Some of the books about writers and artists in Paris in the 20s and 30s are written by those who were there and who give their first hand accounts. Others are researched and written by those who weren't there. The first person accounts have their obvious strengths, while the researched accounts have theirs, mainly a more likely (but not assured) lack of personal bias or ax to grind, and a broader perspective and access to the writings, memoirs, and letters of all those who were there.
Whereas Noel Riley Fitch's book about Sylvia Beach was probably thoroughly researched, the result was a badly written, encyclopedic volume that had some fine tidbits but was overall boring. Carpenter's book is a pleasure to read. This is not a encyclopedia. It is stories and anecdotes and quotes and pieces of information that tie it all together so that you get a coherent picture of the people and what they were doing and who they were doing it to. Or with.
A fair amount of space is devoted to Hemingway and the writing of The Sun Also Rises. I started to become impatient with how much time and detail Carpenter was spending on that one book. For the most part, he doesn't spend time talking about individual books. Why this one? Because the story behind it and how it came to be written and the effect of it after it was published are a critical element to that time and place in Paris.
Carpenter's book is more about the people than the literature they created. It is a social history composed of small individual portraits. At its core, it's about people and friendship. As Carpenter writes at the end, "The geniuses had mostly turned out not to be geniuses after all. Yet they had been geniuses at being together, drinking together, sleeping together, and quarreling together..."
Maybe that is why he stole McAlmon's title? If so, I almost forgive him.