Book Review: The Garden of Eden - Ernest Hemingway

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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The Garden of Eden, though incomplete at the time of Ernest Hemingway’s death, contains some of the author’s most brilliant writing. Unfortunately, the brilliance is pinned beneath a steady current of mundane, meaningless pretense. This could have been a classic example of the ‘Lost Generation’s' literary contributions. Unfortunately, it is not.



It is the story of American novelist David Bourne and his intellectually inclined, but emotionally challenged bride, Catherine. Together, they spend an endless summer in the Mediterranean swimming, and dining, and drinking, and sleeping it off. And waking and showering, and oh yeah, they spend an unusual amount of time kissing and frolicking naked, even for hormonally motivated newlyweds.

Catherine quickly bores with their new routine, and decides she can spice up the relationship with a deeper tan and matching haircuts. More drinking ensues, as does more sex and more sleeping it off. Not enough, you ask?

Enter Marita. Well, needless to say, this new girl complicates matters in untold ways.(told, actually). What transpires is as sordid and predictable as only any average reader can imagine. (I’ll kindly leave the details of the affair unresolved). In fact, a reader could probably skip chapters two through fifteen and never miss a step.

The meat and potatoes of the story comes during chapter sixteen, disguised as a side dish. It’s a story within a story, about a boy and his father on safari in Africa. Here, Hemingway shines as only Hemingway can. His words flow from the proverbial pen with grace and passion, with intense focus and purpose. From these innermost (and far less trivial) thoughts, we are finally witness to the genius that was Ernest Hemingway.

David Bourne and his new wife are seriously flawed figures. There is little to like about either of them. Still, I can’t help but sense this story might have been somewhat auto-biographical. Bourne and Hemingway have much in common, including an insatiable appetite for absinth and alcohol. Africa seems almost incidental in comparison.

I can’t say I recommend The Garden of Eden, unless swimming and dining and drinking, and then even more drinking, tends to be your thing. All others might want to steer clear.

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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