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    The Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway: The Hemingway Library Collector's Edition
    The Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway: The Hemingway Library Collector's Edition
    The Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway: The Hemingway Library Collector's Edition
    Ebook517 pages7 hours

    The Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway: The Hemingway Library Collector's Edition

    By Ernest Hemingway

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    About this ebook

    The fourth in the series of new annotated editions of Ernest Hemingway’s work, edited by the author’s grandson Seán and introduced by his son Patrick, this “illuminating” (The Washington Post) collection includes the best of the well-known classics as well as unpublished stories, early drafts, and notes that “offer insight into the mind and methods of one of the greatest practitioners of the story form” (Kirkus Reviews).

    Ernest Hemingway is a cultural icon—an archetype of rugged masculinity, a romantic ideal of the intellectual in perpetual exile—but, to his countless readers, Hemingway remains a literary force much greater than his image. Of all of Hemingway’s canonical fictions, perhaps none demonstrate so forcefully the power of the author’s revolutionary style as his short stories. In classics like “Hills like White Elephants,” “The Butterfly in the Tank,” and “The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber,” Hemingway shows us great literature compressed to its most potent essentials. We also see, in Hemingway’s short fiction, the tales that created the legend: these are stories of men and women in love and in war and on the hunt, stories of a lost generation born into a fractured time.

    The Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway presents many of Hemingway’s most famous classics alongside rare and unpublished material: Hemingway’s early drafts and correspondence, his dazzling out-of-print essay on the art of the short story, and two marvelous examples of his earliest work—his first published story, “The Judgment of Manitou,” which Hemingway wrote when still a high school student, and a never-before-published story, written when the author was recovering from a war injury in Milan after WWI. This work offers vital insight into the artistic development of one of the twentieth century’s greatest writers. It is a perfect introduction for a new generation of Hemingway readers, and it belongs in the collection of any true Hemingway fan.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherScribner
    Release dateJul 18, 2017
    ISBN9781476787725
    The Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway: The Hemingway Library Collector's Edition
    Author

    Ernest Hemingway

    Ernest Hemingway did more to change the style of English prose than any other writer of his time. Publication of The Sun Also Rises and A Farewell to Arms immediately established Hemingway as one of the greatest literary lights of the twentieth century. His classic novel The Old Man and the Sea won the Pulitzer Prize in 1953. Hemingway was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1954. His life and accomplishments are explored in-depth in the PBS documentary film from Ken Burns and Lynn Novick, Hemingway. Known for his larger-than-life personality and his passions for bullfighting, fishing, and big-game hunting, he died in Ketchum, Idaho on July 2, 1961. 

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      The Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway - Ernest Hemingway

      I

      1.

      Judgment of Manitou

      1916

      Dick Haywood buttoned the collar of his mackinaw up about his ears, took down his rifle from the deer horns above the fireplace of the cabin and pulled on his heavy fur mittens. I’ll go and run that line toward Loon River, Pierre, he said. Holy quill pigs, but it’s cold. He glanced at the thermometer. Forty-two below! Well, so long, Pierre. Pierre merely grunted, as, twisting on his snow shoes, Dick started out over the crust with the swinging snowshoe stride of the traveler of the barren grounds.

      In the doorway of the cabin Pierre stood looking after Dick as he swung along. He grinned evilly to himself, De tief will tink it a blame sight cooler when he swingin’ by one leg in the air like Wah-boy, the rabbit; he would steal my money, would he! Pierre slammed the heavy door shut, threw some wood on the fire and crawled into his bunk.

      As Dick Haywood strode along he talked to himself as to the traveler’s of the silent places. Wonder why Pierre is so grouchy just because he lost that money? Bet he just misplaced it somewhere. All he does now is to grunt like a surly pig and every once in a while I catch him leering at me behind my back. If he thinks I stole his money why don’t he say so and have it out with me! Why, he used to be so cheerful and jolly; when we agreed at Missainabal to be partners and trap up here in the Ungava district, I thought he’d be a jolly good companion, but now he hasn’t spoken to me for the last week, except to grunt or swear in that Cree lingo.

      It was a cold day, but it was the dry, invigorating cold of the northland and Dick enjoyed the crisp air. He was a good traveler on snowshoes and rapidly covered the first five miles of the trap line, but somehow he felt that something was following him and he glanced around several times only to be disappointed each time. I guess it’s only the Koutzie-ootzie, he muttered to himself, for in the North whenever men do not understand a thing they blame it on the little bad god of the Crees. Suddenly, as Dick entered a growth of spruce, he was jerked off his feet, high into the air. When his head had cleared from the bang it had received by striking the icy crust, he saw that he was suspended in the air by a rope that was attached to a spruce tree, which had been bent over to form the spring for a snare, such as is used to capture rabbits. His fingers barely touched the crust, and as he struggled and the cord grew tighter on his leg, he saw what he had sensed to be following him. Slowly out of the woods trotted a band of gaunt, white, hungry timber wolves, and squatted on their haunches in a circle round him.

      Back in the cabin Pierre as he lay in his bunk was awakened by a gnawing sound overhead, and idly looking up at the rafter he saw a red squirrel busily gnawing away at the leather of his lost wallet. He thought of the trap he had set for Dick, and springing from his bunk he seized his rifle, and coatless and gloveless ran madly out along the trail. After a gasping, breathless, choking run he came upon the spruce grove. Two ravens left off picking at the shapeless something that had once been Dick Haywood, and flapped lazily into a neighboring spruce. All over the bloody snow were the tracks of My-in-gau, the timber wolf.

      As he took a step forward Pierre felt the clanking grip of the toothed bear trap, that Dick had come to tend, close on his feet. He fell forward, and as he lay on the snow he said, it is the judgment of Manitou; I will save My-in-gau, the wolf, the trouble.

      And he reached for the rifle.

      2.

      Untitled Milan Story

      1918

      Item 604, Ernest Hemingway Collection, John F. Kennedy Library and Museum, Boston. Untitled short story written in the fall of 1918. Autograph manuscript on stationery of the American Red Cross, Milan, Italy. Four pages of text written in pencil on both sides of two sheets of stationery.

      [I]

      Nick lay in bed in the hospital while from outside came the hysterical roar of the crowd milling through the streets. Viva La Pace! Viva La Pace!, came the voice of the crowd through the closed glass doors, and as the mob waving flags, blowing horns, carrying torches made of twisted paper boiled into the street of the American hospital it cried Viva America! and then Viva Wilson!

      Gee, Nick grinned at the nurse. Those horns sound like Halloween! Some time back in the States tonight, eh Sister?

      Oh wouldn’t it be wonderful on Broadway!, said the nurse ecstatically.

      I don’t know about Broadway but I’ll bet things are popping up in Petoskey Michigan where I’m from. I didn’t know you were a New Yorker.

      II

      Oh I’m not really. I’m from Fort Wayne Indiana. It’s on the G.R. and I. and that runs to Petoskey. But you know how everyone talks about Broadway!

      Sure I’ve used that stuff too. Well good night Sister. Fort Wayne will look pretty good in a couple of months eh?

      Don’t talk about Broadway to me!, the nurse smiled back over her shoulder as she closed the door.

      Nick reached out a thin hand[,] grasped a bottle on the table by his bed and shoved it under the bed clothes.

      In a moment the nurse reappeared.

      I wonder where that bottle of bichloride is. I was certain I left it here. Did Miss Becker take it Mr. Grainger?

      She must have, said Nick.

      On the little iron table by the bed were two oblong red Moroccan leather

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