Carlos Baker



Average rating: 4.13 · 1,341 ratings · 84 reviews · 23 distinct worksSimilar authors
Hemingway: a Life Story

4.13 avg rating — 801 ratings — published 1969 — 16 editions
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Hemingway: The Writer as Ar...

4.07 avg rating — 87 ratings — published 1952 — 5 editions
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Emerson among the Eccentric...

by
4.17 avg rating — 42 ratings — published 1995 — 4 editions
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Ernest Hemingway: Selected ...

4.36 avg rating — 25 ratings — published 1982
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Ernest Hemingway: A Life, P...

3.92 avg rating — 12 ratings — published 1992
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The Gay Head Conspiracy,: A...

3.67 avg rating — 3 ratings — published 1973
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Hemingway and his critics a...

it was amazing 5.00 avg rating — 2 ratings — published 1961
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A Friend in Power

really liked it 4.00 avg rating — 2 ratings
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Hemingway, the writer as ar...

0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings
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The talismans and other sto...

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“We're kicking our way into adolescence from the minute we're born. Gradually you form your own ideas of how you should lead your life. It's strange, but when you get hurt - really hurt, I mean - you're willing to throw those ideas aside for another set that now make sense to you and calm your hurt.”
Carlos Baker, Hemingway: a Life Story

“Anyone who had died young after a happy childhood had won a great victory, since he would be forever spared the discovery of what sort of place the world really is. Others must look forward to death by defeat - their bodies gone, their world destroyed.”
Carlos Baker, Hemingway: a Life Story

“Sunday morning dawned bright and cloudless. Ernest awoke early as always. He put on the red "Emporor's robe" and padded softly down the carpeted stairway. The early sunlight lay in pools on the living room floor. He had noticed that the guns were locked up in the basement. But the keys, as he well knew, were on the window ledge above the kitchen sink. He tiptoed down the basement stairs and unlocked the storage room. It smelled as dank as a grave. He chose a double-barreled Boss shotgun with a tight choke. He had used it for years of pigeon shooting. He took some shells from one of the boxes in the storage room, closed and locked the door, and climbed the basement stairs. If he saw the bright day outside, it did not deter him. He crossed the living room to the front foyer, a shrinelike entryway five by seven feet, with oak-paneled walls and a floor of linoleum tile. He had held for years to the maxim: "il faut (d'abord) durer". Now it had been succeeded by another: "il faut (apres tout) mourir". The idea, if not the phrase, filled all his mind. He slipped in two shells, lowered the gun butt carefully to the floor, leaned forward, pressed the twin barrels against his forehead just above the eyebrows, and tripped both triggers.”
Carlos Baker, Hemingway: a Life Story

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