A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway

Not being a Hemingway fan, this book would have never crossed my path had it not been for my book club. I don't know why A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway was chosen; I wasn't there for that part. 

I missed the book club meeting, so I am stuck with my own thoughts. 

The book felt to me the way Twitter did when I only went on it occasionally: never quite sure who exactly anyone was and what exactly the poster was referring to. 

I don't know Hemingway at all, I don't know Paris at all (in the 1920s or today for that matter), and I don't know the other authors he refers to (with the exception of F. Scott Fitzgerald, whom I only know because of The Great Gatsby).

Therefore it was a struggle. 

It doesn't help that Hemingway is intentionally writing in a way so as to preclude our ability to intuit whether he's telling the truth or not.

It's a fun look at quintessential period of time. I think Hemingway wrote the series of vignettes towards the end of his life to capture a magical, perhaps not exactly-the-way-it-happened, moment in his life. I imagine that if I wrote unconnected stories from my high school days, without explanation and without a overarching point, it would sound the same. It might return to me some rose-colored memories, but to everyone outside my small circle, it would be a hazy collection of "inside baseball" glimpses into someone else's life. 

I think I missed a lot of the point of the book. 

But it was beautifully written. That's worth a read right there.