an opinion of Judge Alcee L. Hastings, 5 January 1989

 "I don't think judges need to be timid people."

 

something about "The Complete Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway"

This collection is divided into three parts; some stories go together like a series. I especially enjoyed the random excerpts, such as "One Reader Writes." Here, Hemingway exhibits the empathy only a writer could capture. 

My favorite Hemingway short story in this collection is "I guess Everything Reminds You of Something." The heaviness of meaning and relevance in this story, which, unsurprisingly, is an easy read, will force any reader to pause.

Note: I read an edition labeled "The Finca Vidia Edition."

(posts) the obituary for Stephanie Ambrose May, October 2020

https://www.dignitymemorial.com/obituaries/dallas-tx/stephanie-may-9392010

something about our hello

After he finished his part—a self-introduction to his new colleagues—he suddenly looked very old. His words disappeared from my memory as soon as he stopped talking. Maybe I was distracted by the turn; his gaze, turned down, threw a shadow on us all. The meeting went on like nothing happened.

The poor boy wanted to make a splash. But, as he expected, he shrank into himself. I saw it. Did anybody else?

something about Ernest Hemingway's "A Farewell to Arms"

Ernest Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms looks back at a love that fought in World War I. The lovers are Frederic Henry and Catherine Barkley. Here is Fredric beginning his relationship with Catherine:

I thought she was probably a little crazy. It was all right if she was. I did not care what I was getting into. This was better than going every evening to the house for officers where the girls climbed all over you and put your cap on backward as a sign of affection between their trips upstairs with brother officers. I knew I did not love Catherine Barkley nor had any idea of loving her. This was a game, like bridge, in which you said things instead of playing cards. Like bridge, you had to pretend you were playing for money or playing for some stakes. Nobody had mentioned what the stakes were. It was all right with me.

This passage stuck with me. Through most of the novel, I wondered if Frederic and Catherine really loved each other—or, at least, whether each loved the other at the same time. I thought that maybe they were lonely and scared and just wanted to love and comfort someone. She seemed to doubt his sincerity, and he seemed to be either keeping his distance or trying to persuade himself she was something more than she was. Then, by the end, their love—which of course is borne of loneliness and fear—becomes painfully real.

Catherine may be crazy, but she is a great and complicated character. She knew all along that their relationship was doomed.

I held her close against me and could feel her heart beating and her lips opened and her head went back against my hand and then she was crying on my shoulder.

"Oh, darling," she said. "You will be good to me, won't you?"

What the hell, I thought. I stroked her hair and patted her shoulder. She was crying. "You will, won't you?" She looked up at me. "Because we're going to have a strange life."

And one of my favorite Hemingway passages is this exchange between Catherine and Frederic:

"We won't fight."

"We mustn't. Because there's only us two and in the world there's all the rest of them. If anything comes between us we're gone and then they have us." 

"They won't get us," I said. "Because you're too brave. Nothing ever happens to the brave."

"They die of course."  

"But only once." 

"I don't know. Who said that?"  

"The coward dies a thousand deaths, the brave but one?" 

"Of course. Who said it?" 

"I don't know." 

"He was probably a coward," she said. "He knew a great deal about cowards but nothing about the brave. The brave dies perhaps two thousand deaths if he's intelligent. He simply doesn't mention them." 

 

Note:  A Farewell to Arms was published in 1929.

about exercise during the coronavirus pandemic

Small sets of people, forced out of the local boutique gyms and studios, take to the paved space beneath the overpass, at the east end of the neighborhood, to resume exercise classes. There, the people strain, lift hand-weights, pull on bands of rubber, keep fit under watch of the trainer. The riddle asks what does the trainer do; the trainer is the troll, and the price of a wrong answer is another 10. The rest of us continue on the path to where a routine is nothing we can't handle. 

something about Tom Perrotta’s "Mrs. Fletcher"

Tom Perrotta excels at combining middle-class drama and satire. His stories, including Mrs. Fletcher, sprout from small sagas in American suburbs. The titular character is Eve, a fifty-something divorcée and mother of an entitled, popular, teenaged son named Brendan. Brendan is starting college, and Eve is starting life in an empty nest. The coming year defies expectations because it is Eve rather than Brendan who begins to dabble and explore. Perrotta's easily digestible novel sets up tension between a mature woman starting a new chapter in her life and her immature son's struggle in a new environment in which he is no longer at center. This is an enjoyable story of contemporary sexual politics.


Notes:

• Mrs. Fletcher was published in 2017. The book was adapted recently into an HBO series.
• Here is a fair review in The Washington Post.

about a search of my own

I look for places to live, and the places leave me disoriented. Empty places. People leaving spaces.

The setting sun's light slips over the trees across the river, and I wonder, Who will leave me a home?

something about "To Have and Have Not" by Ernest Hemingway

Ernest Hemingway's To Have and Have Not, published in 1937, plays out the story of the destruction of Harry Morgan, an everyman fishing boat captain out of Key West, Florida. Harry, after being stiffed on a much-needed payment for chartering a private fishing cruise, finds himself with little choice but to recoup money through the black market, trafficking people and contraband between Cuba and Florida as opportunities to support his family dry up in the Great Depression Era.

I enjoyed parts of To Have and Have Not, but, most of the time, I was bored. That is probably ignorance, I know.

I did, however, enjoy a movie adaptation, "The Breaking Point," starring John Garfield and Patricia Neal. Ms. Neal, as she always did, stole the show, and the dialog at times was brilliant.

My favorite passage in Hemingway's text comes after a supporting character, American writer and expatriate, Richard Gordon, finds out his wife is cheating on him. Richard goes drinking. Here he is at the bar:

The whiskey warmed his tongue and the back of his throat, but it did not change his ideas any, and suddenly, looking at himself in the mirror behind the bar, he knew that drinking was never going to do any good to him now. Whatever he had now he had, and it was from now on, and if he drank himself unconscious when he woke up it would be there.

Note: I have not seen the other movie adaptations.

about decades between crises

Seeing smouldering ashes would have helped us make sense of the dread. Instead, the destruction often remains theoretical. And Tammy really felt the fear with this one, with the encroaching pandemic. Why the difference? She had a lot more to lose now than she did in college when the attack of September 11th happened. Tammy is one of us mercantilists now.

about 20 June 2020

The summer solstice sucks for anyone who thinks going to bed at night is the only good part of every day.

something about "Bel-Ami" by Guy de Maupassant

Bel-Ami, by Guy de Maupassant, is a great read. It is about a young man, Georges, a merciless social climber in Paris circa 1885 (the year of the book's publication). Early in the book, Georges sets his sights on Madeleine, the crafty wife of his supervisor, Forestier. Forestier grows deathly ill, and Georges comes to support Madeleine in the final hours before her husband's death. Moments after Forestier dies, Georges asks Madeleine to join him out on the balcony; there, he makes his move.

"I want you to listen to what I'm going to say and try to understand me. Above all, don't be angry if I talk about such things at a moment like this, but I shall be leaving the day after tomorrow, and when you come back to Paris, it may perhaps be too late. So here goes. As you know, I'm only a poor devil with no money at all who's still making his way. But I've got determination, I think some intelligence, and I've made a start—a good start. With a successful man, you know what you're getting; with someone just beginning, you never know where he'll finish up. That may be a bad thing or it may be a good thing. Anyway, I told you one day in your home that my dearest dream would have been to marry a wife like you. And I want to say that again now. Don't try to answer me. Let me go on. I'm not making you a proposal. That would be an odious thing to do at this time and place. I'm only anxious that you shouldn't fail to know that a word from you can make me a happy man, that you can make me either your friend, your brother if you like, or else even your husband, as you will—that my heart and whole body are all yours. I don't want you to answer me now; I don't want to talk about it any more, here. When we meet again in Paris, you'll let me know what you've decided. Until then, not a word. You agree?"

He had spoken without looking at her, as if he were scattering the words in the darkness in front of him. And she seemed not to have heard him as she, too, stood motionless, staring vaguely ahead at the vast landscape under the pale light of the moon.

For many minutes they remained side by side, elbow to elbow, thinking in silence. Then she murmured: "It's a little cold," and, turning round, went back to the bed. He followed her.

As he came near, he recognized that Forestier really was beginning to smell and he moved his chair away because he would not have been unable to stand the stench for long.

That scene made an impression on me. Georges is motivated by a ravenous hunger for status, but his relationships with powerful women are complicated by his feeling of real affection toward them. That affection is never better expressed in Bel-Ami than in this scene. But the timing is obviously horrific and undermines the connection the reader wants to feel with Georges.


Note: Georges does not experience change or get redeemed. That adds to the book's novelty.

"Selected Short Stories" by Guy De Maupassant

I do not remember how or when I added the French writer, Guy De Maupassant, to my reading list, but I am thankful for the suggestion. The short stories in this collection are flirtatious and efficiently satisfying. Maupassant captured very human episodes that are water-ringed by vague taboos and unseemliness. This collection, translated with an introduction by Roger Colet, was published by Penguin Books in 1971.

From Maupassant's masterpiece, "Boule De Suif":

The others ordered wine, except for Cornudet, who demanded beer. He had his own special way of opening the bottle, giving the liquid a good head, and examining it, first tilting the glass and then holding it up between the lamp and his eyes to appreciate the colour. When he drank, his great beard, which was the colour of his favorite beverage, seemed to quiver with emotion, and he squinted so as not to lose sight of his mug; he looked as if he were performing the one function for which he had been born. It was as though he were establishing in his mind a connexion, or even an affinity, between the two ruling passions of his life—Pale Ale and Revolution—and he certainly never drank the one without thinking of the other.

I enjoyed every word of these 30 stories, but "Boule De Suif" is easily my favorite. 

Maupassant, a French writer and protégé of Gustave Flaubert, is considered a member of the naturalist school and wrote much of his work in the 1870s and 1880s. He wrote, according to Wikipedia, hundreds of short stories, six novels, three travel books, and one volume of verse.

(posts) scenes from Virginia's Shenandoah Valley

about perspective

I pushed open the bathroom stall door and discovered on the toilet there a man who looked like Alex Trebek taking a shit. His gaze was locked in the thousand-yard stare—like he was seeing an invisible atrocity unfold in the distance but feeling nothing. A serious shitter. He did not maneuver his eyeballs to see who it was that walked in on his most intimate moment.

A normal man—and he was not one—would have flinched, made a motion, feigned a gesture in a futile attempt to regain agency. Would not a normal man look at the beast moving in on him, threatening the boundaries of his dignity? Amazing. He blocked me mentally; but I knew—and I think he knew—we were the same man.

something about "Big Game: The NFL in Dangerous Times" by Mark Leibovich

Mark Leibovich is The New York Times Magazine’s chief national correspondent. I am not a regular reader of his column, but I read his previous book, This Town, which I described as the author wallowing in the networking and social maneuverings.
 

He kids DC's political players about the unseemly side of their work but never condemns them. Leibovich paints an absurd picture and sort of shrugs it off. His easygoing prose makes a shrug seem like the natural reaction. This Town delivers the goods for political junkies—especially if you tracked national politics from 2007 to 2013. Hearing how embedded Washington correspondents are is discomfiting. But if disillusion has already set in, the disappointment in This Town lands softly.

I think the same is true of Big Game, a book about the National Football League (NFL). Leibovich rightly positions professional football as one of America's biggest cultural forces. And he attached himself to the league at a seemingly pivotal time. In 2017, the NFL was more successful than ever, but scandals, such as players protesting during the national anthem and the escalating reality that concussions are destroying players brains in real time, were threatening that success. 

Leibovich does not deny the issues that cause the league's front office anxiety. But he overplays the attention-grabbing distractions, like Deflategate and the eccentricities of the billionaire team-owner class. Leibovich never really reckons with the larger, more serious issues.

I found the book very entertaining. But I never felt like the league and the owners were being confronted with a game-changing sequence of events. I agree with Joe Nocera's assessment in The Washington Post. Nocera says Leibovich "has a book-reporting strategy that consists of attending events (Tim Russert’s funeral; an NFL owners meeting), hanging around the periphery and writing what he sees, with plenty of snark and personal asides for good measure. He’s a good enough writer to keep you from wanting to throw the book against the nearest wall. But if you look closely, you’ll realize he has nothing to say."


Notes:

• My favorite part was definitely Leibovich getting drunk on Jerry Jones's bus.

One of the drivers in Jerry's employ, an African American gentleman named Emory, opened a back cabinet stocked with $250 bottles of "Blue." No doubt Jones could afford the smooth booze, but he also mentioned a qualifier. "It's the stuff it makes you do after you've had it that you might not be able to afford," he said. I relay this by way of transparency into Jones inhibitions, which after a few more supersized pours from Emory were weakening fast.

Leibovich asks Jones which means more: the Hall of Fame jacket or another Super Bowl ring. Jones, drunk, finally admits the jacket is more important to him.

• "Are these the last days of the NFL?" by Joe Nocera, The Washington Post, 13 September 2018

something about the Leave It to Beaver episode, "Wally's Election"

In the Leave It to Beaver episode, "Wally's Election," a reluctant Wally Cleaver is nominated to run for sophomore class president against the oafish school bully, Lumpy Rutherford. Wally's and Lumpy's fathers, Ward and Fred, respectively, push their sons to campaign aggressively. The fathers are motivated, it turns out, by their own selfish ambitions. The episode's moral comes during Ward's confession to his sons in the final act.

Ward Cleaver: Oh, I guess its just all part of being a father, Beaver. Your boy makes the football team and you visualize him scoring touchdowns all over the place. He gets an A in mathematics, and you see him as an atomic scientist landing on the moon. Maybe you even picture him marrying the banker's daughter.

Theodore "Beaver" Cleaver: Gee, dad. I thought only kids had goofy dreams like that.

Ward: No, Beaver. Nope. Parents have their share, too. You see, as you grow older, you come to realize that some of the ambitions and dreams you had are just not going to come true. So, you begin to dream through your children.

Wally Cleaver: You mean Mr. Rutherford dreams through Lumpy?

Ward: Of course he does. I don't guess there's a father around anywhere who doesn't want things to be a little better for his children than they were for him.

When actor Hugh Beaumont, as Ward, says, "you come to realize that some of the ambitions and dreams you had are just not going to come true," Beaumont's delivery includes a slight, magnificent quiver. It is an efficient but effective line read—not a surprise from the ultimate and classic TV dad-actor.


Note: "Wally's Election" was the 19th episode of season 3 of the famous American TV series, Leave It to Beaver. It aired 6 February 1960.

something about "The Easter Parade" by Richard Yates

Richard Yates, sometimes my favorite American writer, drops us into the tragically ordinary lives of two sisters, Emily and Sarah Grimes. Emily is younger and somehow goes her own way; Sarah marries and disappears into a family. Sarah, whose husband is physically abusive, eventually dies of complications from alcoholism (the same fate suffered by her mother). Emily occupies most of the novella's narrative. She confesses, "I'm almost fifty years old and I've never understood anything in my whole life." Yates' fifth book, published in 1976, is characteristically poignant, uncomfortably intimate, and penetrating.

Notes:

• The Easter Parade opens with, "Neither of the Grimes sisters would have a happy life, and looking back it always seemed that the trouble began with their parents' divorce."
• Still have not read Revolutionary Road, but it is a damn fine movie.
• I read The Easter Parade in the Everyman's Library edition, 2009, which includes Revolutionary Road and the short stories from Eleven Kinds of Loneliness.

something about leaving

She started feeling a little sentimental as she prepared to check out of the hotel. "I'll never be in here again." A melancholy trickled always, but, in the moments that she inventoried her stuff and looked the room over, the valve opened a tiny bit more. She thought of the city she was in and of how she was unlikely to return because life is too short and there may be other places to go. She would feel this way the times she traveled even while not ever really wanting to come back.

about how I should drive more (update of a previous post)

The 7:45 morning bus always arrives early, the 8:05 late. Someone plays her phone audio out loud on the ride. I get off at King Street metro station and wait for the yellow line to Greenbelt. After Pentagon station, the train surges out of Virginia across the Potomac—my favorite part of the commute. Looking out to see dulled light glancing off hard bridges, rough, sectarian waters, and wildly uneven expectations. I see the mild winter morning sinking the bots in their cars moving from A to B. I think of how every day I take the subway to and from work, but each time I ride, I feel like it takes me farther and farther from home.

At Len'fant Plaza station I crowd off the yellow line to catch the next train west to Capitol South. And, there, young blood marches to Congress for another day of legislating and messaging. They moved from somewhere in the top of their class down into the tunnels beneath this pyramid where they scratch walls and people, where they keep tradition alive, where everyone else can lick heels.

something about "On Writing Well," by William Zinsser

On Writing Well was American writer and teacher William Zinsser's attempt to capture the nonfiction writing course he taught at Yale. The book's most useful parts come in the first nine chapters, which need only 66 pages in my 2016 Harper edition. I very much like Zinsser's approach because I think coaching good writing (teaching good writing is usually impossible) has much, much more to do with focusing on principles rather than mechanics. Zinsser stresses the basics: simplicity, cutting words, and rewriting. In addition to principles, Zinsser relays a few anecdotes, and he quotes examples of good nonfiction writing. Among the best tips he offers are to read aloud what you write and approach writing as a process rather than a means to a product.

Zinsser calls nonfiction writing a craft; he even calls On Writing Well a craft book. I wish he had explored this claim further. He does not define craft or contrast it with art.

The latter chapters of On Writing Well mostly focus on particulars about specific forms of nonfiction writing, like the memoir, travel writing, interviews, and so on. The book's earlier chapters are not only more useful, I found them to be better written. Zinsser gets too conversational for me as the book pushes on.

Notes:

• This book reminds me of my other favorite book about writing, Writing with Style, by John Trimble.
• On Writing Well was first published in 1976; Zinsser updated the book as times and technology changed. Zinsser died in 2015 at age 92.

something about Kirk Douglas

Kirk Douglas (1916-2020) was a star in a generation of greats. He was more accessible than John Wayne, Cary Grant, and Charlton Heston, and he combined the complicated humanity of Henry Fonda with the versatility and authority of Burt Lancaster. He was a confident and squarely handsome man with a distinctive cleft chin. I always thought one of his greatest assets was how his grin seemed to suggest a mischievous inner life.

Now Kirk Douglas is gone. He will be remembered primarily for his role in the great Kubrick film, "Spartacus." Other favorites of mine include "Last Train From Gun Hill" and "Lonely Are the Brave." "Last Train From Gun Hill," released in 1959, co-stars the great Anthony Quinn; Douglas and Quinn are friends pitted against each other in an old West-style battle of wills. "Lonely Are the Brave," from 1962, is a great late Western, and, as Roger Ebert said of Lee Marvin's "Monte Walsh," "like a lot of recent Westerns, it's about the end of the old West."

about wearing out in the empty Providence airport

Unbothered runways press out to a deafened, mud-washed fringe of trees. Most people drive here. And away. Inside, neutral pop plays over the PA and suppresses mood. An unattended bag, a wilting plant in public space. How many rough mornings have there been at the Hampton Inn & Suites Providence Airport? Say goodbye to me and Massachusetts' shrunken head.

something about "Excellent Sheep" by William Deresiewicz

Critics of academia often mock liberal arts studies of obscure and apparently unprofitable subjects like basket weaving (does such a degree even exist?). Critics also diagnose academia with a fatal case of aloof pretentiousness. But William Deresiewicz is a fierce proponent of the value of a classical liberal arts education.
 
Deresiewicz has criticisms of his own. Excellent Sheep: The Miseducation of the American Elite and the Way to a Meaningful Life starts on the offensive, putting a harsh light on modern trends in higher education—especially at elite institutions. But then Deresiewicz quickly pivots to an impassioned defense of the university. Excellent Sheep argues for the personal and social benefits of higher education.

I used to read William Deresiewicz's weekly columns in "The Chronicle of Higher Education." A few columns stuck with me: "Get Real," published in 2012, is my favorite. My fondness for those columns steered me toward Excellent Sheep, which was published in 2015 and grew out of Deresiewicz's experience as a professor at Yale.