So there I was in San Francisco in June and there were two exhibits about Gertrude Stein, one about her life and the other about the art collection she and her family members amassed in 1920’s Paris.
Fascinating. I didn’t know much about Stein–rose is rose; the unforgettable Picasso portrait which, yes, she grew to look like; the salon where Picasso first met Matisse and where young Hemingway nervously came for opinions on his work; Alice B. and the cookbook. But not much beyond that. And nothing at all about her brother Michael and sister-in-law Sarah, who had a close relationship with Matisse.
When I got home I started reading Alice’s cookbook, which was delicious on many levels and had recipes I was tempted by and a delightfully matter-of-fact voice I was charmed by. And then I couldn’t wait to see Woody Allen’s film “Midnight in Paris,” where I could revisit the time and all those new-found friends. And that led to reading “The Paris Wife,” Paula McLain’s novel about Hadley Richardson, Hemingway’s first wife.
And, of course, then I had to read “A Moveable Feast,” Hemingway’s finale book, a memoir, which he labels “fiction,” about those early Paris years. And yesterday I read “The Old Man and the Sea,” which I found beautiful, although, as with his writing about bullfights, I am not entirely sure I see the Large Noble Truth in the killing of large animals.
Now I’m moving on to Martha Gellhorn, Hemingway’s third wife, whose life with him included time spent in Cuba, where, coincidentally, I will be later this fall.
And isn’t it so often like this–reading, like life, interweaving, meandering, leading to unexpected places?
I was just wondering when the next blog entry would come. I agree completely about how one thing leads to another with reading, and life. No I want to read about Gertrude Stein. Thanks for bringig her to our attention.
Deborah