"Hemingway, Ernest - Green Hills of Africa" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hemingway Ernest)

'Nothing?'
'Maybe a little.'
'Do you think your writing is worth doing -- as an end in itself?'
'Oh, yes.'
'You are sure?'
'Very sure.'
'That must be very pleasant.'
'It is,' I said. 'It is the one altogether pleasant thing about it.'
'This is getting awfully serious,' my wife said.
'It's a damned serious subject.'
'You see, he is really serious about something,'
Kandisky said. 'I knew he must be serious on something besides kudu.'
'The reason everyone now tries to avoid it, to deny that it is
important, to make it seem. vain to try to do it, is because it is so
difficult. Too many factors must combine to make it possible.'
'What is this now?'
'The kind of writing that can be done. How far prose can be carried if
anyone is serious enough and has luck. There is a fourth and fifth dimension
that can be gotten.'
'You believe it?'
'I know it.'
'And if a writer can get this?'
'Then nothing else matters. It is more important than anything he can
do. The chances are, of course, that he will fail. But there is a chance
that he succeeds.'
'But that is poetry you are talking about.'
'No. It is much more difficult than poetry. It is a prose that has
never been written. But it can be written, without tricks and without
cheating. With nothing that will go bad afterwards.'
'And why has it not been written?'
'Because there are too many factors. First, there must be talent, much
talent. Talent such as Kipling had. Then there must be discipline. The
discipline of Flaubert. Then there must be the conception of what it can be
and an absolute conscience as unchanging as the standard meter in Paris, to
prevent faking. Then the writer must be intelligent and disinterested and
above all he must survive. Try to get all these in one person and have him
come through all the influences that press on a writer. The hardest thing,
because time is so short, is for him to survive and get his work done. But I
would like us to have such a writer and to read what he would write. What do
you say? Should we talk about something else?'
'It is interesting what you say. Naturally I do not agree with
everything.'
'Naturally.'
'What about a gimlet?' Pop asked. 'Don't you think a gimlet might
help?'
'Tell me first what are the things, the actual, concrete things that
harm a writer?'
I was tired of the conversation which was becoming an interview. So I
would make it an interview and finish it. The necessity to put a thousand
intangibles into a sentence, now, before lunch, was too bloody.