Across the River and into the Trees – Ernest Hemingway

The philosophy teacher in my Italian high-school used to frequently ask us about our readings. Between Paulo Coelhos, Dan Browns, Khaled Hosseinis etc. I like to think that he often turned to me in the hope of talking about something that could pass as literature of some sort. I am also pretty sure I impressed him when I told him that I thought that The Old Man and the Sea was a very average book and that Hemingway’s real masterpiece was Across the River and into the Trees.

Probably that had a lot to do with the desire of a 17-year old to go against the established order (disclaimer: I still think The Old Man and the Sea is really mediocre, but probably A Farwell to Arms is Hemingway’s best work). And it surely had a relation to my love for Venice and to the fact that I pictured Renata to look like my love at the time.

This is the most sentimental of the Hemingway books that I’ve read (i.e. most of them, with the exception of – ironically given the title of this blog – A Moveable Feast and a couple of others) and also one that inspired me, at age 17, to go to Harry’s Bar in Venice for a coffee (alcohol would have been illegal) – standing at the bar, clearly, in order not to get ripped off. Funny thing is: I actually don’t really drink coffee, except before races, when I have a cup half an hour before the start and I gulp it almost like a medicine.