While I like a lot of Hemingway's work (especially the Nick Adams stories), he really didn't have a clue. A product of a wealthy family, given to a great deal of leisure, a suicide in the family - it all adds up. So, he goes on a quest for meaning. Being part of the generation between wars had something to do with it, too. Kerouac was another ‘lost and angry’ soul looking for something. Too bad really - maybe they never got the memo about normalcy and liberty.
Great writing and great analyis on your part. I’m impressed. :)
The only thing Hemingway seems to have understood at all well is his own silly shtick, and his understanding of that was superficial.
The only thing he wrote that's at all worthwhile is A Moveable Feast, which is not fictional. If you want a travelogue of Europe of that period it's an okay one.
Hemingway's autobiographical characters, such as the one in Farewell are understandable though phoney and not likeable.
His other characters are cardboard props--which is the way he seems to have thought of everyone other than himself--and the way he behaved toward them.
The women he writes about are one- or two-dimensional whose only attractive qualities are (1) sexual desirability, (2) willingness to please him sexually, (3) willingness to focus attention on him, and (4) ...well...that's about it.
And one of his women is about as good as another. They're pretty much interchangeable. If any of them had any unique features, personality, or memorable qualities he doesn't seem to have noticed.
As I endured Farewell I had no idea what he saw in Barkley other than (1)-(3) vide supra. When she kicked the bucket I wondered why he cared. He didn't even bother to wonder about the baby. Or her--other than a lost sex partner--but--so what?--the world's full of 'em. He was utterly consumed with his own self-pity etc. et al.
His conversations are corny and shallow. "Should I grow a beard?" "Maybe you should." "Would you like me better if I did? Or worse?" "I don't know." This is also the depth of his characters.
I lived in Europe at the same age as Hemingway. I was fascinated with it--with many of the things that interested Hemingway.
But in my opinion, he was a shallow, self-absorbed jackass, who cared very little about anyone other than himself and had little interest in anyone else.
Hemingway is not some archetype of "A Real Man". I think he was very much not-real--someone who had only some silly, macho, self-absorbed shtick to present to the world. He wanted to be adored and managed to induce a sizeable group of fans to adore him.
I think his appeal was to provincials who wondered about life in exotic places at a time when they were little known
In today's world--the Information Age--when we know plenty about the exotic places of the world and everywhere else--when many of us have traveled and lived in the places Hemingway wrote about--when many of us are far more sophisticated than Hemingway and those who found him interesting--his writing is shallow and corny.