Ernest Hemingway 7/21/1899 – 7/2/1961

Fifty-eight years ago today, a flawed man, one who forever changed American Literature, died at his own hand.

Genius is an over-used word, but that doesn’t mean it is misapplied.  It is applied across many different fields. Often times, it is up for debate if one is or is not a genius.

Over used or misused, like him, hate him, respect him, abhor him — there is little doubt Ernest Hemingway was a literary genius. He was a gifted storyteller who ascended to the top of his profession. He had but a high school diploma. He was not educated, and may I say, held back by institutionalized academia. His training took place at newspapers, out in the real world, not behind some desk diagramming sentences.

He had a gift.
He had a talent.
He had a desire.

He went out and lived life.
He reported on what he saw.
He crafted stories from experiences.

At times brutish.
At times cruel.
At times bad.

Through it all, a dedicated craftsperson.
Through it all, a serious writer.
Through it all, a gifted artist.

A while back, I linked to an excellent story on Medium by Steve Newman, “The Death of Ernest Hemingway.”

For those new to my writings, I am an admirer of Ernest Hemingway, the man and artist and storyteller. In my novel, “One Day I Was,” I create a fictional character, The Old Man, who was a friend of Hemingway. Through him, I make my own attempt  to explain and speculate why Papa took his own life. Here is one excerpt….

…The Old Man stood up.  “Walk with me.  The barbaric procedure of electroshock therapy robbed Papa of his gift.  Those around him believed Papa to be mentally ill.  Today, some would say he was depressed, perhaps they use the medical term bipolar.  It matters not what they call it, those in the past were, and those today are wrong.  Worse yet, others accused him of paranoia.” 

The Old Man ceased his walking.  Dominique could tell this was angering him.  She admired his efforts to remain in control.  “He was none of those.  He was not paranoid.  There were those in government attempting to discredit him.  He was not depressed.  He, like many other creative geniuses, was simply more in touch with his emotions.  He sensed them deeper than most.  It was that depth, combined with his gift for words that allowed him to turn out incredible stories.” 

Dominique touched his arm to lend comfort.  He patted her hand and continued.  “Yes, Papa drank to excess, it was the way he coped with the overwhelming emotions that permitted incredible writing.  It was also something that was not only accepted, but also expected at the time.  A man’s ability to hold his liquor was a sign of his masculinity.  Have no doubt, Ernest Hemingway was as masculine a man as they came.  There were those who disparaged this fact.  They claimed that Papa’s masculinity was burden to him — that it was some sort of act.  There could be nothing further from the truth.  Your father was a man, something sadly lacking in many today.  He was masculine enough to be sensitive.  He was masculine enough to be brave.  He was masculine enough to love, to hate, to attack, to write, to compete, to accomplish and… to simply do it all better than anyone.  He was the embodiment of what was great about being an American.  He was unapologetically self-reliant.  He was unapologetically competitive.  And, he was unapologetically successful.  He not only wrote of courage, he lived a courageous life.  For that, he made no justifications.”

 

“His suicide was not the result of weakness, nor mental illness, nor drunkenness, nor, even though there was a family history, genetics.  Papa had a lifelong obsession with death, yet he had no fear of it.  The only fear he had was the fear of not living.  Those fools around him convinced him of mental illness and he submitted to the butchery of having a doctor mildly electrocute him. Not a one of them thought the repeated injuries to his brain might have contributed to some of his problems.  No, that would have taken some actual doctoring.  Alas, even though that may have contributed to some of his problems, the one fact that none wanted to concede was that he was correct.  He was not paranoid.  There were those out to get him.  It was those, who Papa trusted, who unwittingly betrayed him. When the electricity further damaged his brain, it robbed him of his gift — his one great way to communicate.  He could no longer transpose his thoughts into the written word.  You see, he not only lost his gift for written language, when he could no longer write, he could no longer fight, and thus he no longer had reason to live.  The most rational decision a man, who saw the world as Papa did, could make was the one he opted for.  He ended a life he saw that had transitioned from living to simply existing.  In the end, it was the bravest option a courageous man could ever make.” 


4 thoughts on “Ernest Hemingway 7/21/1899 – 7/2/1961

Add yours

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

Simple_life_of_Juleen Blog

Real gal on a real-world budget trying to balance a world of fashion and saving.

Vapours of Verushka

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step

Stuart Danker - I Write Stuff

There is comedic gold behind every painful experience. Here are mine.

Mad Tastes from My World to Yours

Breaking some rules while cooking, eating and sharing stories along the way

Words on Key

"...but wise words endure."

Writings on a Complicated Life

A blog about my life, my thoughts and my fantasies

amankumar000

A storyteller with a poetic heart

Serenade The Heart

A hand in need, a heart to read

Dearly Written

short stories and thoughts

Mental Health Tips

tips , tricks , advice's

pe blog

Travelling is a good way to make your life different as well as fitness and a balanced diet.

Happiness Inn

3H💝Happiness is a choice, happiness is a journey, happiness is a state of mind

The Newsteader™

Akron/Newstead’s First Online News Source

Simple Life of Juleen

Keep It Simple

The Last Chapter

Life past, present, thoughts about the future, and ever changing world

The Poets Peace

Just like a philosopher can never throw away his stone, the poet can never toss his pen out the window

Endless Roaming

Australian Traveller that loves to "Roam" our globe, creator of ENDLESSROAMING.COM sharing the experience through word and photography. Currently residing in my home of Newtown Sydney

Photos by Donna

Nature & Wildlife's Beauty and Behavior Through My Lens

The Truth for Kyle Brennan

Scientology & the Death of Kyle Brennan

Grey, Lavender and Hirschsprungs

Artistic mom life one child at a time

Goal Digger

Be Positive, Patient and Persistent...

Kiran Athrey's

Blogger | Storyteller | Observer

Retire In Branson

Enjoying Life in the Ozarks

ZERLIN

Realizing life goals...

Victoria Ellen

Thoughts. Interests. Beauty. Fashion. Art. Travel. Photography. Random stuff.

Innumerable Thoughts

Randomized relatable Thoughts

Lucy's Works

A Little Writing Workshop of Horrors.

Confessions Of Passion

The finest filth

Zo Writes

It is a secret blog.. Share it only with your best people

My Random Pastime

all about my hobby of story writing

The Inquisitive Inkpot

Exploring Tales and the Art of Telling

Sensual Desires

Poetic Erotica

Calm Wildness

Telling Authentic Stories For Social Change!!!!!!

Salt

Seasoned Theology

A Writer's Soul

"Diving into a writers soul is discovering the broken treasure and beautiful mysteries that make you gasp for air."

Undressed Thoughts

A THOUGHT BOOK OF KRITIKA

Burning Soul

What heart speaks out

%d bloggers like this: