Ernest hemingway

Monday

Dave Seminara

Bimini the beautiful

Give me a golf cart on an obscure small island and I am ecstatic. That’s how I felt on Christmas Eve rumbling around North Bimini, one of thirty inhabited islands in the Bahamas, with my wife and teenage sons on a balmy day full of benign clouds and serendipitous discoveries. I’m a traveler who is blessed and cursed with hyper-curiosity. Places with too much to see frustrate me because no matter how long I stay, I’m inevitably nagged by a sense that I missed something. I love cruises but port days are a particular tease because you’re always racing against the clock to get back to the ship. So for me, Bimini, with zero stop lights, no fast food and nearly as many golf carts as its 2,000 inhabitants is almost perfect.

bimini

Thursday

Alexander Larman

Is Paris the world’s most bookish city?

After I ventured to New York in May 2024, bound for a discerning literary journey round the city’s bookshops, libraries and hotels, I received some lively and constructive feedback from Spectator readers. Many, thankfully, agreed with my arguments about its bookish charms, but a consistent theme in the comments I received was, “How can you claim that New York is the quintessential literary city? Have you forgotten Paris?” To which my reply was reasonably simple: “What about Oxford, London, Rome, Edinburgh, Dublin, Santiago or San Francisco?” All of them hugely distinguished citadels of the written word, both present and historic alike. Yet I felt uneasy at my response.

Paris

Monday

Marc Oestreich

A sip of the Vieux Carré

It’s 1951 and the Hotel Monteleone burns bright, a gilded island of light and liquor adrift in the New Orleans dark. Inside, the air is thick with the sweet tang of cigar smoke and the murmurs of polished conversation. Over in the Swan Room, the trumpets blare, their brassy notes cutting through the gentle chatter, their absence filled with the lively, gravelly voice of Louis Prima. The crowd sways in rhythm, caught between the pulse of jazz and the flicker of chandelier light. Outside, the French Quarter is still alive.

Vieux Carré

Sunday

Jenna Stocker

The dauntless spirit of Richard Halliburton

A sailor; a conqueror of the most treacherous mountain peaks; a man who wades defiantly under the stars of the Far East sky; a dashing writer who pursues his mark as a hunter on safari; an explorer who rides elephants through the Alps. This is not a collection of young men, newly emancipated by the end of the Great War and a new era of global empires. It is the nearly improbable life of one man, Richard Halliburton, whose swashbuckling existence was inspired by everyone from Daniel Defoe and Rupert Brooke to Odysseus. Halliburton was the self-proclaimed protagonist of his own heroic epic. He decided in the days before his graduation from Princeton in spring 1921 that he would forgo a life of tedious expectations and “let those who wish have their respectability.

Halliburton

Thursday

Chilton Williamson, Jr.

The death of the Western literary tradition

A regular reader of Le Figaro for some years, I have been noting the frequency with which the editors print articles relating to the Académie française, founded by Cardinal Richelieu in 1634 for the purpose of acting as the protector and patron of the French language, fixing its usage and giving it exact rules to make it competent to deal clearly and elegantly with the arts and sciences. It was decreed that the academy should consist of precisely forty members, and that upon the death of any one of them the candidate to replace him should pay court to the remaining thirty-nine to be selected to fill his numbered seat. The sitting forty were known as “les Immortels.

literary

Thursday

Matt McDonald

Does Joe Biden have CTE from rugby?

President Biden is being an American tourist in Ireland this week. In comments to the Irish Parliament in Dublin today, the president touted the merits of rugby, a sport in which Ireland is currently the top-ranked side in the world, over the American brand of football. "I'd rather have my children playing rugby now for health reasons than I would have them playing football," the president said. "Fewer people get hurt playing rugby." Biden is a rugby enthusiast, having played while at college at Syracuse. He made a point of video-calling the Ireland men's team after their historic defeat of New Zealand in Chicago in 2021. (In the video, Biden's brother James is sporting an Ireland hat and coat.

joe biden rugby concussion

Tuesday

Kevin Cook

Did Ernest Hemingway have CTE?

It was July 2, 1961. Ernest Hemingway was three weeks shy of his sixty-second birthday. He had been living comfortably in a cabin in Ketchum, Idaho, with his fourth wife, Mary. He liked it there. He liked the hunting and fishing and the clean air. Still he had a plan. That morning he padded to the basement in his pajamas and bathrobe. He unlocked the gun closet. He selected a favorite shotgun, a double-barreled twelve-gauge. He put a shell in each barrel. He put the muzzle of the gun in his mouth. Why pull the trigger now, after so many years of defying death? Eight months earlier he had checked into the Mayo Clinic as “George Saviers,” the name of his elderly doctor in Ketchum.

hemingway

Sunday

Bill Kauffman

Ernest Hemingway’s Idaho playground

In Ketchum, Idaho, heart of the skiing mecca of Sun Valley, my wife and I found ourselves on Picabo Street — the avenue leading to the Warm Springs ski lodge, that is, not the 1998 Olympic gold medalist in the women’s supergiant slalom. We walked past a “private residence club” denominated The Hemingways, which called to mind the author’s complaint that Sun Valley boosters were using him for public relations purposes. “I love Idaho,” Hemingway wrote Peter Viertel in 1948, but “when they are having pictures painted of you and hung in real estate promotion offices it is past time to blow.

ketchum

Monday

James Jeffrey

Spain’s caminos come calling

I haven’t come close to dying of thirst in Texas, where I live. In Spain’s little-known Extremadura, however, I found the odds increasing. Wandering through wide-open scrubland in hundred-degree temperatures, my only company was lots of Spanish bulls, unfazed by the blistering heat as I sweated my heart out. The population of Extremadura has been sparse since the Muslim occupation, but there are plenty of cattle. As I headed north from Seville on the Via de la Plata, the latest leg of my extended Camino de Santiago pilgrimage crisscrossing the Iberian Peninsula, Extremadura struck me as remarkably like Texas ranching country.

spain

Thursday

Chilton Williamson, Jr.

The ultimate human futility of sports

If it were true that civilization progresses inexorably according to the laws of some teleological principle, public — in modern times, professional and commercialized — sports would not have survived Classical Greece and the Roman Empire, thus sparing the modern world such obscene extravagances as the Super Bowl in the United States, the World Cup in Europe and the international Olympic Games. Mass man at play in his leisure hours is not a pleasant and encouraging sight in any circumstances, but gathered with his fellows in massive sports stadia one views him at his absolute worst.

sports

Sunday

Anne Margaret Daniel

For whom the bell tolls

Close your eyes and imagine you’re married to Ernest Hemingway. Now, imagine it twice as bad, and you’ll be approaching the life story of Mary Welsh Hemingway. Hemingway was married four times: to Hadley Richardson in 1921, to Pauline Pfeiffer in 1927, to Martha Gellhorn in 1940 and to Mary Welsh in 1946. In every swap, he divorced his current wife for her successor. Mary wrote her own memoir, How It Was, after Hemingway’s death in 1961. Now Timothy Christian has written a well-researched and intensely detailed look at the life of a fascinating woman who became the steward of Hemingway’s literary estate and reputation long before he died. Mary Welsh was born in 1908 and raised in rural Minnesota.

hemingway

Thursday

Francesca Peacock

Joan Didion got inside all of us

When asked what they knew about Joan Didion, a not insignificant number of people might mention her famous essay "Slouching Towards Bethlehem." It is the eponymous essay of Didion’s 1968 collection, the first non-fiction collection of her career. The essay ends with the oft-repeated description of Susan, a five-year-old in the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco. She wants a bicycle for Christmas, likes ice cream, Coca-Cola, and the beach — and gets high on acid. Didion describes the domestic setup, and her own discomfort: she "falter[s] at the key words" when asking her if she has other friends on drugs. Didion immortalized the scene of Sixties freedom gone wrong; there is no utopia here. Other Didion fans might be drawn to her essay "Goodbye to All That.

Friday

Philip Terzian

The old man and the documentary

If I had been told that Ken Burns’s next PBS extravaganza would be a documentary film about a 20th-century American novelist and, even more improbably, had been asked to guess his (or more likely her) identity, my last choice might well have been Ernest Hemingway. This is partly because there seem to be so many more eligible Burns subjects (Richard Wright, Willa Cather, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Toni Morrison) but largely because Hemingway, man and novelist, seems especially uncongenial to the Burns sensibility: his fiction doesn’t tell us very much about America; he remains in bad odor in women’s studies departments; his Great White Hunter persona must surely spell a painful three episodes for ‘viewers like you’. First, the bad news.

hemingway