A Moveable Feast: The Restored Edition
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Ernest Hemingway’s classic memoir of Paris in the 1920s, now available in a restored edition, includes the original manuscript along with insightful recollections and unfinished sketches.
Published posthumously in 1964, A Moveable Feast remains one of Ernest Hemingway’s most enduring works. Since Hemingway’s personal papers were released in 1979, scholars have examined the changes made to the text before publication. Now, this special restored edition presents the original manuscript as the author prepared it to be published.
Featuring a personal Foreword by Patrick Hemingway, Ernest’s sole surviving son, and an Introduction by grandson of the author, Seán Hemingway, editor of this edition, the book also includes a number of unfinished, never-before-published Paris sketches revealing experiences that Hemingway had with his son, Jack, and his first wife Hadley. Also included are irreverent portraits of literary luminaries, such as F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ford Maddox Ford, and insightful recollections of Hemingway’s own early experiments with his craft.
Widely celebrated and debated by critics and readers everywhere, the restored edition of A Moveable Feast brilliantly evokes the exuberant mood of Paris after World War I and the unbridled creativity and unquenchable enthusiasm that Hemingway himself epitomized.
the next thing you would be compromising on something else. hunger is healthy and the pictures do look better when you are hungry. eating is wonderful too and do you know where you are going to eat right now? lipp's is where you are going to eat, and drink too. it was a quick walk to lipp's and every place i passed that my stomach noticed as quickly as my eyes or my nose made the walk an added pleasure. there were few people in the brasserie and when i sat down on the bench against the wall
and a cervelas. this was a sausage like a heavy, wide frankfurter split in two and covered with a special mustard sauce. i mopped up all the oil and all of the sauce with bread and drank the beer slowly until it began to lose its coldness and then i finished it and ordered a demi and watched it drawn. it seemed colder than the distingue and i drank half of it. i had not been worrying, i thought. i knew the stories were good and someone would publish them finally at home. when i stopped
mutilation. In those days we did not trust anyone who had not been in the war, but we did not completely trust anyone, and there was a strong feeling that cendrars might well be a little less flashy about his vanished arm. i was glad he had been in the lilas early in the afternoon before the regular clients had arrived. on this evening i was sitting at a table outside of the lilas watching the light change on the trees and the buildings and the passage of the great slow horses of the outer
'did you see me cut him?' ford said. 'did you see me cut him?' 'no. who did you cut?' 'belloc,' ford said. 'did i cut him!' 'i didn't see it,' i said. 'why did you cut him?' 'for every good reason in the world,' ford said. 'did i cut him though!' he was thoroughly and completely happy. i had never seen belloc and i did not believe he had seen us. he looked like a man who had been thinking of something and had glanced at the table almost automatically. i felt badly that ford had been rude
without the top they had driven as far as lyon where they were halted by the rain. the car was in fair shape otherwise and scott paid the bill after disputing several charges for washing, greasing, and for adding two litres of oil. the garage man explained to me that the car needed new piston rings and had evidently been run without sufficient oil and water. He showed me how it had heated up and burned the paint off the motor. he said if i could persuade monsieur to have a ring job done in