Today my American Literature professor called Ernest Hemingway a "crazy genius bastard."
And I have to say, that even after an unfortunate experience with The Sun Also Rises, I agree with her.
We're finishing the Modernists this week and retreating back to Dickinson. I don't want to go back to Dickinson. I want to stay with the Modernists! Nothing against dear Emily, but I studied her last semester as well, and two consecutive semesters of depressing, abstract, randomly-dashed poetry is too much for me.
On top of that, because we spent the first 15 minutes of today's class discussing E.E. Cummings' Buffalo Bill, we lost time discussing Hemingway's Snows of Kilimanjaro. And since in order to give Ernest his due we'll have to pick up on Snows on Friday, F. Scott Fitzgerald (who was supposed to commandeer all of Friday) is instead being cut down to one story.
As you may have guessed, the main reason I was so excited for this class over Christmas was because of F. Scott. And now he's being pared down to Babylon Revisited. Winter Dreams are discarded until further notice (perhaps forever) to make way for Snow (on a mountain in Africa that is no longer snow covered, according to the footnotes in my Norton (thank you global warning)).
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