Theories abound as to why, one day, the 1954 Nobel Prize-winning American laureate Ernest Hemingway blew his brains out with a shotgun. Was it due to depression? Heavy drinking? The fear that he was a latent homosexual?
We will probably never know for certain but one thing is clear: Feminist critics, such as Nina Bayme, who labeled the author as "public enemy number one," were probably pleased that Hemingway added his name to the multiculturalist's infamous hit list of Dead White Male Authors.
Testorenone-driven, tough guy fictional characters are no longer palatable in today's literary market. The majority of New York agents, who are female and filled with deconstructionist doctrine fed to them by politically correct professors during their literature college courses, want books that glorify 'sheroes' or emasculated men. Unless, of course, they are G.I. Joe carictures that fight the enemy overseas at a safe distance away from contemporary American society.
John Irving, who has also faithfully (and successfully) followed this path, which covertly leads to the coffin-nailing of strong, white heterosexual protagonists, has come full circle with the release of his latest novel, In One Person. Amazon's book description blurb says the book is about "Billy...an intimate and unforgettable portrait of the solitariness of a bisexual man who is dedicated to making himself 'worthwile'."
Indeed. I think I'll pass on reading it just so I can be labelled homophobic and draw the venom out from a multitude of rainbow-colored fangs because I'm secure enough in my masculinity and discernment capabilites to no longer be influenced or feel threatened by teachers who wield the sword of the good grade above my head.
I met Jim Harrison once in a bar in northern Michigan. At that time, he had just finished writing Sundog,a gutsy male-dominated novel set in the rural upper peninsula and written with a lean, mean Hemingwayesque style. That's how I would write a novel if I ever did, I thought to myself.