Taking Giant Steps: 𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐀𝐘: 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑢𝑛 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑛'𝑡 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦.
— 𝑬𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑯𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒘𝒂𝒚, 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒖𝒏 𝑨𝒍𝒔𝒐 𝑹𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒔

Today, we want to continue our conversation on 𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝘁𝘆 as an artificial construct that we change & continuously reshape —like children mold their playdough— except the stakes are much higher, and the setting is no longer a playground but a human life. Being engineers of human souls, litterateurs similarly mold their characters, carefully weaving intricate threads into their psyches and moral frameworks. Quite often, these fictional personas are extensions of authors’ own personalities — surrogates nested in realities augmenting strengths and polishing weaknesses of their creator.

Among the shelves of a vast global library, one author’s bibliography stands out in particular because it runs on a deeply autobiographical engine. 𝗘𝗿𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗛𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘄𝗮𝘆 wrote countless self-portraits — ego and personal philosophies taking central stage in his prose and the characters who inhabit it, accumulating into an unwritten code of masculinity. Rising above all, however, was his main project: an authored public self on the borderline of myth and fact. A lifelong identity project, Hemingway’s public-facing ego prototype fused with his archetypal protagonist into a widely exported “real man” template.

There is a timely reason to revisit this file: 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒖𝒏 𝑨𝒍𝒔𝒐 𝑹𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒔 turns 𝟭𝟬𝟬 in 2026. Often seen as the turning point when Hemingway’s clipped, hard‑boiled style gained momentum and became tied to his name, this is the book that launched and cemented the “Hemingway” legend. That same year, Hemingway signed with 𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗦𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗯𝗻𝗲𝗿’𝘀 𝗦𝗼𝗻𝘀, the publishing house that would define the course of his career. As Lesley Blume, author of a 𝘕𝘦𝘸 𝘠𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴–bestselling book on the novel and its history, observes, “[Hemingway] was a two‑for‑one deal. The persona was crucial to launching him as a writer. They planted stories about him with gossip columnists; he was so different from other writers at the time.” (𝘓𝘪𝘵𝘏𝘶𝘣, 2021)

So, a star is born. Several condition subsequent clauses with footnotes attached to the birth certificate.

𝘐𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘏𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩 (𝘓𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯, 𝘔𝘢𝘺 𝟣𝟫𝟦𝟦)

𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 (𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓)
What else could possibly enter the equation to make you, once and for all, solidify the confines of who you are and what you 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 become — and withdraw a possibility of any further negotiation or amendment of contract conditions? Behold: public reception. Strengthen it: positive, even glorifying public reception. Let it peak: you become a cultural icon and a symbol of an era.

Hemingway’s postwar voice —disillusioned, cold-eyed, cynically honest, stringently factual while void emotionally— matched the equally hard-boiled ‘l𝗹𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻’ in the wake of 𝗪𝗪𝗜. The public was hungry for a figure who could embody their de-romanticized reality. And Hemingway arrived with more than a voice, but a lifestyle plus hobbies and interests graph that read like a plot in itself: war service, plane crashes, hunting, boxing, bullfights, marriages, drinking. The myth validated the writing; the writing validated the myth.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐃𝐄
Across his seven major novels, the protagonist in each is argued to represent the author himself. Each variation is a new mirror angled slightly differently, but all insist on a particular moral silhouette: the self-sufficient male pulled into conflict, first armored, then forced (often violently) into an awareness of his own vulnerability and a crisis of self-identification.

This is where Hemingway turns from author into icon-builder: he doesn’t just write people; he writes a code. We see private ethics elevated to public doctrine, where ‘righteous’ masculinity becomes a unit of measure, a moral compass. The rulebook is straight and perhaps as contained as the behaviors it ascribes: stoicism and restraint above all; prefer action to speech; keep feelings contained; endure the ordeal with constraint; resist impulsivity; remain loyal to inner standards.

The famous toughness, however, isn’t just a put-on show, but a discipline. It is an attempt to raise the emotional temperature toward universal 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩 by refusing sentimentality, compressing the unbearable into understatement, and turning empathy inward until it becomes a vibration beneath the surface of “facts.” The most evident proof of this is the maestro’s distinctive compressed language style, officially known as “𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗱-𝗯𝗼𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗱.”

Masculinity Hemingway-kind, undeniably, tilts into 𝗺𝗮𝗰𝗵𝗶𝘀𝗺𝗼. And again, we see self & written, portrayed and projected blend. Ernest himself, of course, had an ambition to look like a macho: a real man, a hero-lover, an athlete, a conqueror of women, heights, and horses.

If identity is a construct, Hemingway’s protagonists are identity at its most performative: the self staged as a demonstration. Following the same logic, the man himself is a shining example of a trendy term these days: 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘁𝘆.

𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐋
A Ken on display, the result is a self-labyrinth made of pride, fear, longing, and the desperate need for the world to validate the mask.

Now, with guidelines so ironclad, the implications of a breach can be fatal. Restrictions make it impossible to move, errors are seen as a moral collapse, and any force majeure risks a point of no return. Proof? At the 𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝟲𝟮, Hemingway put a double-barreled shotgun to the sky and pressed the trigger.

Pressure —both self-inflicted and now extended into the public eye, with all the media coverage the author was attracting— raised the bar too high. With unexpected external factors coming into play (numerous head injuries throughout life; rapid deterioration of physical health towards the end; mania, paranoia, and PTSD), the pedestal that the public put him on proved to be a rather unstable foundation — a trap rather than a throne, especially in the context of a fragile ego.

'𝑯𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑾𝑨𝒀 𝑪𝑶𝑫𝑬' 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐃: 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐄𝐆𝐎 𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘, 𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎’𝐒 𝐁𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐂𝐄?
Maybe that’s why “𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙃𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙘𝙤𝙙𝙚” reads less like armor and more like a cage. An artificial identity can be all-consuming: what begins as protection slowly hardens into captivity. And for a macho image —by definition— display of weakness is not just an abnormality but a sign of embarrassment.

Or maybe 𝑯𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒘𝒂𝒚’𝒔 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 is Hemingway — the Hemingway he invented and revised across books: modern knight, man of action, chivalric code-bearer, stoic believer in discipline, volcano disguised as stone.

...

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐘𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐋: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅
And this is where 𝑹𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝑬𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒉, 𝑶𝒑𝒆𝒏 𝑺𝒌𝒚 slides into the frame — not as a “related title” plug, but as a sister inquiry. 𝑹𝑬𝑶𝑺 is also an 𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗻𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹, except the stage is not Paris cafés and prizefights, but the desert, the road, the charged theatre of spiritual narration. Its characters keep bumping into a brutally modern question: who are you when you stop performing the version of yourself that kept you safe? Hemingway builds a “real man” and then must live inside the costume; 𝑹𝑬𝑶𝑺 watches people inherit costumes —spiritual, cultural, romantic, even salvific— and then begins the slow, frightening work of taking them off. Not to become “authentic” in some glossy self-help sense, but to face the emptiness underneath the costume without rushing to refill it with another script.

In that way, 𝑹𝑬𝑶𝑺 reads like a counter-mechanism to the Hemingway machine: it doesn’t romanticize the code; it interrogates the need for codes at all. The book’s identity arc isn’t “become harder,” but 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵: about the stories you tell to survive, the aliases you wear to be loved, the myths you adopt to feel chosen. And if Hemingway’s public self is a masterpiece of myth-manufacture —knight, hunter, stoic— 𝑹𝑬𝑶𝑺 asks the darker follow-up: 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘺𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘭? When the “character” you’ve perfected becomes the very thing that keeps you from living?