Honestly, I’m not really much of a Ernest Hemingway reader.
I do remember watching some biography of his life in high school, but I don’t
recall reading much of his stories that he has written. If somebody were to
give me a story by him at this moment and ask me to read it I’m not sure how I
would feel after I was finished reading it. I mean sure, I would have some
opinions here and there, but all in all I think I feel indifferent about Ernest
Hemingway. Like right now, I’m sitting on the floor of my room, a few pages
into The Snows of Kilimanjaro and I
just can’t get myself to finish the rest. Yes, it is interesting, and I do want
to figure out what happens to the man and woman, but my mind just isn’t as willed
to finish this story as it would be if I were reading a much more modern
author, like, let’s say, Jodi Picoult, or Khaled Hosseini, the gentleman who wrote The Kite Runner. Of course, I will force
myself to finish this story, but I doubt I’ll really get the full gist of it. I’m
sure if I did read more Ernest Hemingway back in high school or in general I
would have more appreciation for the guy.
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