Ernest Hemingway. Green Hills of Africa.
Davis, Robert Murray
Ernest Hemingway. Green Hills of Africa. Patrick Hemingway,
foreword. Sean Hemingway, intro. New York. Scribner. 2015. 281
pages.
[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]
In this new edition of Green Hills of Africa, the introduction and,
by implication, the apparatus--Pauline Pfeiffer Hemingway's diary;
Hemingway's letter making arrangements for the safari and notes
while on safari; Hemingway's letters to Esquire; and "Early
Drafts and Deleted Passages"--are assembled to make the case that
the book is a significant attempt to make a novel out of documentary
material.
Part of the problem is that what plot there is centers on
Hemingway's attempt to kill a kudu. Most people, and not just
animal-rights activists, would agree with the Austrian Kandinsky, who
says, "What is killing a kudu, anyway?" adding, "You
should not take it so seriously."
Even worse, both the published text and the supplementary material
show that Hemingway was, despite the braggadocio of certain passages
asserting the contrary, at a low point in his career. The letters to
Esquire, even if they were published under the influence of drugs to
cure amoebic dysentery, show the author at his self-parodying worst.
They show that Hemingway's "built-in, shock-proof shit
detector," perhaps deranged by his illness, had failed him, not
only in these articles but occasionally in the book, especially in
dialogue, which too often sounds like a transcript from an all-night
fraternity kegger. And then there is Hemingway's desire to rate
everything, from skies to natives to his friends, on scales not always
clearly defined and often annoyingly subjective.
As shown in some of the drafts and deleted passages--unfortunately
not keyed to the main text and excerpted on principles (or the lack
thereof) that might puzzle if not madden anyone familiar with serious
textual editing--the detector had not totally malfunctioned. The book
has passages of great beauty, especially in descriptions of landscape
and of process, as in skinning a reedbuck. But a single page--66 is a
good example--can show the contrast between the very good and the not
good Hemingway. At other times, Hemingway can be observed trying to do
fine writing.
The passages critics have quoted most frequently have to do with
writers and the art of writing, and in these can be found the real
problem of the book. By positing a prose that attains "the fourth
and fifth dimension," Hemingway is setting a standard that is
nearly or entirely impossible to meet and, in noting all the things that
keep the writer from meeting it, he seems subtly to be preparing for his
own failure.
Despite the bravado with which he writes in Green Hills, Hemingway
seemed to be in a very dangerous position. By the time he went on
safari, he had not published a novel in four years, and Winner Take
Nothing, the collection of short stories that came out earlier that
year, contained very little that equaled the quality of his earlier work
in that form. He had used up his experience in the war and with
bullfighting; he had moved back to America and settled into as much
domesticity as he was capable of.
He had begun to show the tendencies, both personal and artistic,
that laid the grounds for parodists of his style and of his persona. But
as he said, a work done well and truly could not rot. This isn't
one of them.
Robert Murray Davis
University of Oklahoma