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That Summer in Paris
It was the fabulous summer of 1929 when the literary capital of North America moved to La Rive Gauche—the Left Bank of the Seine River—in Paris. Ernest Hemingway was reading proofs of A Farewell to Arms , and a few blocks away F. Scott Fitzgerald was struggling with Tender Is the Night . As his first published book rose to fame in New York, Morley Callaghan arrived in Paris to share the felicities of literary life, not just with his two friends, Hemingway and Fitzgerald, but also with fellow writers James Joyce, Ford Madox Ford, and Robert McAlmon. Amidst these tangled relations, some friendshipsflourished while others failed. This tragic and unforgettable story comes to vivid life in Callaghan's lucid, compassionate prose.
232 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1963
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1350 people want to read
About the author
Morley Callaghan
71books45followersEdward Morley Callaghan was a Canadian novelist, short story writer, playwright, and TV and radio personality.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 85 reviews
May 31, 2011
This is possibly the best book on expatriate Paris. Probably because as a book it's better than most. For one thing, it uses one incident - Callaghan's boxing match in which he knocked Hemmingway down - as the frame for a well-told story of friendship (he, Hemmingway, Fitzgerald), writing, history, a moment in time, love and more.
It isn't smug (and unconsciously hagiographic) like Fitch's "Sylvia Beach and the Lost Generation." It isn't baffled by the art and literature, like "This Must Be the Place." And it's about 10 times more honest than either Hemmingway's "A Moveable Feast" and McAlmon's "Being Geniuses Together."
It's tauter and yet more human than any other memoir I've read on Paris. The difference is the difference between those writers and their writing and Callaghan, who had a longer career than anyone else there with few exceptions.
If you're only interested in one element of the book - literature, Paris, history, memory, friendship, love - the book will reward you. If you're interested in all of the elements, it might become one of your favorites and you'll re-read it several times, as I've done.
It isn't smug (and unconsciously hagiographic) like Fitch's "Sylvia Beach and the Lost Generation." It isn't baffled by the art and literature, like "This Must Be the Place." And it's about 10 times more honest than either Hemmingway's "A Moveable Feast" and McAlmon's "Being Geniuses Together."
It's tauter and yet more human than any other memoir I've read on Paris. The difference is the difference between those writers and their writing and Callaghan, who had a longer career than anyone else there with few exceptions.
If you're only interested in one element of the book - literature, Paris, history, memory, friendship, love - the book will reward you. If you're interested in all of the elements, it might become one of your favorites and you'll re-read it several times, as I've done.
August 18, 2024
That it would be fun and exciting to be a writer in the Paris of the 1920’s - to participate in the literary circle that included Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald and James Joyce and Ford Madox Ford - is something that has no doubt occurred to many writers and many lovers of literature. And anyone who may have indulged in daydreams of being able to have a drink with their literary heroes at a Left Bank café might therefore enjoy the picture of Paris life that Morley Callaghan sets forth in his 1963 book That Summer in Paris.
Callaghan was a novelist from Toronto; he wrote incisive and thoughtful novels and short stories, and is better known for them today in his Canadian homeland than he is elsewhere. His residency, with his wide Loretto, in Paris in 1929 provided a basis for his setting forth his Memories of Tangled Friendships with Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and Some Others (the book’s subtitle).
The early chapters of That Summer in Paris describe Callaghan’s early life in Ontario, his education at the University of Toronto, and a newspaper job he took at the Toronto Star, where he made friends with a young Chicagoan named Ernest Hemingway. The two tried to help each other with their fledgling careers as writers, and when Hemingway and his wife moved to Paris, he took along some of Callaghan’s early stories, in hopes that doing so might be helpful.
There was a foretaste of the importance of Paris in Callaghan’s life when he received at his Toronto office a copy of a Paris literary magazine, This Quarter. The magazine, Callaghan was excited to note, “had the names of the contributors in bold black lettering: James Joyce, Ezra Pound, Gertrude Stein, Ernest Hemingway, Emmanuel Carnevali, Kay Boyle, Morley Callaghan�.My hands trembling, I opened the magazine and there was my story, ‘A Girl with Ambition’� (pp. 50-51).
But Callaghan’s connection with Paris did not end with the publication of a single short story. Over the next few months, Callaghan found that people assumed that he had been in Paris, been part of the Paris literary circle. “How long since I had been in Paris? [an acquaintance] asked. I confessed I had never been in Paris, that I had written my stories in Toronto and that Hemingway had carried them around with him� (p. 52). On one occasion after another, Callaghan found that “Again I was the ambassador from Paris� (p. 53) � even though he had never set foot there!
Perhaps it was inevitable that Callaghan and his wife would follow Hemingway and his wife to Paris. Once there, Callaghan was particularly interested in resuming his friendship with Hemingway, and in building an acquaintance with F. Scott Fitzgerald. The three, after all, had a common association with the Scribner’s publishing company, and with the legendary editor Maxwell Perkins.
It is at this point that That Summer in Paris really takes off. Throughout the rest of the book, Callaghan shows how his impressions of Hemingway and Fitzgerald, having begun in a straightforwardly positive way, become more nuanced and more troubling � something that one can see happening in many of Callaghan’s own novels and stories.
These features of That Summer in Paris come forth with particular intensity in the passages of the book that show Callaghan boxing with Hemingway. In one early bout between the two writers, Callaghan fees apprehensive because of “all the stories I had heard of Hemingway’s skill and savagery� (p. 104), recalling “the legends I had heard…that he grew savage when hurt and had to kill� (p. 105).
In fact, however, as Callaghan and Hemingway made their way through their first rounds together, Callaghan “soon found out I could hit him easily�, and concluded that, “while he may have thought about boxing, dreamed about it, consorted with old fighters and hung around gyms, I had done more actual boxing with men who could box a little and weren’t just taking exercise or fooling around. Since I could see this for myself, it didn’t matter to me that he would never believe it� (p. 105). Even at this early stage of Hemingway’s career, a good friend like Callaghan can see how Hemingway the man is starting to become a prisoner of Hemingway the literary legend.
Something similar happens in Callaghan’s interactions with Fitzgerald. Consider this passage in which Callaghan describes Fitzgerald as he saw Fitzgerald, early in the two men’s acquaintance:
His manner was correctly courteous. All the little gentlemanly amenities seemed to be important to him. There was nothing lazy or slovenly about his speech or his movements. His light brown hair was cut cleanly and combed exactly, and he spoke with a quiet precise firmness. He was slender and of medium height. In the cut of his jaw, in his little gestures, there was a forcefulness, almost a sense of authority. Perhaps it was the manner of a man who knew he should always appear in this light; yet he did seem to assert a deep confidence in his own importance. It was attractive and somehow reassuring. Later on it came out that this sense of his importance both sustained and tormented him. (p. 150)
It is a lovely bit of literary description, and I can’t help wondering if Callaghan is offering here a bit of affectionate re-creation of Fitzgerald’s style. How easy it is to imagine Fitzgerald including a passage like this one in a book like The Great Gatsby � perhaps to describe Gatsby himself.
As the book goes on, however, Callaghan makes a point of showing how one’s initially positive impressions of Fitzgerald could quickly change � particularly if Fitzgerald had been drinking more than usual, or if Scott Fitzgerald and his wife Zelda Fitzgerald were at a difficult point in their life together.
As That Summer in Paris progresses, Callaghan expresses the sorrow he felt as he saw growing evidence of a rift, an alienation, between Hemingway and Fitzgerald. Callaghan was hurt by what he saw:
It could be said that Ernest, taking the attitude he did to Scott, was belittling him. Of course he was. But Scott stood up under it. I mean as a person he stood up. I never heard him make a single derogatory remark about Ernest. There is a story that he had some kind of envy of Ernest’s great writing skill. It can’t be true. My two friends may not have been seeing each other, and one, Scott, might be feeling hurt and rejected, but the personal loyalty he seemed so desperately bent on offering to Ernest used to embarrass me. (p. 202)
As it turns out, one crucial event � in the boxing ring, actually � seems to put paid to whatever feelings of affection and esteem had once existed between Hemingway and Fitzgerald.
After his return to Toronto, Callaghan recalls that “I don’t know what Scott and Ernest said to each other, after they returned to America. They seem to have remained nominal friends, but they had become very cynical about each other� (p. 251). Looking back, Callaghan is convinced that “in Paris, I’m convinced, Ernest and Scott had never really got together, even in the heyday of their relationship, and then with time passing, it had got harder� (p. 252).
That Summer in Paris is a well-written memoir and a fascinating study in character. Those readers who might wish that, like the modern-day Los Angeles screenwriter in Woody Allen’s film Midnight in Paris (2011), they could somehow magically travel back to Paris in 1929, become part of that exhilarating literary circle, might particularly like this story of a Canadian writer, a Parisian summer, and the challenges of a friendship with two extraordinary men.
Callaghan was a novelist from Toronto; he wrote incisive and thoughtful novels and short stories, and is better known for them today in his Canadian homeland than he is elsewhere. His residency, with his wide Loretto, in Paris in 1929 provided a basis for his setting forth his Memories of Tangled Friendships with Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and Some Others (the book’s subtitle).
The early chapters of That Summer in Paris describe Callaghan’s early life in Ontario, his education at the University of Toronto, and a newspaper job he took at the Toronto Star, where he made friends with a young Chicagoan named Ernest Hemingway. The two tried to help each other with their fledgling careers as writers, and when Hemingway and his wife moved to Paris, he took along some of Callaghan’s early stories, in hopes that doing so might be helpful.
There was a foretaste of the importance of Paris in Callaghan’s life when he received at his Toronto office a copy of a Paris literary magazine, This Quarter. The magazine, Callaghan was excited to note, “had the names of the contributors in bold black lettering: James Joyce, Ezra Pound, Gertrude Stein, Ernest Hemingway, Emmanuel Carnevali, Kay Boyle, Morley Callaghan�.My hands trembling, I opened the magazine and there was my story, ‘A Girl with Ambition’� (pp. 50-51).
But Callaghan’s connection with Paris did not end with the publication of a single short story. Over the next few months, Callaghan found that people assumed that he had been in Paris, been part of the Paris literary circle. “How long since I had been in Paris? [an acquaintance] asked. I confessed I had never been in Paris, that I had written my stories in Toronto and that Hemingway had carried them around with him� (p. 52). On one occasion after another, Callaghan found that “Again I was the ambassador from Paris� (p. 53) � even though he had never set foot there!
Perhaps it was inevitable that Callaghan and his wife would follow Hemingway and his wife to Paris. Once there, Callaghan was particularly interested in resuming his friendship with Hemingway, and in building an acquaintance with F. Scott Fitzgerald. The three, after all, had a common association with the Scribner’s publishing company, and with the legendary editor Maxwell Perkins.
It is at this point that That Summer in Paris really takes off. Throughout the rest of the book, Callaghan shows how his impressions of Hemingway and Fitzgerald, having begun in a straightforwardly positive way, become more nuanced and more troubling � something that one can see happening in many of Callaghan’s own novels and stories.
These features of That Summer in Paris come forth with particular intensity in the passages of the book that show Callaghan boxing with Hemingway. In one early bout between the two writers, Callaghan fees apprehensive because of “all the stories I had heard of Hemingway’s skill and savagery� (p. 104), recalling “the legends I had heard…that he grew savage when hurt and had to kill� (p. 105).
In fact, however, as Callaghan and Hemingway made their way through their first rounds together, Callaghan “soon found out I could hit him easily�, and concluded that, “while he may have thought about boxing, dreamed about it, consorted with old fighters and hung around gyms, I had done more actual boxing with men who could box a little and weren’t just taking exercise or fooling around. Since I could see this for myself, it didn’t matter to me that he would never believe it� (p. 105). Even at this early stage of Hemingway’s career, a good friend like Callaghan can see how Hemingway the man is starting to become a prisoner of Hemingway the literary legend.
Something similar happens in Callaghan’s interactions with Fitzgerald. Consider this passage in which Callaghan describes Fitzgerald as he saw Fitzgerald, early in the two men’s acquaintance:
His manner was correctly courteous. All the little gentlemanly amenities seemed to be important to him. There was nothing lazy or slovenly about his speech or his movements. His light brown hair was cut cleanly and combed exactly, and he spoke with a quiet precise firmness. He was slender and of medium height. In the cut of his jaw, in his little gestures, there was a forcefulness, almost a sense of authority. Perhaps it was the manner of a man who knew he should always appear in this light; yet he did seem to assert a deep confidence in his own importance. It was attractive and somehow reassuring. Later on it came out that this sense of his importance both sustained and tormented him. (p. 150)
It is a lovely bit of literary description, and I can’t help wondering if Callaghan is offering here a bit of affectionate re-creation of Fitzgerald’s style. How easy it is to imagine Fitzgerald including a passage like this one in a book like The Great Gatsby � perhaps to describe Gatsby himself.
As the book goes on, however, Callaghan makes a point of showing how one’s initially positive impressions of Fitzgerald could quickly change � particularly if Fitzgerald had been drinking more than usual, or if Scott Fitzgerald and his wife Zelda Fitzgerald were at a difficult point in their life together.
As That Summer in Paris progresses, Callaghan expresses the sorrow he felt as he saw growing evidence of a rift, an alienation, between Hemingway and Fitzgerald. Callaghan was hurt by what he saw:
It could be said that Ernest, taking the attitude he did to Scott, was belittling him. Of course he was. But Scott stood up under it. I mean as a person he stood up. I never heard him make a single derogatory remark about Ernest. There is a story that he had some kind of envy of Ernest’s great writing skill. It can’t be true. My two friends may not have been seeing each other, and one, Scott, might be feeling hurt and rejected, but the personal loyalty he seemed so desperately bent on offering to Ernest used to embarrass me. (p. 202)
As it turns out, one crucial event � in the boxing ring, actually � seems to put paid to whatever feelings of affection and esteem had once existed between Hemingway and Fitzgerald.
After his return to Toronto, Callaghan recalls that “I don’t know what Scott and Ernest said to each other, after they returned to America. They seem to have remained nominal friends, but they had become very cynical about each other� (p. 251). Looking back, Callaghan is convinced that “in Paris, I’m convinced, Ernest and Scott had never really got together, even in the heyday of their relationship, and then with time passing, it had got harder� (p. 252).
That Summer in Paris is a well-written memoir and a fascinating study in character. Those readers who might wish that, like the modern-day Los Angeles screenwriter in Woody Allen’s film Midnight in Paris (2011), they could somehow magically travel back to Paris in 1929, become part of that exhilarating literary circle, might particularly like this story of a Canadian writer, a Parisian summer, and the challenges of a friendship with two extraordinary men.
July 16, 2012
They say that timing is everything and the fact that this particular writer just happened to be sitting on the Boulevard Montparnasse on the right evening of the right year, means we have a further insight into the lives of those Paris expatriates, Hemingway and Fitzgerald and others. At the same time, this may be an opportunity for some people to discover Morley Callaghan, who is a very fine writer in his own right. His life ran parallel to Hemingway's for some time, as they met in Toronto and later in Paris and remained friends thereafter, even if they saw each other only rarely. In a sense, he is just the person to give us a penetrating look behind the legends that were being created in the cafés and bars of the ville lumière at the end of the thirties. This is a delightful book as well; Callaghan is nobody's fool, which means he's not writing for the mundane reasons that might otherwise be expected, and you can trust him. He is painting a portrait of a world teetering on the very brink (it is the summer of 1929), and in his own artful way, he has succeeded in giving us a rare glimpse into the ill-lit streets and nightclubs just before it all fades away into the decade of hopelessness that followed. It's well worth finding this book if you can - it's a little gem.
March 16, 2009
Morley makes for a great antidote to certain strains of self congratulation found in Papa's assays at the milieu (love them as I do) - he's like the designated driver who can tell you what really went down between the drunks he had to cart about. He's not the writer that Hemingway was but he's capable.
January 2, 2024
Another Moveable Feast
Review of the Exile Editions paperback (2014) of the original Coward-McCann hardcover (1963).
This was published first, in 1963, but it makes for an excellent sequel to Hemingway's (1964).
The above quotes give a good idea of the setting and the gossipy tone of Morley Callaghan's memoir. Callaghan first met Ernest Hemingway in Toronto, Canada in 1923 where they were both working for the Toronto Star and Callaghan's early short-story writing was encouraged and promoted by Hemingway. Callaghan was a Scribners published author along with Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald by the time he and his wife Loretto came to live in Paris for the summer of 1929.
Hemingway's A Moveable Feast (published posthumously in 1964) centres on his 1921-1925 years in Paris and is a paean to the love of his first wife Hadley, but with a bitter tone towards many of his contemporaries. I get a sense that Callaghan's life-long love of Loretto (who is also the book's dedicatee) was what kept him balanced and made for the more good natured tone in his memoir which he wrote in response to Hemingway's death in 1961.
Callaghan had a wish-list of writers he hoped to meet in Paris and manages eventually to meet them all: F. Scott Fitzgerald, James Joyce and Robert McAlmon among them, as well as a then unknown John Glassco (with the nickname of Buffy, under which he appears several times as a couple with his fellow Montrealer Graeme Taylor). The book builds to a climax and crisis where the friendly sparring partners Callaghan and Hemingway were famously mis-timed in a boxing round by Fitzgerald that resulted in Callaghan knocking down the heavier and taller Hemingway. The easily slighted Hemingway is not quick to make friends again afterwards but all ends relatively well.
This 2014 printing by Exile Editions has the bonus content of several reviews and articles by Callaghan about his contemporaries as well as an undated (1980's?) afterword which records a final return trip to Paris by the Callaghans.
Highly recommended if you are intrigued by this locale and this period.
A partial list of related 1920's Paris memoirs:
(1929) by Kiki de Montparnasse
(1933) by Gertrude Stein
(1934) by Jimmie (The Barman) Charters
(1964) by Ernest Hemingway
(1970) by Robert McAlmon (1938 original) & Kay Boyle (1960’s additions)
(1973) by John Glassco
(2007) by Robert McAlmon
and one photography book:
(2015) by Robert Wheeler.
Review of the Exile Editions paperback (2014) of the original Coward-McCann hardcover (1963).
This was published first, in 1963, but it makes for an excellent sequel to Hemingway's (1964).
The Quarter was like a small town. It had little points of protocol, little indignities not to be suffered. - That Summer in Paris, page 109.
Look at it in this way. Scott didn’t like McAlmon. McAlmon no longer liked Hemingway. Hemingway had turned against Scott. I had turned up my nose at Ford. Hemingway liked Joyce. Joyce liked McAlmon. - That Summer in Paris, pg. 169.
The above quotes give a good idea of the setting and the gossipy tone of Morley Callaghan's memoir. Callaghan first met Ernest Hemingway in Toronto, Canada in 1923 where they were both working for the Toronto Star and Callaghan's early short-story writing was encouraged and promoted by Hemingway. Callaghan was a Scribners published author along with Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald by the time he and his wife Loretto came to live in Paris for the summer of 1929.
Hemingway's A Moveable Feast (published posthumously in 1964) centres on his 1921-1925 years in Paris and is a paean to the love of his first wife Hadley, but with a bitter tone towards many of his contemporaries. I get a sense that Callaghan's life-long love of Loretto (who is also the book's dedicatee) was what kept him balanced and made for the more good natured tone in his memoir which he wrote in response to Hemingway's death in 1961.
Callaghan had a wish-list of writers he hoped to meet in Paris and manages eventually to meet them all: F. Scott Fitzgerald, James Joyce and Robert McAlmon among them, as well as a then unknown John Glassco (with the nickname of Buffy, under which he appears several times as a couple with his fellow Montrealer Graeme Taylor). The book builds to a climax and crisis where the friendly sparring partners Callaghan and Hemingway were famously mis-timed in a boxing round by Fitzgerald that resulted in Callaghan knocking down the heavier and taller Hemingway. The easily slighted Hemingway is not quick to make friends again afterwards but all ends relatively well.
This 2014 printing by Exile Editions has the bonus content of several reviews and articles by Callaghan about his contemporaries as well as an undated (1980's?) afterword which records a final return trip to Paris by the Callaghans.
Highly recommended if you are intrigued by this locale and this period.
A partial list of related 1920's Paris memoirs:
(1929) by Kiki de Montparnasse
(1933) by Gertrude Stein
(1934) by Jimmie (The Barman) Charters
(1964) by Ernest Hemingway
(1970) by Robert McAlmon (1938 original) & Kay Boyle (1960’s additions)
(1973) by John Glassco
(2007) by Robert McAlmon
and one photography book:
(2015) by Robert Wheeler.
January 5, 2025
Morley Callaghan, a Canadian writer, met the young Ernest Hemingway when they were both working at a Toronto newspaper. Callaghan heard many stories about Paris, the City of Lights, which at that time (the 1920s) was attracting and nurturing many writers and painters and wannabes.
Callaghan did make it to Paris for a summer, with his charming and sensible wife, and this memoir details the intricacies of a writer's ego, the competitive friendships between writers, and the nuances of the ups and downs and ins and outs of his encounters with Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald as well as the complicated on and off relationship between Hemingway and Fitzgerald.
There is a famous scene in Paris, much mythologized and misreported, that occurred between these three men. Callaghan and Hemingway were boxing companions, and one time Fitzgerald was the time keeper. Hemingway got knocked down by Callaghan and this tale has been told many times many ways, and eventually lead to the end of the friendship between Hemingway and Callaghan (Hemingway felt that Callaghan was perhaps not doing enough to squelch the rumour that Hemingway had been knocked out by the much smaller Canadian).
Callaghan parses the fragile male ego, and the fraternal jealousy between writers, and offers his own opinion of many of the other creators and influencers of the day.
I've read widely about this scene, the literary milieu of Paris in the twenties, and this memoir is certainly one of the best. It felt honest, rather than self-aggrandizing or myth-making.
Callaghan did make it to Paris for a summer, with his charming and sensible wife, and this memoir details the intricacies of a writer's ego, the competitive friendships between writers, and the nuances of the ups and downs and ins and outs of his encounters with Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald as well as the complicated on and off relationship between Hemingway and Fitzgerald.
There is a famous scene in Paris, much mythologized and misreported, that occurred between these three men. Callaghan and Hemingway were boxing companions, and one time Fitzgerald was the time keeper. Hemingway got knocked down by Callaghan and this tale has been told many times many ways, and eventually lead to the end of the friendship between Hemingway and Callaghan (Hemingway felt that Callaghan was perhaps not doing enough to squelch the rumour that Hemingway had been knocked out by the much smaller Canadian).
Callaghan parses the fragile male ego, and the fraternal jealousy between writers, and offers his own opinion of many of the other creators and influencers of the day.
I've read widely about this scene, the literary milieu of Paris in the twenties, and this memoir is certainly one of the best. It felt honest, rather than self-aggrandizing or myth-making.
November 1, 2020
Fra i moltissimi scrittori d’oltreoceano che nei roaring Twenties approdarono a Parigi vi fu anche questo romanziere canadese, assai noto in patria ma molto meno da noi, che riuscì a compiere il mitico viaggio in extremis, cioè nell’estate del 1929, poche settimane prima che la grande crisi economica sconvolgesse il mondo; Callaghan aveva allora ventisei anni, era sposato con una ragazza di nome Loretto (sic), si era laureato in giurisprudenza e aveva lavorato come cronista in un giornale popolare della natia Toronto, in cui per un certo periodo aveva operato come corrispondente in Europa addirittura Ernest Hemingway: il che aveva consentito, fra l’altro, che tra i due si creasse un rapporto d’amicizia, grazie a cui Callaghan riuscì a entrare nel mondo della narrativa e a pubblicare sia su riviste europee dirette da Ezra Pound e da Robert McAlmon, sia negli Stati Uniti con l’editore Scribner. Quando arrivò nella capitale francese, quindi, Callaghan non era uno sconosciuto esordiente: a parte Hemingway, era già in rapporto con Francis Scott Fitzgerald, peraltro mai incontrato di persona, e appunto con McAlmon, sicché poté subito prendere contatti con loro, e in seguito anche con pezzi da novanta come Ford Madox Ford e James Joyce; intorno a McAlmon a quel tempo giravano anche due giovanissimi aspiranti scrittori qui chiamati semplicemente Buffy e Graeme: si tratta di John Glassco (1909-1981), canadese ma di Montreal, e del suo amico e probabilmente boyfriend Graeme Taylor, di cui praticamente si sa solo poco più quanto ne scrive Glassco stesso nelle sue memorie degli anni parigini, pubblicate anche in traduzione italiana qualche anno fa da Sellerio. Dei ricordi di Glassco è noto che spesso e volentieri sono assai poco fededegni. Su quelli di Callaghan qualche perplessità è più che lecita, tenuto conto che furono redatti una trentina di anni dopo i fatti rammentati, all’indomani della morte di Hemingway: a meno che non tenesse un diario, è un po� difficile credere che lo scrittore canadese avesse così chiari nella memoria fatti � che sovente sono fatterelli - e date nella loro esatta successione, anche se è vero che quantomeno per ciò che concerne gl’incontri di pugilato con Hemingway una polemica sorse per alcune indiscrezioni giornalistiche diffuse a ridosso degli avvenimenti, costringendo Callaghan a puntualizzazioni di cui senza dubbio tenne conto nel redigere questo libro. Al lettore moderno cagionerà in ogni caso una certa sorpresa scoprire che degli scrittori conosciuti o frequentati dal Nostro nei pochi mesi trascorsi a Parigi quello a uscirne meglio è proprio quello su cui ci aspetteremmo le peggiori maldicenze, ossia l’estroso e pettegolo McAlmon (purtroppo manca invece un giudizio su Pound, che all’epoca viveva già a Rapallo; Joyce lo conobbe, ma in modo superficiale): però dopotutto chi un po� conosca McAlmon troverà che a conti fatti lui e Callaghan si rassomigliavano, specialmente quando si trattava di trinciare giudizî facili e affrettati su questioni letterarie. Per il resto, da queste pagine non vengono fuori grandi sorprese (ma qualcuna sì: una delle poche celebrità francesi con cui ebbe contatto fu Kiki de Montparnasse, ormai non più compagna di Man Ray e già piuttosto ingrassata): inoltre non mi sembra che Callaghan punti a raffigurare i suoi conoscenti famosi in modo pettegolo e maligno, perché, se mette in luce le stramberie o le debolezze di personaggi ormai entrati nel mito, lo fa tratteggiandone anche l’umanità e i lati simpatici; più che altro, sarà dipeso da comprensibile prudenza lo scriverne con libertà solo una volta che fossero tutti passati a miglior vita. Però a conti fatti, terminato il resoconto, a me Callaghan ha fatto venir in mente un personaggio televisivo di un po� di anni fa, che ricevette, poveraccio, il nomignolo di ottusangolo; ecco, io Callaghan lo definirei un ottusangolo: un bravo ragazzo un po� provinciale, poco sofisticato intellettualmente (ma senza rendersene conto), venuto a Parigi con la moglie, che guarda le bizzarrie artistiche di tanti suoi colleghi con un bonario sorriso di disapprovazione, le descrive con onesta freschezza, e rinunzia subito a entrare in contatto col mondo culturale francese (e con Gertrude Stein, perché a suo giudizio scriveva coi piedi), anche per problemi di barriera linguistica; d’altra parte, faticheremmo a immaginarcelo a suo agio in quel campo di Agramante che era la letteratura d’avanguardia parigina di allora, e perfino fra gli espatriati americani in odor di uranismo, che erano legione, ma che si guardò bene dal frequentare anche solo di striscio. Insomma, diciamo la verità: Callaghan trascorse in Francia pochi mesi da turista, e della Parigi culturale del tempo si perse tutto il meglio. E purtroppo non se ne accorse né allora né trent’anni dopo, quando scrisse il libro.
July 4, 2017
The only reason it took me so long to finish this was because I had it in my office as a lunchtime book; I'd read a chapter or two whenever I had a bit of time at lunch. Finally I just brought it home and finished it in one go. I originally decided to read it as a companion to Hemingway's ; I definitely enjoyed Callahan's writing more, and I think he's underrated. Perhaps it's that I really like his style--understated, wry, slightly self-deprecating humour, deceptively effortless; slightly formal in a pleasantly old-fashioned way, but never stiff.
At first I found this book a pleasant account of the 1920s in Paris, satisfying the same sort of curiosity Hemingway's book did by providing interesting tidbits about famous writers living there at the time. But really this book becomes much more about Callaghan's relationships with Hemingway and with F. Scott Fitzgerald, culminating in one ill-fated boxing match, the account of which begins to take on a life of its own.
And so really, That Summer in Paris is not about Paris, or fame, or writing, as much as it is about friendship, envy, arrogance, vulnerability, and inner demons. Callaghan, the most steady and normal one of the three, becomes an observer, though importantly, not a disinterested one. He is part of the story, but at the same time he is elevated above it, because he is the one with the best mental health, the healthiest marriage (I adored his wife, Loretto, in this book), and the best sense of perspective about himself and his talents, in writing or in boxing. I am sure, as in A Moveable Feast, the author is filtering events and creating a persona with his narrator, but at the same time, from what I have read about Callaghan, I feel like it is probably a little bit more of an honest self-portrait than Hemingway manages in AMF.
At any rate, it's a very good book, and I'd recommend it--especially if you are interested in the Lost Generation in Paris: Hemingway, Stein, Joyce, Sylvia Beach, etc.
At first I found this book a pleasant account of the 1920s in Paris, satisfying the same sort of curiosity Hemingway's book did by providing interesting tidbits about famous writers living there at the time. But really this book becomes much more about Callaghan's relationships with Hemingway and with F. Scott Fitzgerald, culminating in one ill-fated boxing match, the account of which begins to take on a life of its own.
And so really, That Summer in Paris is not about Paris, or fame, or writing, as much as it is about friendship, envy, arrogance, vulnerability, and inner demons. Callaghan, the most steady and normal one of the three, becomes an observer, though importantly, not a disinterested one. He is part of the story, but at the same time he is elevated above it, because he is the one with the best mental health, the healthiest marriage (I adored his wife, Loretto, in this book), and the best sense of perspective about himself and his talents, in writing or in boxing. I am sure, as in A Moveable Feast, the author is filtering events and creating a persona with his narrator, but at the same time, from what I have read about Callaghan, I feel like it is probably a little bit more of an honest self-portrait than Hemingway manages in AMF.
At any rate, it's a very good book, and I'd recommend it--especially if you are interested in the Lost Generation in Paris: Hemingway, Stein, Joyce, Sylvia Beach, etc.
June 8, 2025
"That Summer in Paris" is a well written piece of self-promotion by a Canadian author. Begun shortly after Ernest Hemingway's suicide in 1961 and published in 1963, it is an account of Morley Callaghan's short visit to Paris in 1939 during which he met many of the leading writers of the "Expat" community. Included in the group were Ford Maddox Ford, Sherwood Anderson, Gertrude Stein and Ezra Pound. The two most important however were Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway. Callaghan delivers a trove of anecdotes and entertains the reader from beginning to end.
There is however a problem of veracity. The book starts with what could be lie. Callaghan announces that he had learned from a second-hand source in 1960 that Hemingway had made positive comments about Callaghan in connection with a boxing match that took place in the summer of 1929 during which Callaghan had knocked Hemingway down. Scott Fitzgerald had been the time keeper and it was his failure to end a round at the appropriate time that had lead to Hemingway being knocked down. There is no way to confirm that Hemingway made such comments in 1962 although it is not unlikely that he did. At the end of the book, Callaghan denies that it was he who had leaked the story of the knockdown shortly after the boxing match took place in 1929. Indeed Hemingway and Fitzgerald initially thought that Callaghan had been the culprit but later changed their minds. Again Callaghan could be telling the truth about the incident but I do not think there is any way to prove or disprove it.
What is clear is that Callaghan is using the legendary boxing match to make the claim that he was in Hemingway's inner circle at a certain point in time. Indeed many people have made such a claim. For Callaghan it was particularly important. When Callaghan was writing Canadian reading public was even more colonial that it is today and being linked to a writer of Hemingway's stature was a great benefit.
The boxing match provides the structure and climax for the book. Callaghan's gossip however is interesting throughout the book. He acknowledges that both Hemingway and Fitzgerald were very important in his career and were largely responsible for his first works being published in the United States. He found that both men could lose control occasionally and insult their friends. However both were fundamentally loyal and forgiving. Callaghan felt that both desperately wanted a reconciliation
Callaghan had a low opinion of the French writers (Breton, Eluard, Aragon, Soupault, etc.) of the era. Above all he disliked André Gide. Callaghan felt sympathy for Zelda Fitzgerald and considered Pauline Hemingway to be bossy. He agreed with the theory of Scott Fitzgerald that Hemingway had four wives because he needed a new partner for every major shift in his literary direction. Callaghan was particularly nasty towards his fellow Canadian John Glassco referring to him as Buffy. As a cradle Catholic, he found converts irritating.
"That Summer in Paris" certainly has interest for Canadian readers of my generation. Outside of Canada, its appeal will be limited to those who are fascinated by the Expat community.
There is however a problem of veracity. The book starts with what could be lie. Callaghan announces that he had learned from a second-hand source in 1960 that Hemingway had made positive comments about Callaghan in connection with a boxing match that took place in the summer of 1929 during which Callaghan had knocked Hemingway down. Scott Fitzgerald had been the time keeper and it was his failure to end a round at the appropriate time that had lead to Hemingway being knocked down. There is no way to confirm that Hemingway made such comments in 1962 although it is not unlikely that he did. At the end of the book, Callaghan denies that it was he who had leaked the story of the knockdown shortly after the boxing match took place in 1929. Indeed Hemingway and Fitzgerald initially thought that Callaghan had been the culprit but later changed their minds. Again Callaghan could be telling the truth about the incident but I do not think there is any way to prove or disprove it.
What is clear is that Callaghan is using the legendary boxing match to make the claim that he was in Hemingway's inner circle at a certain point in time. Indeed many people have made such a claim. For Callaghan it was particularly important. When Callaghan was writing Canadian reading public was even more colonial that it is today and being linked to a writer of Hemingway's stature was a great benefit.
The boxing match provides the structure and climax for the book. Callaghan's gossip however is interesting throughout the book. He acknowledges that both Hemingway and Fitzgerald were very important in his career and were largely responsible for his first works being published in the United States. He found that both men could lose control occasionally and insult their friends. However both were fundamentally loyal and forgiving. Callaghan felt that both desperately wanted a reconciliation
Callaghan had a low opinion of the French writers (Breton, Eluard, Aragon, Soupault, etc.) of the era. Above all he disliked André Gide. Callaghan felt sympathy for Zelda Fitzgerald and considered Pauline Hemingway to be bossy. He agreed with the theory of Scott Fitzgerald that Hemingway had four wives because he needed a new partner for every major shift in his literary direction. Callaghan was particularly nasty towards his fellow Canadian John Glassco referring to him as Buffy. As a cradle Catholic, he found converts irritating.
"That Summer in Paris" certainly has interest for Canadian readers of my generation. Outside of Canada, its appeal will be limited to those who are fascinated by the Expat community.
December 17, 2015
This is such an engaging little book which should be read with Hemingway's "A Moveable Feast" as there are similarities between the latter and Morley Callaghan's styles. I had never heard of this writer until I read "The Paris Wife" and followed him up. I'm so pleased I did. He is a thoroughly likable person and a good writer. This slim book is about friendships, their intensity and changing loyalties, and ultimately their fading away. At no time does Callaghan privilege Ernest Hemingway over Scott Fitzgerald, or vice versa, but remains true to both in the face of their competing allegiances. It is also, as the title suggest, about Summer in Paris 1929, mostly the (Latin) Quarter and the cafes frequented by the expatriate writers. Callaghan absolutely nails it when he says of being in Paris: "It's a kind of otherworldliness." It's as observers of this "otherworldliness" that we can only ever be as visitors to Paris. Morley Callaghan does a pretty good job of taking us there.
August 18, 2008
Lost or borrowed out my old Penguin Classics (orange spine) paperback copy purchased in 1993 from a used bookstore on main street in Bozeman, MT. This is the best memoir there is about 1920's literary Paris, bar none, and that short list includes Hemingway's A Moveable Feast and Stein's Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas. It is that good and, unfortunately, vastly overlooked. I'm glad to see it is back in print.
Best passage in the book (for me) is the one in which Callaghan talks about how literary poseurs often dress to look the avante-guard part, drawing attention to themselves, while those doing the real work walk the streets in nondescript, un-writerly garb. A wonderful observation, apt in every age.
Best passage in the book (for me) is the one in which Callaghan talks about how literary poseurs often dress to look the avante-guard part, drawing attention to themselves, while those doing the real work walk the streets in nondescript, un-writerly garb. A wonderful observation, apt in every age.
June 19, 2017
I've read many books about Paris and the writers (and artists) who lived and thrived there in the 20s and 30s including Memoirs of Montparnasse by John Glassco, Being Geniuses Together by Robert McAlmon and Kay Boyle, The Last Time I Saw Paris by Elliot Paul (he didn't hang around with the others so this lovely book is really just about him and the colorful neighborhood he lived in which was off the expat/artist beaten track) and of course Hemingway's A Moveable Feast.
Except for Paul's book, which isn't really about the other writers or artists, this one seems to me to be the best -- well written, but mainly the least colored and most honest. I'm not familiar with Callaghan's other writing, so I can't judge him. But in this book he seems to give a fair, honest account with no ax to grind.
Callaghan has good and not so good things to say about his colleagues, mainly focusing on Hemingway and Fitzgerald. Now that I've read this account, I am going back to reread the others, starting with A Moveable Feast, and see how the different accounts of the same time and place and same cast of characters compares. Anyone interested in this period, I would advise you do the same. Because even though many of our best and most famous English-language writers were in the same place at the same time, they each seem to have a very different story to tell about it (as do their biographers).
Except for Paul's book, which isn't really about the other writers or artists, this one seems to me to be the best -- well written, but mainly the least colored and most honest. I'm not familiar with Callaghan's other writing, so I can't judge him. But in this book he seems to give a fair, honest account with no ax to grind.
Callaghan has good and not so good things to say about his colleagues, mainly focusing on Hemingway and Fitzgerald. Now that I've read this account, I am going back to reread the others, starting with A Moveable Feast, and see how the different accounts of the same time and place and same cast of characters compares. Anyone interested in this period, I would advise you do the same. Because even though many of our best and most famous English-language writers were in the same place at the same time, they each seem to have a very different story to tell about it (as do their biographers).
January 7, 2010
Morley Callaghan was only twenty-six years old when he spent the summer of 1929 in Paris with his wife. He had been encouraged by Ernest Hemingway when they were both journalists in Toronto and looked forward to seeing Hemingway again at his place in Paris. Along the way he stops in New York and meets Sinclair Lewis while establishing himself with the editor Maxwell Perkins at Scribner's who publishes his first book. But it is in Paris that he tries to make a home for that one summer. In addition to Hemingway there is Fitzgerald and McAlmon with whom he develops some rapport. He manages to meet with "Jimmy" Joyce and his wife in spite of the protectiveness of Sylvia Beach who is on a mission to guard the privacy of Joyce. This memoir is uneven but it is difficult to avoid some interest in the shenanigans of the trio of Scott, Ernest and Morley when the latter duo engage in boxing matches or when Morley and his wife encounter Scott and Zelda on the afternoon following a bender with them wasted in their apartment. Callaghan would go on to write unmemorable novels, but his summer in Paris reminds me that he was one of a cluster of the twentieth century's greatest writers.
September 28, 2016
I was amazed at how boring life in Paris could be - even with the added potential entertainment value of Hemingway! I felt like I was stuck at a party with somebody who constantly name drops and I just couldn't quite get away to actually enjoy myself.
June 21, 2022
It was the following summer when a man from one of the wire services telephoned and told me that Hemingway was dead. I couldn't believe it. After a pause I said, "Don't worry, he'll turn up again." The newspaperman insisted that Hemingway had blown his head off with a shotgun. Walking out to my wife I said, "Hemingway is dead." "Oh, no," she said. "He can't be." Even though we hadn't really talked about him for years we assumed that he would always be secure in some place in some other country strutting around, or making a fool of himself, or writing something beautiful.
No jak mogłabym kiedykolwiek porzucić Fitzhemingwaya, kiedy potrafią tak pięknie zrobić z siebie pośmiewisko na cały kraj zachowując się jak stare dobre małżeństwo?
Morley Callaghan był jednym z tych pisarzy, którzy rozkwitli w pierwszej połowie XX wieku w wydawnictwie Scribner's Sons; z ogromnym wsparciem m.in. Scotta Fitzgeralda, Ernesta Hemingwaya i Roberta McAlmona. W 1929 udał się razem z partnerką Loretto do Paryża - miasta, które ówczas, zaraz przed wielkim kryzysem giełdy, zbierało u siebie śmietankę amerykańskiej literatury.
Think what a loss to English literature if the lift fails and the three of us are killed. James Joyce
Nie pamiętam, czy wspominałam o tym w recenzji "Such Is My Beloved", powieści Callaghana, ale coś jest tak wyjątkowego w jego stylu, że natychmiast przenosi cię do miejsca akcji, a w tym przypadku, prawie 100 lat w przeszłość; czułam się tak, jakbym rzeczywiście siedziała z historycznymi postaciami w barze czy redakcji, obserwowała ich zachowanie i tak naturalnie na nie reagowała. Bardzo cenię to u autora i podejrzewam, że za to Hemingway tak go docenił.
Morley i Loretto to też przykład jak z obrazka pięknej pary Amerykanów odkrywających ten czarujący, nowy świat, tańczących na paryskiej ulicy w świetle księżyca, imprezujących z McAlmonem i innymi cudownymi, już dawno zmarłymi ludźmi. Doskonale odczujecie ten nastrój, razem z jego światłami i cieniami. Aż im zazdroszczę tej wycieczki. Problem polega tylko na tym, że sam Morley nie przypadł mi do gustu.
Czytając czyjeś wspomnienia jesteśmy skazani na ich osobowość i perspektywę, i potrafię się z tym mierzyć, ale jakoś się z Callaghanem nie zgrałam. Nie spodobało mi się jego zachowanie. Bardzo dużo zyskałam z jego sposobu przedstawiania świata, bo możliwość zobaczenia na żywo Fitzgeralda i Hemingwaya oraz usłyszenia ich rozmowy to takie moje fantastyczne marzenie no. 1, które nigdy się nie spełni, a tu poczułam się trochę, jakbym była z nimi w pokoju. Jednak... nie mogę się kłócić z Morleyem, bo on tych ludzi naprawdę poznał i oddychał z nimi tym samym powietrzem, a ja tylko czytam o nich książki i oglądam dokumenty. Tylko, że porównując calą moją wiedzę zebraną z innych źródeł i wspomnień, widzę, jak autor niewłaściwie zinterpretował tamte wydarzenia oraz swoją rolę w upadku przyjaźni Hemingwaya i Fitzgeralda. Wszyscy mamy zapędy egocentryczne, ale tutaj ta cecha Callaghana stawia ich wszystkich w złym świetle. Również żaden z nich nie był święty, a zirytowało mnie przedstawienie Scotta Fitzgeralda jako takiego, wiemy, że nie był, i musimy przyznać jego błędy. Jeśli już zabierzecie się za "That Summer in Paris", to zachowajcie krytyczne myślenie, będzie wam potrzebne.
W ogóle w drugiej połowie atmosfera książki jest bardzo nieprzyjemna i... Nie mówię o sytuacjach przemocy, bo za nią zawsze trzeba odpowiedzieć, ale powieść dawała mi takie vibes, gdybym ja po śmierci mojej byłej przyjaciółki (a niech żyje całe lata) zaczęła rozpowiadać wszystkim zainteresowanym i niezainteresowanym, jaka miałaby być okropna (nie była). Czego bym nie zrobiła. Callaghan miał prawo przedstawić swoją historię, ale zaniepokoiła mnie jego agresja oraz jedyne, co mógł począć - dociekania przedstawić jako fakty.
Dusił te wszystkie niesnaski w środku, a potem wreszcie wybuchł, jednak sam nie wyszedł na tym za dobrze.
4 gwiazdki za świetny styl Callaghana oraz cudowne wrażenia, które mi podarował, odjęcie jednej gwiazdki za... wrogość do świata.
And as it turned out, the older he got, the more often death kept hovering over his stories; he kept death in his work as a Medieval scholar might have kept a skull on his desk, to remind him of his last end.
PS. I made a joke about Scott living in the shadow of bad Catholic art
Bad Catholic art being- *GUNSHOTS*
PS.2. Zaskakującym efektem ubocznym tej książki jest moje nagłe zainteresowanie Robertem McAlmonem.
No jak mogłabym kiedykolwiek porzucić Fitzhemingwaya, kiedy potrafią tak pięknie zrobić z siebie pośmiewisko na cały kraj zachowując się jak stare dobre małżeństwo?
Morley Callaghan był jednym z tych pisarzy, którzy rozkwitli w pierwszej połowie XX wieku w wydawnictwie Scribner's Sons; z ogromnym wsparciem m.in. Scotta Fitzgeralda, Ernesta Hemingwaya i Roberta McAlmona. W 1929 udał się razem z partnerką Loretto do Paryża - miasta, które ówczas, zaraz przed wielkim kryzysem giełdy, zbierało u siebie śmietankę amerykańskiej literatury.
Think what a loss to English literature if the lift fails and the three of us are killed. James Joyce
Nie pamiętam, czy wspominałam o tym w recenzji "Such Is My Beloved", powieści Callaghana, ale coś jest tak wyjątkowego w jego stylu, że natychmiast przenosi cię do miejsca akcji, a w tym przypadku, prawie 100 lat w przeszłość; czułam się tak, jakbym rzeczywiście siedziała z historycznymi postaciami w barze czy redakcji, obserwowała ich zachowanie i tak naturalnie na nie reagowała. Bardzo cenię to u autora i podejrzewam, że za to Hemingway tak go docenił.
Morley i Loretto to też przykład jak z obrazka pięknej pary Amerykanów odkrywających ten czarujący, nowy świat, tańczących na paryskiej ulicy w świetle księżyca, imprezujących z McAlmonem i innymi cudownymi, już dawno zmarłymi ludźmi. Doskonale odczujecie ten nastrój, razem z jego światłami i cieniami. Aż im zazdroszczę tej wycieczki. Problem polega tylko na tym, że sam Morley nie przypadł mi do gustu.
Czytając czyjeś wspomnienia jesteśmy skazani na ich osobowość i perspektywę, i potrafię się z tym mierzyć, ale jakoś się z Callaghanem nie zgrałam. Nie spodobało mi się jego zachowanie. Bardzo dużo zyskałam z jego sposobu przedstawiania świata, bo możliwość zobaczenia na żywo Fitzgeralda i Hemingwaya oraz usłyszenia ich rozmowy to takie moje fantastyczne marzenie no. 1, które nigdy się nie spełni, a tu poczułam się trochę, jakbym była z nimi w pokoju. Jednak... nie mogę się kłócić z Morleyem, bo on tych ludzi naprawdę poznał i oddychał z nimi tym samym powietrzem, a ja tylko czytam o nich książki i oglądam dokumenty. Tylko, że porównując calą moją wiedzę zebraną z innych źródeł i wspomnień, widzę, jak autor niewłaściwie zinterpretował tamte wydarzenia oraz swoją rolę w upadku przyjaźni Hemingwaya i Fitzgeralda. Wszyscy mamy zapędy egocentryczne, ale tutaj ta cecha Callaghana stawia ich wszystkich w złym świetle. Również żaden z nich nie był święty, a zirytowało mnie przedstawienie Scotta Fitzgeralda jako takiego, wiemy, że nie był, i musimy przyznać jego błędy. Jeśli już zabierzecie się za "That Summer in Paris", to zachowajcie krytyczne myślenie, będzie wam potrzebne.
W ogóle w drugiej połowie atmosfera książki jest bardzo nieprzyjemna i... Nie mówię o sytuacjach przemocy, bo za nią zawsze trzeba odpowiedzieć, ale powieść dawała mi takie vibes, gdybym ja po śmierci mojej byłej przyjaciółki (a niech żyje całe lata) zaczęła rozpowiadać wszystkim zainteresowanym i niezainteresowanym, jaka miałaby być okropna (nie była). Czego bym nie zrobiła. Callaghan miał prawo przedstawić swoją historię, ale zaniepokoiła mnie jego agresja oraz jedyne, co mógł począć - dociekania przedstawić jako fakty.
Dusił te wszystkie niesnaski w środku, a potem wreszcie wybuchł, jednak sam nie wyszedł na tym za dobrze.
4 gwiazdki za świetny styl Callaghana oraz cudowne wrażenia, które mi podarował, odjęcie jednej gwiazdki za... wrogość do świata.
And as it turned out, the older he got, the more often death kept hovering over his stories; he kept death in his work as a Medieval scholar might have kept a skull on his desk, to remind him of his last end.
PS. I made a joke about Scott living in the shadow of bad Catholic art
Bad Catholic art being- *GUNSHOTS*
PS.2. Zaskakującym efektem ubocznym tej książki jest moje nagłe zainteresowanie Robertem McAlmonem.
June 17, 2023
This isn't a book I'd likely have picked up if I stumbled upon it. It's not even a book I'd likely have stumbled upon. But that's one of the blessings of book groups � they push you in directions you might need a push.
I'd never heard of Morley Callaghan before, and of course he paints himself as a likeable, sympathetic character. He was genuinely fond of Hemingway and Fitzgerald, but I can't say I came away fond of either. Hemingway was Mr. Toughguy on the outside, but his inner character was an effeminate wuss. Fitzgerald was just a sad, sad case. I felt more contempt for the one and more pity for the other, but no warm affection for either.
Max Perkins I recognized from the movie Genius. He comes across well in both settings. Here he plays peacekeeper amongst the massive egos with whom he worked. I should see if there's a bio just of him. It'd be interesting to get a deeper look at an editor of that magnitude.
I'd never heard of Morley Callaghan before, and of course he paints himself as a likeable, sympathetic character. He was genuinely fond of Hemingway and Fitzgerald, but I can't say I came away fond of either. Hemingway was Mr. Toughguy on the outside, but his inner character was an effeminate wuss. Fitzgerald was just a sad, sad case. I felt more contempt for the one and more pity for the other, but no warm affection for either.
Max Perkins I recognized from the movie Genius. He comes across well in both settings. Here he plays peacekeeper amongst the massive egos with whom he worked. I should see if there's a bio just of him. It'd be interesting to get a deeper look at an editor of that magnitude.
January 3, 2024
Lots of "glamorous wandering" in this book, but also some slips and stumbles.
Enjoyed some of the early Toronto reminiscing, but sometimes it felt like I'd been cornered at a party by someone telling me their life story in rosy, but persistently precise, detail.
The Paris vignettes were better. Callaghan has an impressive memory, and lets you in on glittery private conversations with Joyce, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Robert McAlmon, Sylvia Beach, Max Perkins, Sherwood Anderson, and more.
I could have done without all the self-aggrandizing, though. Callaghan seems to regard himself throughout as basically on the same level as Hemingway, maybe even Fitzgerald and Joyce, which is insanity.
The inner monologues and self-centred reflections distract from the reason everyone is reading this book: to learn more about Paris in the 20s.
Enjoyed some of the early Toronto reminiscing, but sometimes it felt like I'd been cornered at a party by someone telling me their life story in rosy, but persistently precise, detail.
The Paris vignettes were better. Callaghan has an impressive memory, and lets you in on glittery private conversations with Joyce, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Robert McAlmon, Sylvia Beach, Max Perkins, Sherwood Anderson, and more.
I could have done without all the self-aggrandizing, though. Callaghan seems to regard himself throughout as basically on the same level as Hemingway, maybe even Fitzgerald and Joyce, which is insanity.
The inner monologues and self-centred reflections distract from the reason everyone is reading this book: to learn more about Paris in the 20s.
July 9, 2022
A nostalgic memoir, as the title suggests, of friendship and Paris. Callaghan explores his relationships with the famous writers and artists of the Lost Generation, especially Hemingway and Fitzgerald, trying to make sense of the small slights and misunderstandings that upend relationships, the difficulty men often have in expressing their emotions, and the challenges of dealing with larger than life personalities. It is poignant, sad, and tinged with regrets of words said and unsaid.
December 1, 2017
Callaghan writes a wonderful account of his summer in Paris from beginning to end. His writing style is short and sweet thanks to his background in journalism. He has a great sense of humour which is mixed seemlessy with incredible dramatic depth at times.
He begins by outlining his start as a reporter in his hometowm of Toronto and paints a fantastic picture of an aggressive newsroom. If you are from Toronto, this part will definitely speak to you. Once introduced to Hemingway his life is forever changed and he yearns to be reunited with his friend in Paris in search of inner freedom. In Paris he recounts countless nights and afternoons full of vibrant atmospheres. He also describes the growth of his friendship with both Fitzgerald and Hemingway in great detail.
Cue the boxing. This book did not disappoint in this department. The build up is perfect. He foreshadows and recounts the boxing match with remarkable eloquence. The denouement of chapter 26 describes the event as heartbreaking. It was definitely the climax for me.
Finally he finishes with chapters describing just how difficult it was to deal with losing the friendships of his good friends. It’s sad yet well captured: “Insulted and injured people, who shake hands from a distance or write apologetic letters find themselves lying awake at night making up little speeches, some of them angry, and the one to whom these secret speeches are addressed in the dark never has a chance to answer�. It’s a true inner struggle.
To finish off I want to leave you with some quips and highlights. This book had me cackling at every turn of the page making me think I must've been difficult to read beside.
"But then, as I knew, Hemingway himself often seemed to have a little stutter, and I smiled to myself"-Response to Hemingway's suggestion he drop debating
"The lift rose so slowly. I held my breath. No one spoke. Out of the long silence, with the three of us jammed together, came a little snicker from Joyce. "Think what a loss to English literature if the lift fails and the three of us are killed," he said dryly. - The lift was not supposed to carry more than 2
Please check out chapter 20. It outlines a sparring match with Hemingway, Callaghan and Joan Miro. The pages scream out "I can't make this up, this really happened".
He begins by outlining his start as a reporter in his hometowm of Toronto and paints a fantastic picture of an aggressive newsroom. If you are from Toronto, this part will definitely speak to you. Once introduced to Hemingway his life is forever changed and he yearns to be reunited with his friend in Paris in search of inner freedom. In Paris he recounts countless nights and afternoons full of vibrant atmospheres. He also describes the growth of his friendship with both Fitzgerald and Hemingway in great detail.
Cue the boxing. This book did not disappoint in this department. The build up is perfect. He foreshadows and recounts the boxing match with remarkable eloquence. The denouement of chapter 26 describes the event as heartbreaking. It was definitely the climax for me.
Finally he finishes with chapters describing just how difficult it was to deal with losing the friendships of his good friends. It’s sad yet well captured: “Insulted and injured people, who shake hands from a distance or write apologetic letters find themselves lying awake at night making up little speeches, some of them angry, and the one to whom these secret speeches are addressed in the dark never has a chance to answer�. It’s a true inner struggle.
To finish off I want to leave you with some quips and highlights. This book had me cackling at every turn of the page making me think I must've been difficult to read beside.
"But then, as I knew, Hemingway himself often seemed to have a little stutter, and I smiled to myself"-Response to Hemingway's suggestion he drop debating
"The lift rose so slowly. I held my breath. No one spoke. Out of the long silence, with the three of us jammed together, came a little snicker from Joyce. "Think what a loss to English literature if the lift fails and the three of us are killed," he said dryly. - The lift was not supposed to carry more than 2
Please check out chapter 20. It outlines a sparring match with Hemingway, Callaghan and Joan Miro. The pages scream out "I can't make this up, this really happened".
November 27, 2009
that summer in paris was like old home week for me: i got to visit with hemingway, fitzgerald, and joyce back in the heyday of paris in the 20s which i haven't done in some time. callaghan writes cleanly and well, but sometimes his ego is exhausting. despite the fact i'm canadian as he is, and from toronto, none of his books were on my school syllabus growing up, whereas mordecai richler, robertson davies, and margaret atwood are staples, and i'm sure that would have burned him up because he had such a high estimation of his own talent. nonetheless, it is an easy read, filled with interesting little observations and memories of some of the greatest writers we have yet seen. it warmed the cockles of my heart to walk with callaghan and hemingway on the streets i know so well, in the centre of my city. the book was written in the year after hemingway's death, and begins at the beginning with callaghan's luck in joining the newspaper staff at the toronto [daily:] star when hemingway worked there.
lesser figures like robert mcalmon are also old friends to me, and even buffy and graeme make an appearance. buffy was john glassco's nickname, and he wrote another account of these days, from the perspective of a very minor writer entitled which i read and enjoyed many years ago. he never palled around with hemingway, but i recall a very fascinating and poignant portrait of lord alfred douglas, (affectionately known as bosie to his friends, lover wilde, and to posterity) in his later years.
perhaps the most interesting thing to me about this book was the stand against florid writing that hemingway and callaghan and others made during this era. the journalistic school that they embraced changed the face of literature for a time, and while i see strengths in all styles of writing, i am coming to a crossroads for myself about what i need the writing i read to be, and his observations shed some light on that.
lesser figures like robert mcalmon are also old friends to me, and even buffy and graeme make an appearance. buffy was john glassco's nickname, and he wrote another account of these days, from the perspective of a very minor writer entitled which i read and enjoyed many years ago. he never palled around with hemingway, but i recall a very fascinating and poignant portrait of lord alfred douglas, (affectionately known as bosie to his friends, lover wilde, and to posterity) in his later years.
perhaps the most interesting thing to me about this book was the stand against florid writing that hemingway and callaghan and others made during this era. the journalistic school that they embraced changed the face of literature for a time, and while i see strengths in all styles of writing, i am coming to a crossroads for myself about what i need the writing i read to be, and his observations shed some light on that.
January 9, 2016
As a follow up to Shakespeare and Company by Sylvia Beach and A Moveable Feast by Hemingway, this completes a set - each perspective a little different, but the players the same - at least the major ones. Callaghan does not make it into the other two books, but his role and interactions with Scott and Hemingway are fascinating and his insights into the Paris scene add to my overall impression of this creative age.
I am glad to discover Callaghan who is Canadian and therefore does not get as much attention, but it is the subtle personalities and insecurities of the Two Great American Authors that really makes the book valuable.
It is a memoir and as such has most value to those of us curious about these individuals what the muse was that had them revolving around Joyce, Stein, Ford, and other lesser known, but important figures.
I am glad to discover Callaghan who is Canadian and therefore does not get as much attention, but it is the subtle personalities and insecurities of the Two Great American Authors that really makes the book valuable.
It is a memoir and as such has most value to those of us curious about these individuals what the muse was that had them revolving around Joyce, Stein, Ford, and other lesser known, but important figures.
March 2, 2020
This book first published in 1963, is Morley Callaghan’s recollections of the time he spent living on the left Bank in Paris with his wife Loretto during the summer of 1929. The book was reissued in 2013 in an expanded edition years after Callaghan and his wife had returned to their home in Toronto and includes literary critiques Callaghan wrote on Hemingway, Joyce, Fitzgerald and McAlmond.
At the time, Paris was considered the literary capital of the world, a place writers moved to write and spend time with other writers. Callaghan had met Hemingway when the two were both working for The Toronto Star as reporters. Hemingway was the newspaper’s European correspondent and the two developed a friendship often meeting at The Star library to discuss writers and writing. Callaghan had always wanted to be a writer and Hemingway encouraged him to write fiction. Callaghan felt he had a friend, a fellow writer who thought he had merit
When Hemingway left to return to Paris, he urged Callaghan to come as well. Callaghan vowed to get there as soon as he could and meanwhile wrote short stories he sent off to Hemingway who passed them around to his Paris friends.
When Callaghan finally set out for Paris, he had the praise and encouragement of legendary New York editor Max Perkins who had helped Hemingway and Fitzgerald on their way to a literary career. He had just had his first novel published in New York and was confident he would have an even deeper friendship with Hemingway now that he was an established writer. He looked forward to meeting Hemingway’s friend Scott Fitzgerald and thought the three of them could become literary companions. At the time, Hemingway was reading proofs of his novel “A Farewell to Arms� and Fitzgerald was struggling with his novel “Tender is the Night�. But when Callaghan arrived in Paris he found the two had a difficult relationship which he found hard to understand.
The Quarter was a small, gossipy little neighborhood with the café the center of its social life, a world of petty rancor, wounded vanity and suspicion. It was not a place where you entertained your friends or where wives showed up to meet their husbands. This was a world of huge egos, jealous rivalries, bitter criticisms, vicious gossip and endless backbiting which should not be surprising. There is no reason why writers who enjoyed each other’s words would enjoy each other’s company.
Callaghan presents himself as an eager young writer, newly married and anxious to meet the writers he had admired for so long. He reminisces about time he spent with famous artists such as James Joyce and Ford Maddox Ford although the majority of the book focuses on the relationship between himself, Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald.
There are many vignettes in the collection, but the main event is the story of what tore the friendship of Callaghan, Fitzgerald and Hemingway apart. Callaghan and Hemingway both enjoyed boxing and were sparring partners who met on a regular basis at the gym at the American Club. As the two set out for their regular session, Fitzgerald asked if he could come along. Hemingway agreed and suggested Fitzgerald serve as timekeeper. The second round went on for a long time and both men got tired. Hemingway became careless, Callaghan hit him with a solid punch and Hemingway went down. At the same time Fitzgerald cried out he had let the round go too long. Hemingway was furious, accusing him of purposefully carrying out an act of treachery. His ego could not accept that he, a man four inches taller and forty pounds heavier, had been knocked down by his much smaller opponent. Several false stories got out about the match and there were attempts to set the story straight, claims and counter claims, apologies and demands for a rematch. It was a serious matter for Hemingway, a man with a sensitive ego who viewed his boxing as somehow related to his power as an imaginative writer. The friendship between the three men never recovered and according to Callaghan neither Scott nor Hemingway ever recovered from that misadventure.
Callaghan also describes his life as a writer living in Paris. He walked the streets where he picked up ideas for stories which grew in his head. Small street scenes would distract him and get his attention as he sipped wine in the outdoor cafes. Then when he arrived home he would put pen to paper.
This is not a book which is a good example of Callaghan’s prose but it is a book filled with Callaghan’s insights, his descriptions of famous personalities, their complicated relationships and their conversations.
The expanded version includes several literary critiques Callaghan wrote later. The articles include observations on the quality of the prose in Hemingway’s “In Our Times� and comments on his memoir “A Moveable Feast�; on James Joyce’s dream world portrayed in “Finnegan’s Wake� and a piece challenging the thinking that F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote in the “genteel romantic tradition�.
In the final piece Callaghan shares his observations on returning to Paris many years later with Loretto. He remembers Paris as a time when the world was his oyster and he felt alive, arrogant and so sure he belonged to the center of the world. He reminisces about how he and his friends felt they knew better than anyone who the great writers were. They were all so cocksure of themselves, filled with the certainty of their opinions. Although the return visit made him feel ill at ease, with much the same, but everything different, he found it an exhilarating backdrop for good memories.
This volume provides a fascinating description of Paris before the crash and before the world was thrown headlong into war. It is also a meditation on the changing nature of friendship. It proves an interesting read, especially for avid readers of Hemingway, Callaghan and Scott.
At the time, Paris was considered the literary capital of the world, a place writers moved to write and spend time with other writers. Callaghan had met Hemingway when the two were both working for The Toronto Star as reporters. Hemingway was the newspaper’s European correspondent and the two developed a friendship often meeting at The Star library to discuss writers and writing. Callaghan had always wanted to be a writer and Hemingway encouraged him to write fiction. Callaghan felt he had a friend, a fellow writer who thought he had merit
When Hemingway left to return to Paris, he urged Callaghan to come as well. Callaghan vowed to get there as soon as he could and meanwhile wrote short stories he sent off to Hemingway who passed them around to his Paris friends.
When Callaghan finally set out for Paris, he had the praise and encouragement of legendary New York editor Max Perkins who had helped Hemingway and Fitzgerald on their way to a literary career. He had just had his first novel published in New York and was confident he would have an even deeper friendship with Hemingway now that he was an established writer. He looked forward to meeting Hemingway’s friend Scott Fitzgerald and thought the three of them could become literary companions. At the time, Hemingway was reading proofs of his novel “A Farewell to Arms� and Fitzgerald was struggling with his novel “Tender is the Night�. But when Callaghan arrived in Paris he found the two had a difficult relationship which he found hard to understand.
The Quarter was a small, gossipy little neighborhood with the café the center of its social life, a world of petty rancor, wounded vanity and suspicion. It was not a place where you entertained your friends or where wives showed up to meet their husbands. This was a world of huge egos, jealous rivalries, bitter criticisms, vicious gossip and endless backbiting which should not be surprising. There is no reason why writers who enjoyed each other’s words would enjoy each other’s company.
Callaghan presents himself as an eager young writer, newly married and anxious to meet the writers he had admired for so long. He reminisces about time he spent with famous artists such as James Joyce and Ford Maddox Ford although the majority of the book focuses on the relationship between himself, Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald.
There are many vignettes in the collection, but the main event is the story of what tore the friendship of Callaghan, Fitzgerald and Hemingway apart. Callaghan and Hemingway both enjoyed boxing and were sparring partners who met on a regular basis at the gym at the American Club. As the two set out for their regular session, Fitzgerald asked if he could come along. Hemingway agreed and suggested Fitzgerald serve as timekeeper. The second round went on for a long time and both men got tired. Hemingway became careless, Callaghan hit him with a solid punch and Hemingway went down. At the same time Fitzgerald cried out he had let the round go too long. Hemingway was furious, accusing him of purposefully carrying out an act of treachery. His ego could not accept that he, a man four inches taller and forty pounds heavier, had been knocked down by his much smaller opponent. Several false stories got out about the match and there were attempts to set the story straight, claims and counter claims, apologies and demands for a rematch. It was a serious matter for Hemingway, a man with a sensitive ego who viewed his boxing as somehow related to his power as an imaginative writer. The friendship between the three men never recovered and according to Callaghan neither Scott nor Hemingway ever recovered from that misadventure.
Callaghan also describes his life as a writer living in Paris. He walked the streets where he picked up ideas for stories which grew in his head. Small street scenes would distract him and get his attention as he sipped wine in the outdoor cafes. Then when he arrived home he would put pen to paper.
This is not a book which is a good example of Callaghan’s prose but it is a book filled with Callaghan’s insights, his descriptions of famous personalities, their complicated relationships and their conversations.
The expanded version includes several literary critiques Callaghan wrote later. The articles include observations on the quality of the prose in Hemingway’s “In Our Times� and comments on his memoir “A Moveable Feast�; on James Joyce’s dream world portrayed in “Finnegan’s Wake� and a piece challenging the thinking that F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote in the “genteel romantic tradition�.
In the final piece Callaghan shares his observations on returning to Paris many years later with Loretto. He remembers Paris as a time when the world was his oyster and he felt alive, arrogant and so sure he belonged to the center of the world. He reminisces about how he and his friends felt they knew better than anyone who the great writers were. They were all so cocksure of themselves, filled with the certainty of their opinions. Although the return visit made him feel ill at ease, with much the same, but everything different, he found it an exhilarating backdrop for good memories.
This volume provides a fascinating description of Paris before the crash and before the world was thrown headlong into war. It is also a meditation on the changing nature of friendship. It proves an interesting read, especially for avid readers of Hemingway, Callaghan and Scott.
April 22, 2015
Who would have imagined that a Canadian author, virtually unknown in the US, had written a Lost Generation memoir twice as compelling as Hemingway's A Moveable Feast? The book gave me chills when I first read it, and has done so for more than a decade since--whenever I remember it. I don't expect ever to find another book of its type that so convincingly deposits you in a similar time and place of renown, allowing you to rub shoulders with legends (albeit quirky, quirky legends).
September 28, 2012
A fascinating time with equally fascinating characters. Some great thoughts and insights into human character and behaviour but for me a little slow paced. A good book but I would recommend Hemingway's 'A moveable feast' before this.
January 18, 2025
i read this memoir for school and surprisingly liked it. to read about the post-war American writers from the lost generation like hemingway and fitzgerald, from a perspective that is rarely known, especially from the point of view of a canadian writer was truly refreshing.
morley callaghan depicts a few months he spent in abroad, writing and loafing around the streets of paris with writers he's looked up to for so long. meeting writers like james joyce and f. scott fitzgerald, he didn't think would be possible until a man named ernest hemingway walked into his little life at the toronto daily star.
now i'm sure morley, when writing this book of his, didn't have in mind that a girl, 63 years later, who's spent so much of her youth reading into the little things to decide for herself that there was something homoerotic going on but that's exactly what happened. they were in love, your honour! or at least treading on the careful line between a friend and a lover.
the moment that really sold it for me was when they were boxing, morley, being the semi trained boxer he was, was showing no mercy towards hemingway. i mean the man kept hitting him on the mouth, punch after punch and hemingway just took it on the chin, even as blood was pouring out of his wound. the odd thing was, hemingway kept sucking the blood in and morley was in a state of confusion. surely, you'd want to spit the blood out rather than occupying the bitter taste in your mouth...? no, because hemingway had other ideas:
“Suddenly he spat at me; he spat a mouthful of blood; he spat in my face. My gym shirt too was spattered with blood. I was so shocked I dropped my gloves. My face must have gone white, for I was shaken and didn’t know what to do. It is a terrible insult for a man to spit at another man. We stared at each other.�
morley was rightfully perplexed but only a few pages later, he says this about that moment he recounted between them: "And the strange part of it was that in spite of the fact that Ernest had spat his blood on my face, I felt closer than ever to him.�
all i can say is that his admiration for hemingway (though nothing wrong with that because hemingway, in a lot of ways, became a guiding light to what morley called 'the city of lights') and the dynamic was definitely a little suspicious.... but anyways this was a 3.75 and here are more quotes i loved through out this book:
“For the sake of the peace of their own souls most men live by pretending to believe in something they secretly know isn’t true. It seems to be a dreadful necessity. It keeps life going on. �
“Everything looked the same yet everything was different. I began to laugh to myself. I felt a crazy exuberant exhilaration. There were no ghosts around in the Quarter, no one was missing anyone. No one was regretting that some figure had died. No one cared. This was the new life."
“Many years have passed and the astonishing thing is those names, those Montparnasse names, have grown bigger. I could see, walking the streets again, that the cocksureness, the arrogance, the pontifications we shared, and certainly no one was more unyieldingly assertive in his opinion than I, was a mark of the extraordinary youthful vitality of the time.�
“They might build it anew, again and again, yet the Paris one generation and then another loved would still be there, still the lovely woman among all cities. I felt very lucky in saying good-bye and remembered those lines in The Brothers Karamatzov . . . Alyosha’s speech to the boys . . . “Live your life so that looking back you may have a good memory of things.�
morley callaghan depicts a few months he spent in abroad, writing and loafing around the streets of paris with writers he's looked up to for so long. meeting writers like james joyce and f. scott fitzgerald, he didn't think would be possible until a man named ernest hemingway walked into his little life at the toronto daily star.
now i'm sure morley, when writing this book of his, didn't have in mind that a girl, 63 years later, who's spent so much of her youth reading into the little things to decide for herself that there was something homoerotic going on but that's exactly what happened. they were in love, your honour! or at least treading on the careful line between a friend and a lover.
the moment that really sold it for me was when they were boxing, morley, being the semi trained boxer he was, was showing no mercy towards hemingway. i mean the man kept hitting him on the mouth, punch after punch and hemingway just took it on the chin, even as blood was pouring out of his wound. the odd thing was, hemingway kept sucking the blood in and morley was in a state of confusion. surely, you'd want to spit the blood out rather than occupying the bitter taste in your mouth...? no, because hemingway had other ideas:
“Suddenly he spat at me; he spat a mouthful of blood; he spat in my face. My gym shirt too was spattered with blood. I was so shocked I dropped my gloves. My face must have gone white, for I was shaken and didn’t know what to do. It is a terrible insult for a man to spit at another man. We stared at each other.�
morley was rightfully perplexed but only a few pages later, he says this about that moment he recounted between them: "And the strange part of it was that in spite of the fact that Ernest had spat his blood on my face, I felt closer than ever to him.�
all i can say is that his admiration for hemingway (though nothing wrong with that because hemingway, in a lot of ways, became a guiding light to what morley called 'the city of lights') and the dynamic was definitely a little suspicious.... but anyways this was a 3.75 and here are more quotes i loved through out this book:
“For the sake of the peace of their own souls most men live by pretending to believe in something they secretly know isn’t true. It seems to be a dreadful necessity. It keeps life going on. �
“Everything looked the same yet everything was different. I began to laugh to myself. I felt a crazy exuberant exhilaration. There were no ghosts around in the Quarter, no one was missing anyone. No one was regretting that some figure had died. No one cared. This was the new life."
“Many years have passed and the astonishing thing is those names, those Montparnasse names, have grown bigger. I could see, walking the streets again, that the cocksureness, the arrogance, the pontifications we shared, and certainly no one was more unyieldingly assertive in his opinion than I, was a mark of the extraordinary youthful vitality of the time.�
“They might build it anew, again and again, yet the Paris one generation and then another loved would still be there, still the lovely woman among all cities. I felt very lucky in saying good-bye and remembered those lines in The Brothers Karamatzov . . . Alyosha’s speech to the boys . . . “Live your life so that looking back you may have a good memory of things.�
May 12, 2018
At first, this book annoyed me. It wasn't because of the "name-dropping" - what else is a book about Hemingway and Fitzgerald going to be? Or that the author seemed to take advantage of Hemingway's death to get a book out (I'd never heard of Morley Callaghan before this book). After thinking about it though, I realized that I was annoyed because during the time that the book was written (early 1960s) as well as the time period the author was writing about (1920s), there was such a male-centric attitude toward writing and writers. A group of men published male authors, a male editor at Scribner's worked with famous male authors, male authors discussed writing. Wives were mentioned. Female authors were not relevant.
Once I recognized my annoyance at the boy's club, I continued to read and found the book interesting. Maybe because I took satisfaction in reading how neurotic all those male authors were. It was no surprise that men - including the writers in this book, Joyce, McAlmon, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Ford - help other men succeed until they become rivals. Then they work in action and behind-the-scenes machinations of innuendo and gossip to defeat them. I enjoyed the author's descriptions of Paris life, as routine as it became, and his interactions with all the quirky people.
However, I liked all of the writers in this book less after I got Callaghan's information about them, except Fitzgerald. I liked him more. The authors Callaghan writes about were neurotic, heavy drinkers who seemed awfully self-centered. Whereas Fitzgerald, even though as insecure as the others, behaved always like a gentleman and he was very generous in praise, assistance, and gifts.
Although Hemingway's work got a lot more attention in the end, Hemingway was jealous of Fitzgerald's education and class (and writing ability). For me, Fitzgerald is far superior as a writer. Fitzgerald's writing creates a world that makes me believe in it. I feel it. Hemingway sets his world apart - his world, take a look, but there's not much to see. Hemingway is not likable from the author's description of his actions, even though Callaghan claims over and over how much he did like Hemingway and how "sweet" and "gentle" he was.
I didn't like the author's use of the word "charm" to describe anyone. Charm is not something seen, it's something experienced. If the author experienced that charm, then show me how, don't tell me it was there. I didn't believe anyone in the book was particularly charming.
Even though it was flawed in minor ways, I thoroughly enjoyed this book. I wish there had been more. I wish it weren't so sexist. But the author told his story in his way, with his personality tempered in, and convinced me of it. There's always something sad about reading a person's recount of their youth - times that they enjoyed - because they are gone.
[and PS - the letters that the author exchanged with Fitzgerald and Hemingway at the end of the book were retained by the author and stolen when they were sent to auction - they are valued at over $1,000,000]
Once I recognized my annoyance at the boy's club, I continued to read and found the book interesting. Maybe because I took satisfaction in reading how neurotic all those male authors were. It was no surprise that men - including the writers in this book, Joyce, McAlmon, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Ford - help other men succeed until they become rivals. Then they work in action and behind-the-scenes machinations of innuendo and gossip to defeat them. I enjoyed the author's descriptions of Paris life, as routine as it became, and his interactions with all the quirky people.
However, I liked all of the writers in this book less after I got Callaghan's information about them, except Fitzgerald. I liked him more. The authors Callaghan writes about were neurotic, heavy drinkers who seemed awfully self-centered. Whereas Fitzgerald, even though as insecure as the others, behaved always like a gentleman and he was very generous in praise, assistance, and gifts.
Although Hemingway's work got a lot more attention in the end, Hemingway was jealous of Fitzgerald's education and class (and writing ability). For me, Fitzgerald is far superior as a writer. Fitzgerald's writing creates a world that makes me believe in it. I feel it. Hemingway sets his world apart - his world, take a look, but there's not much to see. Hemingway is not likable from the author's description of his actions, even though Callaghan claims over and over how much he did like Hemingway and how "sweet" and "gentle" he was.
I didn't like the author's use of the word "charm" to describe anyone. Charm is not something seen, it's something experienced. If the author experienced that charm, then show me how, don't tell me it was there. I didn't believe anyone in the book was particularly charming.
Even though it was flawed in minor ways, I thoroughly enjoyed this book. I wish there had been more. I wish it weren't so sexist. But the author told his story in his way, with his personality tempered in, and convinced me of it. There's always something sad about reading a person's recount of their youth - times that they enjoyed - because they are gone.
[and PS - the letters that the author exchanged with Fitzgerald and Hemingway at the end of the book were retained by the author and stolen when they were sent to auction - they are valued at over $1,000,000]
January 21, 2020
This book is fascinating! While A Moveable Feast may the star when it comes to Parisian expat memoirs, this guy should be read by anyone who loves Paris In the 20s, Hemingway, and Fitzgerald. Morley Callaghan would seem to be forgotten in the shuffle when you look at the stories of Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Joyce, Stein, Pound and all the rest, but he was there in the mix for a perfect stretch of time and reports on his friendships with Fitzgerald and Hemingway, their foibles, their generosities and endearing affectations, and even the extreme lover-beloved tension between the two of them, in the most delightful and clear-eyed manner.
This book feels so vicariously indulgent and gossipy while never being vulgar or exploitive, and it was so interesting to see Hemingway and a Fitzgerald through Morley’s eyes - devoid of heroic tall tales, unflinchingly honest, and surprisingly intimate. In popular history, Hemingway is often positioned as an infallible - albeit permadrunk - hero and Fitzgerald as a careening, also-permadrunk playboy who could never get his crap together; Marley’s tender take on both of them brings them beautifully into human shades of grey that make you hold them in a different and more human light. Oh and all the Paris café hopping and party popping and drinking made me feel like I was either buzzed or pleasantly hungover the entire time I was reading this.
The pictures of Paris and the crazy, eccentric artists and writers and aristocrats who populated it are amazing. I feel sad Morley never became a more prolific writer, because his clear, descriptive, succinct style (he definitely lined up into his friend Hemingway’s camp!) is really lovely.
I highly recommend this read if you want to dive into some beautifully written gossip about some of the greatest writers of the 20s, set in a collision of the one of the best times and the best places for storytelling ever.
This book feels so vicariously indulgent and gossipy while never being vulgar or exploitive, and it was so interesting to see Hemingway and a Fitzgerald through Morley’s eyes - devoid of heroic tall tales, unflinchingly honest, and surprisingly intimate. In popular history, Hemingway is often positioned as an infallible - albeit permadrunk - hero and Fitzgerald as a careening, also-permadrunk playboy who could never get his crap together; Marley’s tender take on both of them brings them beautifully into human shades of grey that make you hold them in a different and more human light. Oh and all the Paris café hopping and party popping and drinking made me feel like I was either buzzed or pleasantly hungover the entire time I was reading this.
The pictures of Paris and the crazy, eccentric artists and writers and aristocrats who populated it are amazing. I feel sad Morley never became a more prolific writer, because his clear, descriptive, succinct style (he definitely lined up into his friend Hemingway’s camp!) is really lovely.
I highly recommend this read if you want to dive into some beautifully written gossip about some of the greatest writers of the 20s, set in a collision of the one of the best times and the best places for storytelling ever.
September 9, 2017
In 1929 Morley Callaghan and his wife Loretto lived for a few months in Paris, a city to which many of the world's young literary notables were drawn for both the lifestyle and the daily opportunity of bumping into other writers with whom to hold long wine-fueled conversations. Also there at that time were Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ford Maddox Ford, Gertrude Stein, James Joyce and Ezra Pound.
Callaghan had met Hemingway when they both worked for the Toronto Star and Hemingway had encouraged him in his writing. After reading one of his stories Hemingway said to him, "You're a real writer. You write big-time stuff. All you have to do is keep on writing." Callaghan became good friends with both Hemingway and Fitzgerald while he was staying in Paris. He boxed with Hemingway and they all did a lot of drinking together, but there was always a tension between Hemingway and Fitzgerald that eventually affected his relationships with them as well.
There is a humility in the telling of this story that I found very appealing. Let's face it, it would be easy to do some name-dropping and bragging about who he had met and what nice things they might have said about his work but Callaghan doesn't fall into that trap. He writes a rather straightforward memoir revealing them all, including himself, to be ordinary people with idiosyncrasies, weaknesses and flaws like the rest of us. Ordinary - except that they were also brilliant writers.
I've never read Morley Callaghan before, something that, as a Canadian, I hate to admit. I can't say I thought the writing to be anything memorable but it was a memoir and I expect it will be different with his novels, which I am going to find and read eventually. To me the fascinating thing about this book is the look it gives you into the writing life, the personal lives of some well known writers, and life in Paris in 1929.
Callaghan had met Hemingway when they both worked for the Toronto Star and Hemingway had encouraged him in his writing. After reading one of his stories Hemingway said to him, "You're a real writer. You write big-time stuff. All you have to do is keep on writing." Callaghan became good friends with both Hemingway and Fitzgerald while he was staying in Paris. He boxed with Hemingway and they all did a lot of drinking together, but there was always a tension between Hemingway and Fitzgerald that eventually affected his relationships with them as well.
There is a humility in the telling of this story that I found very appealing. Let's face it, it would be easy to do some name-dropping and bragging about who he had met and what nice things they might have said about his work but Callaghan doesn't fall into that trap. He writes a rather straightforward memoir revealing them all, including himself, to be ordinary people with idiosyncrasies, weaknesses and flaws like the rest of us. Ordinary - except that they were also brilliant writers.
I've never read Morley Callaghan before, something that, as a Canadian, I hate to admit. I can't say I thought the writing to be anything memorable but it was a memoir and I expect it will be different with his novels, which I am going to find and read eventually. To me the fascinating thing about this book is the look it gives you into the writing life, the personal lives of some well known writers, and life in Paris in 1929.
March 26, 2021
While clearing out some books, I came across this one; started reading a few pages and then decided not to give it away but to read it.
Mostly it was a very intimate and interesting read about the literary group who gathered in Paris to 'talk' literature, party a great deal, and gossip about one another in the 1920's. Paris was the ultimate gathering place for writers, poets and artists from all over the world at the time.
Callaghan was on friendly terms with Ernest Hemingway who actually was a fellow reporter for the Star Weekly and Toronto Star newspaper at the time. When Hemingway went back to Paris, he kept in touch with Callaghan who then wanted to join that literary and artistic group which included F. Scott Fitzgerald, James Joyce and many others.
Eventually Callaghan and his new wife spend the summer of 1929 in Paris but his friendship with Hemingway and Fitzgerald was very weird. One or the other of the group was out of sorts with the other two; avoiding each other, not speaking to one another; such pettiness.
I couldn't imagine living such a life....sleeping until noon, a bit of writing in the afternoon and then sitting about in outdoor cafes drinking and gossiping with the same people day after day. So many parties, so many drunken creative people who worried about the popularity of fellow creative people, so much jealousy and criticism.
I hadn't read anything by Callaghan before and I did like his easy, understated style of writing. It's nothing like the exciting, action-filled writing I usually read but pleasant just the same.
Mostly it was a very intimate and interesting read about the literary group who gathered in Paris to 'talk' literature, party a great deal, and gossip about one another in the 1920's. Paris was the ultimate gathering place for writers, poets and artists from all over the world at the time.
Callaghan was on friendly terms with Ernest Hemingway who actually was a fellow reporter for the Star Weekly and Toronto Star newspaper at the time. When Hemingway went back to Paris, he kept in touch with Callaghan who then wanted to join that literary and artistic group which included F. Scott Fitzgerald, James Joyce and many others.
Eventually Callaghan and his new wife spend the summer of 1929 in Paris but his friendship with Hemingway and Fitzgerald was very weird. One or the other of the group was out of sorts with the other two; avoiding each other, not speaking to one another; such pettiness.
I couldn't imagine living such a life....sleeping until noon, a bit of writing in the afternoon and then sitting about in outdoor cafes drinking and gossiping with the same people day after day. So many parties, so many drunken creative people who worried about the popularity of fellow creative people, so much jealousy and criticism.
I hadn't read anything by Callaghan before and I did like his easy, understated style of writing. It's nothing like the exciting, action-filled writing I usually read but pleasant just the same.
February 25, 2025
This is a book of personal memories of Paris in the 1920’s written in a conversational manner, which draws you in. I loved the way Callahan tells how he met Hemingway at the Toronto Star before Hemingway was famous or even known as a writer. You get a better feel why Hemingway attracted people around him with his charisma. Callaghan explains that he read Three Stories & Ten Poems and was attracted to the style so much, he was defending Hemingway to other journalists who clearly looked down on Hemingway as a young reporter, who happened to have been in Europe.
It was Callahan who introduced Hemingway to Fitzgerald’s books and the bold Callaghan went up to Sherwood Anderson at a party and introduced himself as “Are you Sherwood Andersen?�, to which came the slightly nervous reply, “That’s right.� Callaghan then put on a serious face and said, “Good, you’re my father.� After a moment of panic Andersen burst out laughing. In another tale, Callahan, who by then was a recognised writer himself was invited back to James Joyce’s apartment in Paris only the lift was very small and very dodgy. Callahan, Joyce and Robert McAlmon crammed inside and the lift inched up very slowly with them listening to every grinding noise. Joyce said very dryly, “Think what a loss to English literature if the lift fails and the three of us are killed.�
Terrific short read that is still fresh 100 ears later.
Highly recommended.
It was Callahan who introduced Hemingway to Fitzgerald’s books and the bold Callaghan went up to Sherwood Anderson at a party and introduced himself as “Are you Sherwood Andersen?�, to which came the slightly nervous reply, “That’s right.� Callaghan then put on a serious face and said, “Good, you’re my father.� After a moment of panic Andersen burst out laughing. In another tale, Callahan, who by then was a recognised writer himself was invited back to James Joyce’s apartment in Paris only the lift was very small and very dodgy. Callahan, Joyce and Robert McAlmon crammed inside and the lift inched up very slowly with them listening to every grinding noise. Joyce said very dryly, “Think what a loss to English literature if the lift fails and the three of us are killed.�
Terrific short read that is still fresh 100 ears later.
Highly recommended.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
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