One evening, Scott Fitzgerald confessed to his friend that his wife, Zelda, had told him his penis was unusually small, and that he could never satisfy any woman. Hemingway said it was just typical of Zelda's undermining ways, but Scott wasn't reassured. So Hemingway asked him to come to the lavatory, where he inspected his friend's lance of manhood. Back in the bar, he explained:
"You're perfectly fine," I said. "You're okay. There's nothing wrong with you. You look at yourself from above and you look foreshortened. Go over to the Louvre and look at the people in the statues and then go home and look at yourself in the mirror in profile." Now there was an act of friendship between creative giants, if not an especially artistic conversation. You can almost see the superior smirk on Hemingway's face as he presents himself as the macho guy who was able to reassure his less macho pal about his physical shortcomings (and then tell the world about it).
Friday, April 30, 2010
When F. Scott Fitzgerald confided in Ernest Hemmingway
Labels: funny, human body