Death in the Afternoon

After putting it off for decades, I started reading Ernest Hemingway's Death in the Afternoon several years ago (2016 maybe?) but had to put it down when duty called. I've picked it up again and, this time, won’t put it down for anything. It is an astonishing work—looking death straight in the eyes. Hemingway, Rimbaud, and Jim Morrison had that in common but Hem lasted the longest. The secret is not to flinch and this book doesn’t flinch.

Hemingway’s stock has fallen in recent years because what is alleged to be his machismo has dropped from fashion—but this popular impression (like so many) is the result of lazy caricature, not careful reading. Hemingway was about courage, not testosterone. And in the final analysis, it is the rampant fear and denial of death in our culture that lies behind the willingness to dismiss his art on “high moral grounds” (which are rarely, if ever, either high or moral).

The other day, a friend of mine said, “When you get right down to it, American culture doesn’t involve much more than video games and masturbation.”

We’ll do anything but face up to the nature of our predicament as human beings; the same holds true for the consequences of our actions. We seem to be trapped in an eternal adolescence. Look no further than the man in the Oval Office and his "base" (holding steady at 4 out of 10 Americans).