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96 pages, Paperback
First published December 15, 2015
”You’ve come to my house without permission,” he said quietly. “It’s not right.”
I said I was from The Star Weekly, the paper he once worked for, and that I tried to telephone.
“It’s not right,” he repeated, “I’m working on a book and I don’t give interviews. I want that understood. But c’mon in.” - excerpt from Dropping In On Hemingway, Interview by Lloyd Lockhart, The Star Weekly Magazine, April 1958.


“The further you go in writing the more alone you are. Most of your best and oldest friends die. Others move away. You do not see them except rarely, but you write and have much the same contact with them as though you were together at the café in the old days. You exchange comic, cheerfully obscene and irresponsible letters, and it is almost as good as talking. But you are more alone because that is how you must work and the time to work is shorter all the time and if you waste it you feel you have committed a sin for which there is no forgiveness.” (15)This is a collection of four interviews with Hemingway, conducted in the years preceding his suicide. It ostensibly includes ‘the last one’ – although that seems more like a marketing angle than anything absolute, for one of the interviews is not even a proper interview (Hemingway strictly refused interviews when he was working, since they disturbed him; during one of these spells, an interviewer dropped in unannounced, and Hemingway courteously talked to him for a bit anyway), and I’m pretty sure that in the years between the ‘last’ interview in 1958 and his death in 1961, Hemingway talked to someone in some form of interview. Or perhaps not. It doesn’t really matter. These conversations, some more direct and/or spontaneous than others, come at the end of Hemingway’s life, and provide a glimpse (it cannot be more than that) of the man and his character, his experiences and way of life, and his writing and writing process. While reading these interviews, you can’t – or at least I couldn’t – help but feel affection for him, as well as a cool respect for his rigid work ethic. Sure, he has his flaws. But as Hemingway himself points out, in discussing Primo Carnera, Tom Wolfe, and Scott Fitzgerald, who could not take his alcohol (“it was just poison to him”):
Because all these guys had these weaknesses, it won them sympathy and favor, more sometimes than a guy without those defects would get.” (44)Some interviews were better than others; the one in The Paris Review stood out, for instance, while I did not care much for the not-really-an-interview, because the reporter was snooty and self-important. However, even in that piece, you find yourself hanging on to Hemingway’s words, and trying to fill in a picture of him as a person and writer. As the interviews, overall, illustrate, this is not so easily done. Complexity of character is too readily attributed these days, when everyone is complication in (or because of) these ‘complicated times’. Hemingway had that depth, though, that true depth that springs from internal contradiction and countering forces; and within that depth, a kind of sensitivity that burns when it reveals itself.