FISHTRAP HOLLOW, Miss.—I watched a television show about Hemingway. They stretched his life over two episodes and nights, which barely contained all his wives and houses and wars.

For a man who loved short sentences, in life he was a run-on and dangled a lot of participles. He left women, or they left him. His children were an occasional hobby. Other writers were competition and became enemies.

Oh, but how handsome and reckless he was as a young man. He looked like a novelist sent from central casting, so big and dark and mysterious. The ladies loved him. The men loved ...

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