EIGHT HEMINGWAY

Pound, Paris

Hemingway indulges in nostalgia in a simply manner through penning A Moveable Feast. As a work of a non-fiction literature, he wins our favor through a humble voice of a young, budding writing. We encounter literary legends in this fractional memoir such as Gertrude Stein, Scott Fitzgerald and Ezra Pound. The first and the last act as mentors while the middle a peer and close friend. The unfortunate dissolution of his relationship with Stein accentuates the goodness of Ezra Pound whose character Hemingway leaves intact. In addition, he portrays Pound as a much more trustworthy and substantial literary judge.Furthermore, the placement of the chapters on Stein, Pound and Fitzgerald compels the reader to juxtapose the natures of the relationship of the three. 

Stein’s relationship to Hemingway declined over the years after Hemingway realized her personality flaws that, in Hemingway’s opinion, impaired a just critical literary judgment. She was unwillingly to evaluate Sherwood Anderson’s literary worth but “spoke glowingly of him as a man” When Hemingway criticized Anderson’s novel, Dark Laughter, he believed that he had offended her since he “had attacked someone that was a part of her apparatus.” Along with subsequent friction between writers, their relationship was grazed to leave a bad scar.

In contrast, Pound always gave “straight answer and Ezra had never given me (Hemingway) any other kind verbally.” To Hemingway, Pound “was always a good friend and he was always doing things for people.” The sincerity of this relationship differs from the motivated one with Stein, which Hemingway “had done a number of practical things for” and that was best of friends “than I (Hemingway) could ever wish to be” with Stein. 

At the same time, Hemingway places emphasis on Pound’s candidness. He recognizes Pound’s frankness about having “never read the Rooshians” as virtuous humility. Pound “was the man I (Hemingway) liked and trusted the most as a critic then”. He does not suggest that Pound’s admiration of the French is narrow-minded, but rather a devoted passion. 

Indeed, we witness Pound’s enthusiasm in this field through his praise of French literature. To Pound, “the whole development of the English verse-art has been achieved by steals from the French”. 

“I think if our American bards would study Remy de Gourmont for rhythm, Laurent Tailhade for delineation, Henri de Régnier for simplicity of syntactical construction, Francis Jammes for humanity, and the faculty of rendering one’s own time; and if they would get some idea of intensity from Tristan Corbière (since they will not take their Villon in the original), there might be some hope for American poetry.”

Due to the difference in “content and message, [Pound] think(s) that Americans would be less likely to fall into slavish imitation and would learn hardly more than the virtues of method.” It seemed as if he loved it so much that he believed French literature was the best type around. As such, it was surprising at first to see that Hemingway held Pound’s literary advice in high regard since Pound was biased in his own way too.

However, Pound had justified his love for the genre. It was not a superficial infatuation but a deep obsession, having “spent about four years puddling about on the edges of modern French poetry” himself. Pound spent time and effort in studying the literary genre in order to apprehend and fall in love with it more. 

Furthermore, the influence of French literature in the vernacular present in Pound’s poetry. He exemplifies the “visual art in poetry” in The River-Merchant’s wife. 

“The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.The paired butterflies are already yellow with AugustOver the grass in the West garden;They hurt me.”

Pound paints a beautiful, melancholic scene and effectively connects it to longing sorrows of the persona.

The seriousness of Pound’s French academic investigation is subtly placed against Fitzgerald’s dramatic persona (who also “hated the French”). We can sense Hemingway’s budding annoyance at Fitzgerald in his capacity as a very close friend. In Hemingway’s memory, Fitzgerald was reliant on him despite his first impression of him being “an older and successful writer” — seeking him for advice, troubling him with his own worries about his health and consulting him for peer review, which was perhaps Hemingway’s only enjoyable part of the three. 

First, in Hemingway’s words, he was “very tired of Scott and of this silly comedy”. Fitzgerald’s childish behavior over his apparent “congestion of the lungs” was utter “silliness”; and if it were real Fitzgerald brought it upon himself as a “drunkard”. The scene seems even more like a spectacle or a storm in a teacup when we compare it to the portrayal of Pound in previous chapters.

Hemingway implies that Zelda had a subversive effect on Fitzgerald in these three aspects: sexual experience, health and literary development. Foremost, if it were true that “Scott ha[d] slept each night in the same bed with Zelda”. Fitzgerald’s immaturity is comically accentuated through his self-doubt about his penis size. It is hinted that Zelda was somehow responsible for this lack of confidence since Fitzgerald “never slept with anyone except Zelda”. Secondly, in his attempt to quit alcoholism, “Zelda was treating him as though he were a kill-joy or a spoilsport”. She was not a virtuous wife because she was not supportive or good for Fitzgerald. Finally, as a fellow writer, Zelda “was very jealous” of Fitzgerald’s literary talent and fortune, viciously sabotaging him by distracting him from his work through “all-night drinking parties” and emotional blackmail. Each time Hemingway would help him recover but Zelda will “interfere” and the cycle repeats.

The positions of Hemingway and Zelda became polarized in the relationship dynamic of the three. The “bro” and the “wife” conflict in which the two loves becomes opposing forces. As a strategic literary move, the drama of the Fitzgeralds appears trivial alongside Pound’s sensibility.

In light of this, Hemingway’s frustration was understandable given Fitzgerald’s exaggerated disposition (as Hemingway depicted with Fitzgerald’s sickness) and Zelda’s “very jealous” response to the two men’s friendship. 

Nevertheless, Hemingway did value the relationship with Fitzgerald just as he value that with Hadley — with sentiment. Fitzgerald was like a younger brother to Hemingway — irritating but Hemingway could not help but love anyway. He dedicates Feast to Fitzgerald by ending it with chapters about him. In particular, the conversation between Hemingway and the bartender, Georges, is an indication of Feast being a tribute to Fitzgerald.

“You write about him as you remember him and then if he came here I will remember him.”“We will see,” I said. 

Interestingly, when we reexamine Hemingway’s relationship with Pound, it seems as if he only remembered good things about him. Pound was the perfect friend —  a good person and one who shared Hemingway’s athleticism. Pound was frequently described as “kind” and he “played a good game of tennis too.” Pound was also a good friend, demonstrated by his giving Dunning a “jar of opium” supposedly to alleviate any suffering in his final days. 

Through Hemingway’s enclosed portrayal of Paris, we can attest to Pound’s claim that “Paris is possibly more pan-continental than London without being the least bit more mundane.” It was a diversity of people and adventures taking place in a small place. Within this, out of the characters that Hemingway portrays, there is an obvious slant towards portraying Pound as the character of goodness. He is gold when compared to the rusted Stein and pure in contrast to the alloy that is Fitzgerald. Unlike Hadley who remained a heartfelt regret to Hemingway, Pound was the most wonderful, untarnished thing about the “insular” Parisian days.