Memoir or fiction? It doesnt matter with this amusing classic, a series of poignant and light vignettes about the authors time as a poor, struggling writer in 1920s Paris.Hem (as people refer to him in the book) offers up clear, unfussy portraits of everyone from salon-mistress/tastemaker Gertrude Stein and Shakespeare & Cos generous owner, Sylvia Beach, to a snobbish, forgetful Ford Madox Ford and a nasty Wyndham Lewis, whom he compares to toe-jam.I especially liked the couple of chapters devoted to fellow expat F. Scott Fitzgerald, including one that tells of a disastrous trip the pair took to retrieve Fitzgeralds broken-down car in Lyon. Its in this book that Hem praises Fitzgeralds innate talent, blames Zelda for ruining that talent and recounts the famous anatomy lesson he gave Fitzgerald at the Louvre, prompted by a catty comment about the mans genitals by Zelda.Theres lots in here about Hems writing practices (he was publishing his first stories and working on The Sun Also Rises), struggling to make rent, gambling, alcohol and what authors he was reading.An air of bittersweet regret hangs over the passages concerning his first wife, Hadley (pictured above), especially near the end when he confesses to an infidelity (to us, not to her).The understatement here, and the books lyrical concluding passage, make this a warm, enduring portrait of the artist as a young man. Even if not all of it really happened.

Ernest Hemingway. A big name in the literary game. I was always hesitant to read him. Mainly due to his book titles, they never really grabbed me, feeling masculine and daunting. I thought he was a author I would struggle to connect with. How wrong I was. This retrospective memoir of his early writing life in Paris as an expatriate set in the 20s was a great place to start, getting a good sense of Ernest as a young man before his fame as a well loved author. Theres so much beauty and wonder in the writing. Some of my favourite things to read about are all contained in this book. Paris, books, art and the decadent feasting on a budget all whet my appetite for this book. I felt excited being transported back into that bygone era where Paris becomes the literati playground for indulgence in the pursuit of passion and living the good life despite monetary limitations. Its a name dropping paradise and I lapped it up. Especially the chapters on his relationship with F. Scott Fitzgerald. I really liked the way he describes the struggles and the distractions during the writing process. Who would have thought that would be so interesting to read about! Even the poverty seems like a minor inconvenience and part of the whimsy! Its all part of the glittery appeal of a struggling author finding his forte in the city that is the background to so much inspiration for so many artists!

I'm heading for Paris on a work related trip in a few weeks so I thought I'd get in the mood by dipping into papa. BIG MISTAKE. I guess you had to be there. This is nothing but a bunch of mundane moments strung together by some boring name dropping and squalid hygiene habits.I've never really been a fan of anything other than Ernie's shorter stories and now I remember why. He didn't write briefly for effect. He did it because he didn't really know enough words. It always sounds like he's peeking over his chubby shoulder looking for the camera ready to laud-scape his every thought.A moveable feast is really nothing more than a moveable fat man looking for a meal and some hotties to hang on his precious words.Paris prep is far better satisfied by listening to some Django, sipping on a crema coffee and pondering the reason cuff links are used on french-cuffed shirts.