CNN reports today bookstores are selling out of Ernest Hemingway’s iconic novel about Paris, A Moveable Feast. Buyers are showing support for the city, celebrating its joie de vivre.
The work made an impression on me years ago. Not only do I love the City of Light, but also the very title gave me the name for my book (and this blog). Excerpted from the “Pollyannaville” chapter of A Movable Marriage:
I tightened my woolen robe around me and rubbed my hands together while water heated in the kettle in the compact kitchenette. My eyes strayed to our makeshift shelving. It bore an alarming resemblance to that of my first apartment: plywood boards and cinder block supports. I wandered over to search the books I had kept out from storage.
Ernest Hemingway caught my eye. He was perfect for my mood, the blunt simplicity of his prose in tune with my stark surroundings. When my coffee was ready, I brought my mug to the table, sat down, and opened A Moveable Feast. That was the defining moment when I gave a name to my past, present, and, I feared, my future: a movable marriage.
Here’s wishing you a fabulous feast of your own this week. May our Thanksgiving–and every day–be filled with love and gratitude.