سر یه مرد موفق همیشه یه زن خوب بوده دیگه
:دی

در کل حال و هوای کتاب رو خیلی دوست داشتم. حال و هوای پاریس، این شهری که خیلی‌ها ندیده دوسش دارن یک طرف، و خوندن زندگی نویسنده‌هایی که می‌شناختمشون و از زبون هم همدیگه رو تعریف کرده بودند هم یه طرف، این هم که درباره عادات چطوری نوشتن‌ و خوندنشون صحبت شده بود برای من خیلی لذت بخش بود

جمعه 17.دی.89(less)

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May 10, 2008

Becca rated it

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Recommends it for: all people who appreciate beautiful language

Easily on my top 10 list of all time. Hemingway's memoirs from when he lived in Paris. My friend, who hates Hemingway, loved this one. More beautifully written than anything I've ever read, you'll get a kick out of what he has to say about the other American writers living in Paris at the time. It'll break your heart and make you cry but you'll be a more grateful person when you're through.

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Jan 02, 2012

Diane D. rated it

· review of another edition

Shelves: own-already, nonfiction

I am not finished yet, but I love this book. I am googling many names as I read this (Ezra Pound, Ford Madox Ford, Ernest Walsh, Gertrude Stein). Honestly, I never would have picked this up if I hadn't read The Paris Wife, and I think this book is a wonderful companion to it. I also like the order in which I read them: The Paris Wife first and this one second.

This book is a memoir, with the vignettes written by Hemingway himself. Here is a favorite part I just read (Bumby is his a...moreI am not finished yet, but I love this book. I am googling many names as I read this (Ezra Pound, Ford Madox Ford, Ernest Walsh, Gertrude Stein). Honestly, I never would have picked this up if I hadn't read The Paris Wife, and I think this book is a wonderful companion to it. I also like the order in which I read them: The Paris Wife first and this one second.

This book is a memoir, with the vignettes written by Hemingway himself. Here is a favorite part I just read (Bumby is his and Hadley's child): "There were no baby-sitters then and Bumby would stay happy in his tall cage bed with his big, wonderful cat named F. Puss. There were people who said it was dangerous to leave a cat with a baby. The most ignornant and prejudiced said that a cat would suck a baby's breath and kill him. Others said that a cat would lie on a baby and the cat's weight would smother him. F. Puss lay beside Bumby in the tall cage bed and watchd the door with his big yellow eyes, and would let no one come near him when we were out....there was no need for baby-sitters. F. Puss was the baby-sitter." I'm not suggesting that I'd leave my baby with a cat, but I still found this quite great!

Review Continued: Special thanks to Kathleen of Novel Ideas who nudged me to read this book, and this edition in particular - the Restored Edition - which must be the version you read because it is the "more comprehensive version of the original manuscript material the author intended as a memoir of his young, formative years as a writer in Paris". And a very personal memoir as well, especially because Hemingway has written this in the first person.

What came across loud and clear to me was Hemingway's love for his first (of 4) wife, Hadely. Although the breakup was his fault (and he takes full blame) I believe she was the love of his life, and this book was like a tribute to her in my opinion. As he writes on page 219 "I accepted all the blame for it myself and lived with the remorse. The remorse was never away day or night until my wife had maried a much finer many than I ever was or ever could be and I knew that she was happy." And the one line that I will never forget "I wished I had died before I ever loved anyone but her."
(less)

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Jul 15, 2010

Lavinia rated it

· review of another edition

Shelves: 2010, journals-biographies-memoirs, in-en

I never liked Hemingway's prose too much, but the moment I found out about this book of memoirs, I knew I'd love it. And I did.

There was a time when two people could live comfortably and well in Europe on five dollars a day, when young aspiring writers lived in Paris and wrote in cafés, when knowing Sylvia Beach didn't mean only borrowing books and reading the finest literature but also financial help for those in need, when writers helped each other getting out of menial jobs and st...more

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Jan 03, 2012

Cheryl rated it

Shelves: favorites, memoir

Remember where and when you were most satisfied intellectually and physically, stimulated to just the right measure, and your talents seemed limitless? In Hemingway's case, all this and more came to fruition in Paris in the 1920s.

Supported by friends like Sylvia Beach of Shakespeare and Company lending library and book store, mentors like James Joyce, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Gertrude Stein, Hemingway's youth, talent, and curiosity peaked in the City of Light. Sparsely written with th...more

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Dec 24, 2010

Klim rated it

· review of another edition

Как всегда у Хэмингуэя перегруженный излишним вниманием к различным мелочам рассказ (мини-рассказы в данном случае). За всем этим перечислением названий улочек, имен владельцев бистро и забегаловок, которые попадались автору по пути домой, описание местоположения каждого носового платка в комнате довольно проблематично выловить тот дух беззаботности и легкости жизни еще начинающего автора в одном из самых романтичных городов. Но опять же, уловить все это получается только если хватит терпения пр...more

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Aug 24, 2010

Ayat Mahmoud marked it as couldn-t-finish · review of another edition

Shelves: owned, ترجمة-سيئة

ماقدرتش اكمل اكتر من فصلين .. أعصابي لا تحتمل مزيد من الترجمة السيئة!! و اللي يفرس ان المترجم - مع خالص احترامي - في بداية الرواية كاتب مقدمة في حوالي 30 صفحة بيحكي عن اهمية الترجمة و ازاي انه تراجع فترة طويلة عن انه يترجم مؤلَف لإرنست هيمنجواي حيث هو يملك حياة زاخرة بالتجارب الفريدة وان المترجم محتاج يملك روح مش عارفة عاملة ازاي عشان يقدر يترجم حاجة وانه لابد انه ينقل روحه دي في الترجمة وإلا اصبحت ترجمة خالية من الروح ولا تؤدي وظيفتها و كلام كبير أوي! و هووب تلاقي ترجمة ما يعلم بيها إلا الله!
...more

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Dec 08, 2008

Aaron rated it

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Recommends it for: writers

Recommended to Aaron by: Marin Heinritz

A better writer told me this was a great guide to writing. So what did I learn? A few tips from Ernest Hemingway's "A Moveable Feast"

¤ Write until you know what comes next, then you won't worry about what to write about the next day.
¤ Transplant yourself.

"In one place you could write about it better than in another."
¤ Start with one true, simple, declarative sentence and then from there.
¤ When finished writing, read.

...more

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May 29, 2007

Kelly rated it

Recommends it for: foreign travelers, fans of Lost Gen writers, writers

Shelves: fiction, worlds-lost-dead-and-dying, 20th-century-early-to-mid, owned

Who knew that Hemingway was a fanboy? After I read this novel, I found that out. This novel basically recounts Hemingway's days, mostly in Paris, among the famous of the Lost Generation, and his conversations and adventures with them across Europe.

I'll start with my problems with this book: The first 100 pages were incredibly difficult for me to get through, as I do not like Hemingway's writing style. I never have, and I very much doubt that I ever will (with the exception of Sun Al...more

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Jun 03, 2008

Ryan rated it

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Recommends it for: EVERYBODY.

This book is both a collection of gems, and a gem in and of itself.

I read it for the first time a couple of years ago in Paris (I actually found it on one of the bookshelves on the quay, not knowing that such a book by Hemingway existed. What a find!) I read a lot, so I'd like to think I'm not overly easily impressed. But this book is breathtaking.

To me, the presence of Gertrude Stein and Scott Fitzgerald add nothing. The value here is not celebrity cameos, but the stren...more

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Feb 11, 2009

Sarah rated it

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Shelves: nonfiction

I dislike Hemingway. I dislike his writing and I dislike him as a person. Still, I couldn't resist a famous author writing about famous authors. Certainly, he described F. Scott Fitzgerald more eloquently than Sheilah Graham did. Ah, that reminds me...

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Aug 03, 2007

Ann rated it

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Recommends it for: writers and fans of the lost generation

Perhaps I've got a wicked sense of humor, but I adore this book in part for the obvious smallness Hemingway shows toward Fitzgerald, the man who really gave him his start. And it seems so fitting that a man like Hemingway, such a manly man, would always resent someone who would offer him a hand. The lack of factual truth makes for good fun. And I actually adore the style of his prose...more effortless than in earlier works. I guess I'm in the minority on this one. Finally I guess I love it ...more

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Mar 06, 2007

Cody rated it

Shelves: favorites, modernism

Without a doubt my very favorite Hemingway. For me, the key difference with *A Moveable Feast* is his honesty (how's that for a loaded term!). I feel that there is a genuine candidness to be found here, which is often lacking elsewhere in his body of work; the layers of prentention have been peeled away, leaving us with a work that is at once confessional and nostalgic.

Admittedly, it also holds a very sappy place in my personal/literary/travel history, as I first read it just pri...more

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Dec 17, 2011

Virginia rated it

· review of another edition

A waiter asks Hemingway who Fitzgerald was and why can’t he (the waiter) remember him. Hemingway says he has been planning to write about the old days in Paris and he would be sure to include Fitzgerald. This must be that book. It was published after his death. I wonder if Hemingway really intended to publish it or if he was just putting down memories that he didn’t want to forget. Stein said his writing was inaccrochable and I have to agree that this book is.

I read The Paris Wife...more

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Sep 29, 2011

Michelle added it · review of another edition

A Moveable Feast is a relatively light-hearted collection of essays and vignettes about Hemingway’s life in post-war Paris with his first wife Hadley. His uber-mensch personality explodes from the page, as he expresses even the minutest details of his life at this time. From his obvious enjoyment at eating and drinking, to his somewhat guilty pleasure at gambling on horses, to his very serious and methodical approach to his writing, every word is carefully crafted to afford the reader a very int...moreA Moveable Feast is a relatively light-hearted collection of essays and vignettes about Hemingway’s life in post-war Paris with his first wife Hadley. His uber-mensch personality explodes from the page, as he expresses even the minutest details of his life at this time. From his obvious enjoyment at eating and drinking, to his somewhat guilty pleasure at gambling on horses, to his very serious and methodical approach to his writing, every word is carefully crafted to afford the reader a very intimate glimpse into Papa Hemingway’s life as a young man and young father.

His essays are a veritable who’s who of the literary elite, as he shares his impressions on such notables as Ezra Pound, Gertrude Stein, James Joyce, and F. Scott Fitzgerald, among others. As one would expect from such a larger-than-life character, he does not hold back in his praise, his sarcasm, or his honesty. The reader gets a very clear image of the life these expatriates lived at this time, all the while learning a bit more about Hemingway’s frame of mind. As acquaintance after acquaintance succumbs to mental instability, poverty, infamy, or illness in the form of suicide or death, Hemingway’s easy acceptance of such events is chilling, especially given the family history and his own unfortunate demise.

Hemingway’s obsession with taking a novel into new directions is apparent to even the casual reader, as he plays with his sentence structure and word choice in each new essay. He does not bother to hide his aspirations to be considered one of the world’s greatest authors and frequently references the fact that his own opinion of his ability as well as his works are extremely high already. The evolution of his skills and well as the growing sense of egotism at those skills is interesting to watch unfold, especially if the reader has experienced any of Hemingway’s other works.

A Moveable Feast is one of those novels of which a reader can easily finish in one sitting and enjoy every minute of it. Even the most depressing essays have their charm, while their glimpses of the artistic Parisian life in the 1920s are unparalleled. Ernest Hemingway simply comes alive again on each page. It is easy to see why some consider A Moveable Feast one of his best works, as Ernest Hemingway comes alive on each page.

Acknowledgements: I purchased this on my own.(less)

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Aug 06, 2011

Jack Wang added it · review of another edition

Shelves: classics

Hemingway's memoir of Paris is to me not so much a great work of literature as it is a great demonstration of how to journal. The book is known for its portrayal of the flawed nature of great American expatriate writers whom Hemingway associated with during the 1920s, but I find the most engrossing parts of the book to be his accounts of his day to day life with his wife Hadley and his discussion of subjects such as the quality of Russian writing (Hemingway seems to hold the Russian greats in lo...more

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Mar 04, 2009

Jennifer Donahue rated it

· review of another edition

I just finished reading Hemingway's A Moveable Feast over the weekend. It took me a while to get through this small work, but it always does when I'm reading old Ernest. I love his short stories, but his longer works are difficult for me. I know- it is me Ernest, not you.

Hemingway relates his time in Paris in the circle of fellow artists like Gertrude Stein, Ezra Pound, and F. Scott Fitzgerald among others. I bristle at his descriptions of Fitzgerald --there is too much jealousy hiding...moreI just finished reading Hemingway's A Moveable Feast over the weekend. It took me a while to get through this small work, but it always does when I'm reading old Ernest. I love his short stories, but his longer works are difficult for me. I know- it is me Ernest, not you.

Hemingway relates his time in Paris in the circle of fellow artists like Gertrude Stein, Ezra Pound, and F. Scott Fitzgerald among others. I bristle at his descriptions of Fitzgerald --there is too much jealousy hiding there. It almost feels like Hemingway doesn't think Fitzgerald deserved to write such a good book as The Great Gatsby. In a 209 page book he spends 45 pages on Fitzgerald relating everything from his drunkenness to his fears about the size of his manhood. Okay, I know that is a silly way to describe it, but stay with me here.

Outside of this snarkiness, Hemingway provides remarkable insights into his craft, his practice of writing and the challenges his faced. I gathered some interesting ideas like cleaning your brain after writing by reading. I think I will try this too. He discusses how being poor and hungry had him focus on characters with big appetites. I thought, this sure explains a lot. Hemingway is dedicated to his craft, working and reworking a single paragraph. He is true to his own vision, and believes that saying less is really more. All good stuff.

There are some great gems I found, reflection on life, like this one about the false spring, "You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light. But you knew there would always be spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason" (Hemingway, p. 45).

Beautiful, really.

The ending left me cold. After his long rant about Fitzgerald he concludes by describing his book publication and his affair with another woman. I think this felt so sour to me because since the beginning of the work he would make references to his wife, and all I could think was What is HER story? That would be worth reading. What did she do all day when he was out writing at cafes or meeting with other artists? I think she might be more honest and sympathetic.

Once I longed for a group of writers and artists that I had heard about gathering in Paris. Now, I wonder if it was just messy. It sounds like Hemingway engaged, but kept the scene at arm's length. So, maybe I am better off with the less eccentric folks in life. You know, ordinary real people.(less)

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About Ernest Hemingway

Awarded the 1954 Nobel Prize in Literature "for his mastery of the art of narrative, most recently demonstrated in The Old Man and the Sea, and for the influence that he has exerted on contemporary style."
Received the 1953 Pulitzer Prize for Literature for The Old Man and the Sea.

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Quotes from A Moveable Feast

“You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintery light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person died for no reason.” — 260 people liked it

“Never to go on trips with anyone you do not love.” — 151 people liked it

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atlanta book club

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أصدقاء القراءة

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title link	preview: A Moveable Feast
avg rating	preview: A Moveable Feast Goodreads rating: 4.02 (19042 ratings)
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BBCode	[url=http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/46169.A_Moveable_Feast?utm_medium=api&utm_source=blog_book][img]http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1304988510m/46169.jpg[/img][/url] [url=http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/46169.A_Moveable_Feast?utm_medium=api&utm_source=blog_book]A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway[/url]

A Moveable Feast

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