A very interesting book written by Ernest Hemingway describing his time as an expatriate in Paris and trips to Austria and Spain. In this book Hemingway mentions many authors he encountered during his time in France including F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ford Maddox Ford, James Joyce, Ezra Pound and others also to include literary types like Sylvia Beach and Gertrude Stein. This book is a very good reflection of that time when there were so many young American writers living in Paris and an interesting description of a young Ernest Hemingway....Continua
A Moveable Feast is a rich and vivid picture of Paris in the 1920's and a golden occasion to know Hemingway, the man, a little better. Be aware that he's a bit of an a-hole.
He disfrutado mucho de esta historia sencilla en la que Hemingway cuenta sus años jóvenes, cuando parecía que podía ser feliz y estaba enamorado en ese París bohemio que tanto me apasiona. Es una recopilación de memorias, sin hilo conductor ni historia, que cuenta sus peripecias junto a personajes como Scott Fitzgerald y sus problemas con el alcoholismo, Gertudre Stein y su manera de monopolizar escritores y demás personajes de la época como Picasso o el poeta Ezra Pound. Cuenta también sus lecturas y me ha llevado a tener ganas de leer a Chéjov, Tolstoy o Turgeniev. Sólo apto si os interesa el París bohemio de los años 20 y las peripecias de la llamada Generación Perdida, compuesta por todos estos artistas y cuyo nombre puso la misma Gertrude Stein....Continua
"With so many trees in the city, you could see the spring coming each day until a night of warn wind would bring it suddenly in one morning. Sometimes the heavy cold rains would beat it back so that it would seem that it would never come and that you were losing a season out of your life. This was the only truly sad time in Paris because it was unnatural. 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 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 had died for no reason. In those days, though, the spring always came finally but it was frightening that it had nearly failed.
When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring"....Continua