What were you doing this past Sunday? Something special, we hope. Because this past Sunday, the eleventh of August, was the seventy-sixth anniversary of an amazing event. And we cannot improve upon the concise description of our diligent friends at Today in History. “Ernest Hemingway confronted Max Eastman in the offices of Scribner’s on Fifth Avenue. Because Eastman had cast aspersions on Hemingway’s macho persona, Hemingway pinned him on the floor, exposed Eastman’s hairless chest, then exposed his own hairy one and laughed.”
F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald on the Riviera in 1926. In a letter from that year, Fitzgerald wrote,
There was no one at Antibes this summer, except me, Zelda, the Valentinos, the Murphys, Mistinguet, Rex Ingram, Dos Passos, Alice Terry, the MacLeishes, Charlie Brackett, Mause Kahn, Lester Murphy, Marguerite Namara, E. Oppenheimer, Mannes the violinist, Floyd Dell, Max and Crystal Eastman … Just the right place to rough it, an escape from the world.
This image appeared in “Zelda, a Worksheet,” in issue 89.
A cultural news roundup.
- Michel Houellebecq has been found.
- So has a James M. Cain manuscript.
- Neil Young is writing an autobiography.
- So is Jermaine Jackson.
- So is Julian Assange. But without his consent.
- “If I say ‘David Bellos has to be one of the smartest people now on the planet,’ what language am I using? English of a kind; but scarcely the Queen’s, which—to judge from her public utterances—retains a careful insularity; mid-Atlantic schtick is not Her Majesty’s bag.”
- Nor Shakespeare’s.
- The Sondheim-crossword mother lode.
- Shakeups at DC Comics …
- But peace at the Poetry Society.
- “The general editorial posture of the magazine leaned away from the conventions of the establishment and toward the eccentricities of bohemians everywhere.”
- Salman Rushdie joins Twitter.
- “Flaubert once bet some friends that he could make love to a woman, smoke a cigar, and write a letter at the same time. He won, as they looked on in admiration.”
- These are beautiful, if we do say so ourselves.