Hemingway's guns

[King Brown]

Under the circumstances, his faculties gone, like an old samaurai he fell on his sword. I don't fault him for that; except for the noise and mess, almost an act of grace. I wouldn't have enjoyed his company. His writing, of course, was often peerless. Martha Gellhorn was a better reporter and better person. My father imbibed wisdom at Stein's on Rue Madame, and my Paris friends have an apartment a few doors away.

Put it down to chauvinism: his posturing was so insufferable to me that I take some pleasure from the Canadian writer half his size, Morley Callaghan, giving him a boxing lesson in Paris, knocking him on his ass. Hemingway blamed Fitzgerald, the timer, for extending the round beyond three minutes.

I worked in the company of Callaghan and his son Barry, now also a distinguished writer. But for all that, the No. 2 print of Karsh's famous turtleneck photo of Hemingway watches over my desk. He inspires still.