"Forms of combat": Hemingway, the critics, and 'Green Hills of Africa.'

IN DECEMBER 1935, Ernest Hemingway complained to Maxwell Perkins, his editor at Charles Scribner's Sons, that his book about his African safari, Green Hills of Africa (published only two months earlier) had been "ruined" by three mistakes. The first two were made by Scribners: they had placed too high a price on the book ($2.75), and had not advertised it adequately. The third mistake was Hemingway's: he had dared the critics to attack him, and they had responded by "ganging up" on the book when they reviewed it (SL 281). Throughout the book, Hemingway does belittle the critical establishment, most emphatically in his conversation with Kandisky in Chapter One where he states that writers are ruined by listening to critics:

Or else they read the critics. If they believe the critics when they say

they are great then they must believe them when they say they are rotten

and they lose confidence. At present we have two good writers who

cannot write because they have lost confidence through reading critics.

If they wrote, sometimes it would be good and sometimes not so

good and sometimes it would be quite bad, but the good would get

out. But they have read the critics and they must write masterpieces.

The masterpieces the critics said they wrote. They weren't masterpieces,

of course. They were just quite good books. So now they cannot

write at all. The critics have made them impotent. (GHOA 23-24)

A great deal of Green Hills of Africa is vitriolic towards critics. As Robert O. Stephens has pointed out, the safari memoir, along with much of his other nonfiction, was a weapon in Hemingway's "career-long feud . . . with critics in general and with certain literary adversaries in particular" (109). But Hemingway's method of attack is much more specific and calculated than it appears on the surface. In the book Hemingway responds to criticisms of his last two books: Death in the Afternoon (1932) and Winner Take Nothing (1933); specifically, he responds to disparagements of his writing style and his subject matter, which some leftist reviewers linked to his lifestyle.

Hemingway had already vented some of his anger at these critics in conversations and letters to friends; he had also used Esquire as a platform from which to defend his life and letters and to respond to his perceived attackers. But in Green Hills of Africa he made his most involved and systematic answer to his critics. He gave his readers just what one of his critics, Gertrude Stein, said she wanted:

[T]he real story of Hemingway, not those he writes but the confessions

of the real Ernest Hemingway. It would be for another audience than

the audience Hemingway now has, but it would be very wonderful!

(Stein 202)

Green Hills of Africa is by no means the "real story of Hemingway," but it is what Hemingway presented as the real story. The book supposedly describes Hemingway hunting animals in Africa, but under the surface is the story of Hemingway hunting the critics of his books.Hemingway takes specific criticisms of these works and, by giving his own aesthetic opinions as replacements, answers his detractors.

Hemingway never denied that he was reacting in Green Hills of Africa to negative reviews. In a letter to Perkins written around the end of December 1935, Hemingway explained how he came to mention critics in the memoir:

About the critics, offending same, I never thought about them at all. Only put down what I told the Austrian in response to questions and what I was thinking then. You remember Winner Take Nothing came out while we were away and I got the first reviews in Arusha and read them in the plane flying to Nairobi. That was how I happened to think about critics at all when I came back hunting after that time being ill in Nairobi. I didn't set out to offend them but to tell the truth and if the truth offended them tent pis. It is all to the good in a few years. But hard on you as publishers of present book.

Hemingway, whether intentionally or unintentionally, was lying to Perkins. He had received the first reviews of Winner Take Nothing while he was in Paris in November 1933, not in Africa in January 1934. In a letter to Perkins from Paris, dated 16 November 1933, Hemingway reacts angrily to reviews of the collection by Horace Gregory ( The New York Herald Tribune Books), John Chamberlain (The New York Times), Henry Canby (Saturday Review of Literature), and Clifton Fadiman (The New Yorker) (SL 399-401). Furthermore, the only other account of the safari, Pauline Hemingway's diary, mentions the encounter with Hans Koritschoner (the original "Kandisky"), but includes no indication that he and Hemingway discussed literary matters. Hemingway may have embellished his account of the meeting in order to address his critics.

After the 1929 publication of A Farewell to Arms, Hemingway became one of the most popular and well-known writers in America. With almost overwhelmingly positive reviews of this best-seller, Hemingway vaulted into the literary and social limelight of the 1930s. But the honeymoon between Hemingway and his critics did not last long. His bullfighting guide, Death in the Afternoon, received mixed reviews, and many critics saw the stories in Winner Take Nothing as too much like his earlier work. T. S. Matthews, for example, reviewing Winner Take Nothing for The New Republic, described Hemingway as someone who "still writes in terms of an-experience [World War I] which, to its survivors at least, cannot be considered final" (24). Matthews, along with Clifton Fadiman and others, thought that Hemingway was resting on his laurels and lacked the ability or courage to try anything new. Fadiman complained in The New Yorker that the short stories contained "strong echoes of earlier work. They mark time whereas `A Farewell to Arms' was a magnificent leap forward" (58).

By the early 19305 the sparse, direct writing-style which had done much to establish Hemingway as a unique writer had become something of a liability. A host of pseudo-Hemingways had barged their way onto the American literary stage. As Terence Ford wrote in his Boolman parody of Hemingway, "Men Without Sales":

"It's his [Hemingway's] seconds. He's a fine boy but his seconds are

killing him," he said.

"Yes, too many Hemingway seconds. They kill the sport," I said.

"They get under foot," he said.

"They get in the publishers' heir," I said.

"They're killing the publishers,"he said. (140)

This piece points to the growing ranks of the "Hemingway School," but also shows that his style was now becoming more and more the stuffof burlesque--ironic for a writer who had helped launch his career by parodying Sherwood Anderson and Gertrude Stein in The Torrents of Spring (1926).

Some critics began calling for a new type of writing and used Hemingway as an example of a "simple" writer no longer capable of creating prose like that found in A Farewell to Arms. Isidor Schneider, writing in The Nation, believed that "[s]implicity as a literary virtue--perhaps, too, as a general virtue--is being seriously overstressed in our time" (184).(1) While Hemingway is not criticized directly in the article, Schneider does attack him by dubbing the purveyors of simplicity as "followers of Hemingway" and "the Hemingway school" (184). Deploring simplicity as a way to evade emotions, Schneider called for a more complex style:

Some great books have been written in a bare style, but most great

books have been written in an elaborate style, making use of all the

resources of rhetoric. It would be unnatural in a writer deliberately to

ignore devices which would intensify and allusions which would enrich

his work. To write barely is to meet the problem of style, like that of

the emotions, by an evasion. (185)

Lawrence Leighton's Hound & Horn essay, "An Autopsy and a Prescription," criticized F. Scott Fitzgerald and John Dos Passos as well as Hemingway. More critical of Hemingway's writing than Schneider, Leighton found the work of these novelists "repulsive, sterile, and dead" (520-21). He called Hemingway a lazy writer and claimed that this laziness "confines Hemingway's attention to primitive rudimentary beings. Hemingway's appeal exists only for the tabloid mind" (524). Leighton also took Hemingway to task for something for which earlier critics had praised him--his adept dialogue--writing that Hemingway's reliance on first person narrators dooms his novels to "looseness" where "dialogue tends to take the place of structure" (525). He felt that Hemingway ignored the "continuity of human experience" and lacked "an attention to history, an awareness of tradition, and a regard for the future" (537). To condemn Hemingway and the others, Leighton not only compared them to contemporary authors such as James Joyce, Marcel Proust, and Raymond Radiguet, but also measured them against American literary tradition:

I do not propose to invoke the tradition at the existence of which I

hinted because I doubt whether the writers whom I regard as foremost

in that tradition, Melville, Hawthorne, James (to whom one might add

Cooper and Mark Twain) would receive general acceptance, and, furthermore,

because such heavy artillery is not needed: their own contemporaries

are enough to condemn the three novelists I have selected. (521)

In light of these critiques, Hemingway's conversation with Kandisky in Green Hills of Africa about the critics and writing takes on added dimensions. The discussion between Kandisky and Hemingway is focused on the American tradition which Leighton had invoked and allows Hemingway an opportunity to respond. In America, Hemingway states,"`We do not have great writers'" (19). He attacks the American tradition established by Melville, Hawthorne, and the other nineteenth-century authors, but his comments are really an attack on Schneider and Leighton:

"We have had writers of rhetoric who had the good fortune to find a

little, in a chronicle of another man and from voyaging, of how things,

actual things, can be, whales for instance, and this knowledge is

wrapped in the rhetoric like plums in a pudding. Occasionally it is

there, alone, unwrapped in pudding, and it is good. This is Melville.

But the people who praise it, praise it for the rhetoric which is not

important. They put a mystery in which is not there." (20)

In this passage Hemingway debases the importance Schneider placed on rhetoric. The Melville reference clearly points to Leighton's criticism, which Hemingway continues to answer later in the conversation:

"Emerson, Hawthorne, Whittier, and Company. All our early classics

who did not know that a new classic does not bear any resemblance to

the classics that have preceded it. It can steal from anything that it is

better than, anything that is not a classic, ail classics do that. Some

writers are only born to help another writer to write one sentence. But

it cannot derive from or resemble a previous classic." (21)

Hemingway had said as much in a letter to Archibald MacLeish, dated 8 August 1932. Referring directly to Leighton's article, he asked,"When will professors learn that no new classic ever resembles any previous classic--that the way to produce classics is not to imitate classic models."

Hemingway's "simple" writing style did not concern other critics. They did, however, deplore the "dirty" language in Hemingway's prose; the only criticism H. L. Mencken leveled against Death in the Afternoon in his American Mercury review addressed this aspect of Hemingway's style:

Only too often he turns aside from his theme to prove fatuously that

he is a naughty fellow, and when he does so he almost invariably falls

into banality and worse. The reader he seems to keep in his mind's eye 

is a sort of common denominator of all the Ladies' Aid Societies of his

native Oak Park, Ill. The way to shock this innocent grandam, obviously,

is to have at her with the ancient four-letter words. (506)

Seward Collins said much the same in his generally favorable review of the book for The Bookman:

The extreme coarseness of language is indeed an amazing sidelight on

publishing conditions today, that a popular author should insist on

such disregard for the proprieties usually associated with the general

distribution of books through trade. (604)

For Mencken and Collins, Hemingway used "dirty" words only for their shock value, not as a way to accurately depict life.

Hemingway had responded to such charges before. In Death in the Afternoon he mentions the new publishing attitude which allowed authors more latitude with subjects and language, made possible, he jokingly asserts, "through the fine work [Sanctuary] of Mr. William Faulkner"(173). His dearest and most serious articulation of his views is "Defense of Dirty Words: A Cuban Letter," which appeared in the September 1934 issue of Esquire:

Take the matter of dirty words. I doubt if a day has passed in my life in

which I have not heard what Mr. Pegler calls dirty words used. Therefore

how could a writer truly record any entire day and not use dirty

words? (19)

In Green Hills of Africa he applies this argument to his criticism of American Renaissance writers. Hawthorne, Emerson, and the other writers failed--in Hemingway's opinion--because they"'did not use the words that people always have used in speech, the words that survive in language'"(21).

This is the only explicit response in Green Hills of Africa to Mencken and the others who questioned his use of "dirty" words. However, earlier in the book Hemingway levels a veiled attack against Mencken. After Hemingway expresses his view of Melville, Kandisky responds by coming to the defense of rhetoric: "`Yes,' he said. `I see. But it is the mind working, its ability to work, which makes the rhetoric. Rhetoric is the blue sparks from the dynamo.'" Hemingway responds, "`Sometimes, and sometimes it is only blue sparks and what is the dynamo driving?'" (20). While these remarks seem to be directed only towards Melville (and Leighton), they are really directed towards Mencken. Hemingway's probable source for the blue-sparks-and-dynamo metaphor is a letter from Joseph Conrad to George T. Keating, dated 14 December 1922, and published in G. Jean-Aubry's 1927 Joseph Conrad: Life and Letters:

Mencken's vigor is astonishing. It is like an electric current. In all he

writes there is a crackle of blue sparks like those one sees in a dynamo

house amongst revolving masses of metal that gives you a sense of

enormous hidden power. (288)(2)

Only a reader very familiar with Conrad's published letters would recognize the object of Hemingway's attack--only a reader like Mencken. This is part of a conversation going on below the narrative surface of Green Hills of Africa which both illustrates Hemingway's point about stealing from others and hints at the complexity of his seemingly simple prose.

Old friends who were now hated enemies were also on Hemingway's hit list. In the recently serialized Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas, Gertrude Stein claimed that she and Sherwood Anderson had formed Hemingway and that they "were both a little proud and a little ashamed of the work of their minds" (202). Wyndham Lewis further developed this idea in his article on Hemingway for Life & Letters, "The Dumb Ox," berating Hemingway for his "simple" subjects and style, and finding the inspiration for this style in Stein. Lewis called this "the steining of Hemingway" (27). For Lewis, the only difference between Stein and Hemingway was the choice of subject matter:

[I]f you ask yourself how you would be able to tell a page of Hemingway,

if it were unexpectedly placed before you, you would be compelled

to answer, Because it would be like Miss Stein! And if you were

asked how you would know it was not Miss Stein, you would say, Because

it would probably be about prize-fighting war or the bull-ring, and

Miss Stein does not write about war, boxing, or bull-fighting!(24)

Hemingway's reaction to these claims seems very violent. After reading about Stein's work in The New Yorker he told Janet Flanner, in a letter dated 8 April 1933, "By jeesus [sic] will write my own memoirs sometime when I can't write anything else. And they will be funny and accurate and not out to prove a bloody thing" (SL 388). He supposedly punched a vase of tulips in Sylvia Beach's bookshop when he read Lewis's essay (Baker 258). On the surface he seems to have lashed out against Stein, especially in his preface to Jimmie Charters's This Must Be The Place (1934):

Once a woman has opened a salon it is certain that she will write her

memoirs. If you go to the salon you will be in the memoirs; that is, you

will be if your name ever becomes known enough so that its use, or

abuse, will help the sale of the woman's book.(11)

But a letter to Hemingway from Morrill Cody, who assisted Charters with the book, indicates that the idea for attacking Stein was Cody's: "I suppose it has ocurred [sic] to you that the preface to Jimmie's book offers [sic] an opportunity to get in a few digs at Gertrude tein [sic], since both books are about the same persons." Perhaps Cody assumed that Hemingway wanted to attack Stein, or he may have wanted to use the feud to help sell the book. Hemingway had already vented some anger over Stein's attack in October 1933 by writing the unpublished "The Autobiography of Alice B. Hemingway," narrated by the fictional wife of the author:

Gertrude, having been a good writer, having not been appreciated, has

invented a way of avoiding this that a real writer has to go through always

and she writes it all out every day, never changes a word and is

perfectly happy and contented with it. From contented cows, he said.

It doesn't even make her tired.

But this piece was merely private venting, never intended by Hemingway for publication.

Only at the end of Green Hills of Africa's third chapter does Hemingway make his first public answer to Stein. TaLking to P.O.M. about Philip Percival, Hemingway states,"'Yes, and he doesn't have to read books written by some female he's tried to help get published saying how he's yellow"' (65). This judgement is harsh, but not as harsh as the passage in the serialized version (Part II) in which he calls Stein a"`bitch'":

"She's skillful when she's malicious, with all that talent gone to malice ,

and nonsense and self praise. Well, she's cashing in now. Anybody can

whenever he wants. How would you like a little cash, Baby?" (339) Perkins insisted that Hemingway eliminate this passage (which includes Stein's pet name for Toklas ["`Baby'"] ) for the book version. Hemingway modified his tone in answering Stein and Lewis's charges, making it less hostile:

"It's a damned shame, though, with all that talent gone to malice and

nonsense and self-praise. It's a god-damned shame, really. It's a shame

you never knew her before she went to pot. You know the funny thing;

she never could write dialogue. It was terrible. She learned how to do it

from my stuff and used it in that book. She had never written like that

before. She never could forgive learning that and she was afraid people

would notice it, where she'd learned it, so she had to attack me. It's a

funny racket, really. But I swear she was damned nice before she got

ambitious. You would have liked her then, really." (65-66)

Instead of offering a direct attack, the revised passage turns Stein's charge back on her. Hemingway claims that his style is similar to Stein's because she learned from him, not the other way around. The passage also suggests that Hemingway regrets the breach with Stein: he is the one who remembers the old days when he and Stein were "'damned nice"' to one another. Stein is at fault, he hints, not the less-competitive Hemingway. In a letter to Maxwell Perkins, dated 7 September 1935, Hemingway commented on the revision:

That's better. That will make her angrier than bitch, will please you by

not calling a lady a bitch, will make it seem that I care less about her

lying about me, and will please everyone but me who cares only about

honesty.

Well I've fixed it up now. It's all right. Have gotten more how I really

feel about her and given it the small degree of importance that it deserves.

(SL 423-24)

As Barbara Lounsberry points out in her study of the Green Hills of Africa manuscript, with this revision Hemingway turns "his initial contempt into a calculated pity--a more clever rhetorical stance" (37).

Hemingway's lifestyle also became a factor in his relation with critics. Newspapers and magazines of the time began to publicize his leisure pursuits. For example, the 15 May 1933 issue of Vogue focused on how he escaped "`the steady grind'" through fishing and other leisure activities in Key West (qtd. Raeburn 48-49). Hemingway himself promoted this image through the "Letters," for Esquire he began writing in 1933. His agreement with editor Arnold Gingrich allowed him to write on any subject and many of the essays dealt with his fishing and hunting pursuits. While Hemingway travelled from Europe to Key West to Montana, the rest of the country dealt with the Great Depression. Perhaps his exploits provided readers with a distraction from their problems, but some critics thought Hemingway blatantly disregarded the realities of the world. These critics wanted to find a call for social reform and support for leftist causes in his writing. Hemingway made such liberal pleas in "Who Murdered the Vets?" (1935) and later--to a limited extent--in To Have and Have Not (1937) and For Whom the Bell Tolls (1940). But in the early 1930s he resisted the call to write proletarian fiction. As he told Paul Romaine in a letter dated 6 July 1932, "I do not follow the fashions in politics, letters, religion, etc." (SL 363).

Critics such as Malcolm Cowley who deplored the lack of social and political content in his work were most galling to Hemingway. They wanted fiction to be a means of social and political change, but saw in Hemingway only a writer who reveled in sensual experiences without giving any attention to social problems. In his review of Death in the Afternoon for The New Republic, "A Farewell to Spain," Cowley claimed that Hemingway wrote about bullfighting because "it dealt with fundamentals; apparently it was independent of morality, of social implications, of any connection with politics" (76). Hemingway "takes no stand" in his works because "[t]o do so would force him to think about the present and the future" (77). Wyndham Lewis also adopted this view. Hemingway, he claimed, was interested "in war, but not in the things that cause war, or the people who profit by it or in the ultimate human destinies involved in it" (18).

While writing his safari book, Hemingway had responded to such calls for more political writing in one of his Esquire pieces, "Old Newsman Writes: A Letter from Cuba" (December 1934). In the essay, Hemingway savages writers who use their craft to advance political causes:

Now a writer can make himself a nice career while he is alive by espousing

a political cause, working for it, making a profession of believing

in it, and if it wins he will be very well placed. All politics is a matter

of working hard without reward, or with a living wage for a time, in the

hope of booty later. A marl can be a Fascist or a Communist and if his

outfit gets in he can get to be an ambassador or have a million copies of

his books printed by the Government or any of the other rewards the

boys dream about. Because the literary revolution boys are all ambitious.

I have been living for some time where revolutions have gotten

past the parlor or publishers' tee and light picketing stage and I know.

A lot of my friends have gotten excellent jobs and some others are in

jail. But none of this will help the writer as a writer unless he finds

something new to add to human knowledge while he is writing. Otherwise

he will stink like any other writer when they bury him; except,

since he has had political affiliations, they will send more flowers at the

time and later he will stink a little more. (183)

For Hemingway the true subject of art could not be the current political situation since that situation was always changing; the artist had to find "something new" and permanent.

Hemingway expresses similar views on the political responsibilities of an author in the manuscript version of Green Hills of Africa:

"A writer if he is any good should be against the state no matter what

it is. There will always be plenty of bad writers who will work for the

state. He can fight for the state, or for any employer, or any organization

as a man, if he chooses, but if he writes for them he is a whore."

(Alderman Ms 30)

Though this passage was deleted by Hemingway before serialization, much of Green Hills of Africa articulates the same view. Throughout, he attempts to separate art from the political world. During his conversation with Kandisky, Hemingway states his belief that writers should keep their work separate from other matters, especially political and economic beliefs:

"Writers should work alone. They should see each other only after

their work is done, and not too often then: Otherwise they become like

writers in New York. All angleworms in a bottle, trying to derive

knowledge and nourishment from their own contact and from the

bottle. Sometimes the bottle is shaped art, sometimes economics,

sometimes economic-religion. But once they are in the bottle they stay

there" (21-22).

For Hemingway, a writer's politics and what he/she creates has to be separate; once the two become mixed the political beliefs begin shaping what is written, turning it into nothing more than propaganda.

Against the calls of the leftist critics, Hemingway invokes the permanence of true writing. In Chapter Five of Green Hills of Africa, after a long meditation on the power of certain books, Hemingway writes:

For we have been there in the books and out of the books--and where

we go, if we are any good, there you can go as we have been. A country,

finally, erodes and the dust blows away, the people all die and none of

them were of any importance permanently, except those who practised

the arts, and these now wish to cease their work because it is too

lonely, too hard to do, and is not fashionable. A thousand years makes

economics silly and a work of art endures forever, but it is very

difficult to do and now it is not fashionable. People do not want to do

it any more because they will be out of fashion and the lice who crawl

on literature will not praise them. Also it is very hard to do. So what?

So I would go on reading about the river that the Tartars came across

when raiding, and the drunken old hunter and the girl and how it was

then in the different seasons. (109)

Here Hemingway invokes Tolstoy's "The Cossacks," a work that continues to resonate for him because it is beyond politics.

He makes much the same point with his Gulf Stream metaphor in Chapter Ten (147-50). All the governments and political movements of the past are like garbage dumped into the Gulf Stream, still as "clear and blue and unimpressed as it was ever before the tug hauled out the scow" (150). For Hemingway the time has passed to save America, which is starting to blow away (284). He separates himself and his work from the social conditions of his day:

I would come back to Africa but not to make a living from it. I could

do that with two pencils and a few hundred sheets of the cheapest paper.

But I would come back to where it pleased me to live; t6 really live.

Not just let my life pass. Our people went to America because that was

the place to go then. It had been a good country and we had made a

bloody mess of it and I would go, now, somewhere else as we had always

had the right to go somewhere else and as we had always gone.

You could always come back. Let the others come to America who did

not know that they had came too late. Our people had seen it at its best

and fought for it when it was well worth fighting for. Now I would go

somewhere else. We always went in the old days and there were still

good places to go. (285)

Instead of fighting for a political or social system, Hemingway advocates a strategic retreat for the artist. For him the important thing is to get his work done, not try to save a worn-out country or help spread the Communist gospel.

Like Death in the Afternoon and his Esquire letters, Green Hills of Africa allowed Hemingway to talk about himself and his craft more directly than his fiction. In Green Hills of Africa, Hemingway the hunter not only kills animals and describes the African landscape. He hunts the critics of Hemingway the writer, using their own works against them. In doing so, Hemingway left something of permanent value--Green Hills of Africa, one of his clearest articulations of his artistic principles.

NOTES

(1). Schneider may be having fun with the title of Hemingway's first story collection, republished by Charles Scribner's Sons in 1930.

(2). I can find no evidence proving that Hemingway had read any of Conrad's letters, but the two passages are too similar for it to have been a coincidence.

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