I haven’t read much Hemingway, but I liked this book even more than A Moveable Feast, which is saying something. The library copy I read was heavily marked by someone who was apparently fixated by (or writing a paper on) Hemingway’s alcoholism… Every instance of “whiskey” or “beer” was circled or underlined, but that only made it more evident that Hemingway was fighting the good fight, writing honestly and not trying to hide his love of alcohol. He wrote about drinking a few glasses of watered-down whiskey with as much detail, and at even more length, than he wrote about his own wife.