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Green Hills of Africa, by Ernest Hemingway

I'm sure when Hemingway wrote and published this, it was an exuberant account from a virile sportsman of a fabulous trip in a beautiful country. Unless you're Donald Trump Jr., it now reads as a horrifying litany of incredible creatures shot and killed for the sake of sport. Okay fine, they also eat their meat and give their hides to the locals, but it's still pretty jarring for the modern reader. Hemingway's rationale is that he's been shot, so at least he only shoots to kill. So I guess there's that. But it's hard to read about all these creatures being stalked, horribly wounded, then *if they're lucky* killed so some white guy can mount their heads on his wall and get lots of high fives from his bros.

I might have gone too far with that one. Sorry.

Distaste for shooting things aside, it's always interesting to read Hemingway. He states at the beginning that the goal of this book is to see whether a full and true account, well told, can be as inte…

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