And then consider this, from Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley: Consider Hemingway’s famous ballscratching machismo, as refracted through his obsession with fly-fishing. Steinbeck was a better novelist, a better pet owner, and a nicer man. Lots of people seem to like Hemingway, and I expect they have their reasons, but I refuse to entertain them. Like I said, this is based on nothing other than a hunch. My current favourite is this: just as you are either a cat person or a dog person, United or City, Italian or French food: you are either a Hemingway person or a Steinbeck person. It must be a hangover of studying English at university and being forced to provide evidence for all my reckless assertions - now I treat myself to the occasional assertion, the more reckless the better. I like forming theories about literature - particularly theories based on zero evidence.
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