I’m taking a French history/culture class this quarter. One of our assigned readings is “A Moveable Feast” by Ernest Hemingway. I had read this book in high school, but it was for fun. I honestly did not remember anything about this book, except the details about Hemingway’s idyllic life in Paris. But that was what made the book so special. It wasn’t about anything in particular, but it was good writing.
This quarter, I’ve been loaded with classes and homework. I’ve barely had any time to do anything except go to class, study, and finish my homework. Hell, that’s how it’s been since I’ve started college. When I was in high school, life moved slow. I often spent my time lounging at home, going to to the beach, sitting in coffee shops, and recording little moments in my life that I turn into short films for my Youtube channel. While I was alone for the most part, I learned to enjoy it by appreciating the little things. The way the sun shined through the leaves of the tree in front of my window. The soft French music that played in the background of the cafe I would study at. The smell of salt and sunscreen when I would nap on the beach. These were all things I truly enjoyed.
In the midst of my chaos as a college student, re-reading “A Moveable Feast” was a much needed breath of fresh air. At first, I had planned to just skim through this book. I frankly did not have time to sit and read a book thoroughly (as most college students could agree). But when I opened the first page and began reading, I couldn’t get myself to skim through it. There was something about Hemingway’s writing that made slow down and enjoy every word. It was like eating a sweet fruit that I wanted to savor for as long as I can. Whereas a YA fiction novel is like a bag of chips that I could munch through in a matter of minutes, Hemingway’s book was a rare, delicious fruit that I took my time with.
Hemingway used his words carefully and purposefully. He described things simply and did not use too many words. He was not illustrious or extravagant with his details; he did not go off on tangents or run-off sentences; his writing was not fictitious or fantasized. In the chapter, “Birth of a New School”, a critic even said:
“ I have to tell you that I find your work a little stark. Hem, it’s too stripped, too lean…too stark, too stripped, too lean, too sinewy.” (Hemingway, 96)
Hemingway also had a great attention to detail. Much of his novel describes the little moments of his everyday life in Paris. He frequently threw in French terms and background context to make his story come to life. He always described the people he watched, the food he ate and the coffee he drank, the conversations he’d have with his wife at home, and the places he’d explore in Paris. You can get a sense of it from this excerpt:
“I sat in a corner with the afternoon light coming in over my shoulder and wrote in the notebook. The waiter brought me a café creme and I drank half of it when it cooled and left it on the table while I wrote.” (Hemingway, 43)
I felt like I had been transported to Paris and was following alongside his everyday life. It was an imaginary vacation for me from the restlessness of college, and American life in general.
I noticed that there was a significant culture difference in America and Europe. In America, everything is fast-paced: you wake up early, chug a coffee, work, work, work, pick up dinner, drive home, watch TV, crash, then do it all again the next day. In France (Hemingway’s version, at least), things move a bit slower. Coffee shops don’t require you to leave after a certain period of time, and it is even frowned upon to leave early. This gives you time to enjoy your coffee, have long conversations with your friends, watch people come and go, and savor the beauty of fleeting moments.
When you’re constantly on the move, it’s important to give yourself time to slow down because that is what allows you to enjoy the beauty of life. It gives your mind a break, which allows room for new ideas to form and creativity to flow. I am thankful that Hemingway’s “A Moveable Feast” reappeared into my life and reminded me to savor the small moments. I guess my time in high school taught me something after all.
