The Unimportance Of Being Ernest

Ernest Hemingway was born 110 years and a day ago. He was highly regarded in his lifetime, though I think his stock has fallen ever since.

Sometimes you read him and wonder what the excitement was about. Perhaps because he's been parodied so often, his own terse sentences often seem on the edge of parody. And his tight-lipped, stoic moral code hasn't aged that well.

I've read most of his big works--A Farewell To Arms, The Sun Also Rises, For Whom The Bell Tolls, The Old Man And The Sea--and I can't see going back to them. The plots aren't much and I'm not sure they have the depth or complexity (or fun) to be worth rereading. I think he comes off better in small doses. In his short stories, using very few words he could crystallize a moment. No need for a plot to get in the way. But even there, I don't think he compares to the greatest writers of the 20th century.

So happy birthday, Ernest.