A Moveable Feast: The Restored Edition

A Moveable Feast: The Restored Edition

Ernest Hemingway

Language: English

Pages: 256

ISBN: 143918271X

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


Ernest Hemingway’s classic memoir of Paris in the 1920s, now available in a restored edition, includes the original manuscript along with insightful recollections and unfinished sketches.

Published posthumously in 1964, A Moveable Feast remains one of Ernest Hemingway’s most enduring works. Since Hemingway’s personal papers were released in 1979, scholars have examined the changes made to the text before publication. Now, this special restored edition presents the original manuscript as the author prepared it to be published.

Featuring a personal Foreword by Patrick Hemingway, Ernest’s sole surviving son, and an Introduction by grandson of the author, Seán Hemingway, editor of this edition, the book also includes a number of unfinished, never-before-published Paris sketches revealing experiences that Hemingway had with his son, Jack, and his first wife Hadley. Also included are irreverent portraits of literary luminaries, such as F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ford Maddox Ford, and insightful recollections of Hemingway’s own early experiments with his craft.

Widely celebrated and debated by critics and readers everywhere, the restored edition of A Moveable Feast brilliantly evokes the exuberant mood of Paris after World War I and the unbridled creativity and unquenchable enthusiasm that Hemingway himself epitomized.

Seeing the Light: Inside the Velvet Underground

Let Me Tell You About Alex: Crazy Days and Nights on the Road with 'The Hurricane'

Curtains: Adventures of an Undertaker-in-Training

Let My People Go Surfing: The Education of a Reluctant Businessman

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

sharply and diagonally across her cheek. I looked at her and she disturbed me and made me very excited. i wished i could put her in the story, or anywhere, but she had placed herself so she could watch the street and the entry and i knew she was waiting for someone. so i went on writing. The story was writing itself and i was having a hard time keeping up with it. i ordered another rum st james and i watched the girl whenever i looked up, or when i sharpened the pencil with a pencil

would be better but i was not good at keeping mine then and said, 'you rotten son of a bitch, what are you doing in here off your filthy beat?' 'don't be insulting just because you want to act like an eccentric.' 'take your dirty camping mouth out of here.' 'it's a public cafe. i've just as much right here as you have.' 'why don't you go up to the petite chaumiere where you belong?' 'oh dear. don't be so tiresome.' now you could get out and hope it was an accidental visit and that the

down at a table with pascin and two models who were sisters. Pascin had waved to me while i had stood on the sidewalk on the rue delambre side wondering whether to stop and have a drink or not. pascin was a very good painter and he was drunk; steady, purposefully drunk and making good sense. the two models were young and pretty. one was very dark, small, beautifully built with a falsely fragile depravity. the other was childlike and dull but very pretty in a perishable childish way. she was

i miss him every day.' 'let us hope that monsieur dunning will be reasonable.' 'i have what it takes,' i assured her. when we reached the courtyard where the studios were the concierge said, 'he's come down.' 'he must have known i was coming,' i said. i climbed the outside stairway that led to dunning's place and knocked. he opened the door. he was gaunt and seemed unusually tall. 'ezra asked me to bring you this,' i said and handed him the jar. 'he said you would know what it

word like cauterized had a comforting effect on scott. but he wanted to know when we would make the town. i said if we pushed on we should make it in twenty-five minutes to an hour. scott then asked me if i were afraid to die and i said more at some times than at others. It now began to rain really heavily and we took refuge in the next village at a cafe. I cannot remember all the details of that afternoon but when we were finally in a hotel at what must have been chalon-sur-saone, it

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