I’ve always said that The End of Something is my favorite (and the perfect) Hemingway short story. If anyone asked for something short to read, I’ve pointed them to that. But as I re-read the Hemingway Canon, this month, I re-read Hills Like White Elephants.
The story struck me hard. Maybe it’s where I’m at in life. I know too many men who have lived through this conversation, who have pressured girlfriends into it with wives waiting at home maybe. Who don’t want the hassle. Who say the write words but whose tone means something else.
I’m not sure why it struck me so hard. The End of Something reminds me of youth. White Elephants reminds me of adulthood.
