The 3A Berkeley Mansions Literary Society, #6

P. G. Wodehouse’s Bertie Wooster And Jeeves discuss great works of literature

Ernest Hemingway “Men Without Women”

“I say, Jeeves!”

“Yes, sir?”

“One of the Americans at the Savoy told me that Fscot Fitzgerald was a ‘feminine’ writer, that if I wanted the ‘real stuff’, I needed to read this chap Ernest Hemingway. After Ulysses I didn’t feel up to reading another bally long novel, so I got a book of the cove’s short stories the American recommended.”

“Men Without Women. Are you enjoying Mr. Hemingway’s writing?”

“NO! If this is the ‘real stuff’, give me the phony stuff every time. He’s striding about puffing out his chest and roaring like a gorilla all over the place. If you ask me, Jeeves, the man is unsure of himself. He doth roareth too much.”

“Some might agree with you, sir. The critic Max Eastman wrote that ‘Hemingway has a continual sense of the obligation to put forth evidences of red-blooded masculinity. It is of course a commonplace that Hemingway lacks the serene confidence that he is a full-sized man.’ After this review, Hemingway struck Mr. Eastman in the face with a book.”

“I’m not surprised. These stories are about war, and fighting, and men being strenuously masculine all over the place. Take this story. 20 bally pages about a bally bullfight! Bullfights are awful as they are, but 20 bally pages! Listen to this:

Finally the bull charged and got under the horse, lifted him, threw him onto his back. The bull, the great, black bull, with a horse on his back, hooves dangling, the bridle caught in the horns. Black bull with a horse on his back, staggering short-legged, then arching his neck and lifting, thrusting, charging to slide the horse off, horse sliding down. Then the bull into a lunging charge at the cape Manuel spread for him.

Here was the bull standing, heavy, firmly planted. All right, you bastard! Manuel drew the sword out of the muleta, sighted with the same movement, and flung himself onto the bull. He felt the sword go in all the way. Right up to the guard.

“I can’t even read the rest aloud! 20 pages of this poor creature being tortured and dying, and great piles of ridiculously virile puff pastry around it. No thank you.”

“It is not to my taste, sir, but some consider Hemingway’s writing to be a bold new style.”

“Give me Zane Grey and Riders Of The Purple Sage every time, Jeeves. A corking story, good guys and bad guys, and no bull! My tummy’s rumbling. What’s for dinner?”

“Filet mignon, sir.”

“…I shall dine out tonight, Jeeves.”