The New York Times Online is running a slide show about Paris. What a gorgeous city it is, especially at night, everybody wants to be in Paris, yadda yadda. And of course the French even make the NYT look patriotic these days, which is an added plus.
But all this frog-gazing has made me miss Hemingway. So I think I'll dig out my paperbacks and spend a few happy hours rereading old Ernie this week.
Rereading Hemingway is one of my favorite things to do. My first encounter with EH was a forced one: we had to read The Sun Also Rises in ninth grade. I zipped through the pages and thought, OK, did Hemingway, who's next?
When I was thirty I read it again. Talk about a completely different experience. All I could think was, "My God- they let children read this? What were those nuns thinking?"
Anyway if I start talking in clipped phrases about bombing bridges or fighting bulls or betting on fights in the next few days, I apologize in advance and beg a little indulgence.
And now, Ingles. The books. Yes.