Adios Hemingway
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Overview
"When the skeletal remains of a man brought down by shotgun surface on the Havana estate of Ernest Hemingway, writer, drinker, and ex-cop Mario Conte reluctantly accepts a reinstatement to investigate the forty-year-old crime. As the truth of the night of October 3, 1958, slowly reveals itself, Conte must come to terms with his idealistic memory of Papa Hemingway on Cuba's sun-drenched docks, back when Conde was a child tagging along with his grandfather." Padura Fuentes weaves Conte's world with that of Hemingway's Cuba four decades earlier, a period marking the beginning of Hemingway's decline. In the heat-and-rum haze, the eras and personas begin to merge.Synopsis
Padura Fuentes one of Cuba's best-known and most widely acclaimed writers has written a first-rate detective story set against the backdrop of Hemingway's Cuba. Part fascinating examination of Hemingway the man in his trying final years and part nifty postmodern procedural, Adios Hemingway will engross Hemingway fans while keeping them in suspense until the final pages.
The New York Times - James Parker
Flashing back and forth between 1958 and the present, Adiós Hemingway is an elegantly turned meditation on the cold realities of age, the waning of strength and beauty and the production of literary myth. There is also lest the theme should grow too weighty some dexterous symbolic work with a pair of Ava Gardner's knickers. Thanks in part to John King's limpid, breezy translation, Adiós Hemingway reads cleanly and feels simple, but in his dreamy and dogged pursuit of Hemingway this ''old, rather dirtybearded man with his large hands and feet'' the former Inspector Conde is as psycholiterary a gumshoe as any Paul Auster fan could wish for.
Editorials
James Parker
Flashing back and forth between 1958 and the present, Adiós Hemingway is an elegantly turned meditation on the cold realities of age, the waning of strength and beauty and the production of literary myth. There is also — lest the theme should grow too weighty — some dexterous symbolic work with a pair of Ava Gardner's knickers. Thanks in part to John King's limpid, breezy translation, Adiós Hemingway reads cleanly and feels simple, but in his dreamy and dogged pursuit of Hemingway — this ''old, rather dirtybearded man with his large hands and feet'' — the former Inspector Conde is as psycholiterary a gumshoe as any Paul Auster fan could wish for.— The New York Times