The Writer's "Rough Brand of Radical Chic"

At some point during the past few years, I've come to terms with the fact that I'm never going to be a literary powerhouse. I am not my generation's Salinger. I will not be writing the Great American Novel. This used to upset me. Now I'm OK with it.

Starting last November, though, just after the election, I started to wonder if my inability to write in that way - that way being: fiction, commercially viable and adored by the literary community, self-conscious but not overly so, zeitgeisty and classic all at once - if my inability to write like that was somehow related to my politics. Was my hawkish idealism, my unwavering patriotism, my unabashed capitalism getting in the way of a certain type of creativity?

This New Yorker review of a book on Hemingway and Dos Passos in Spain during the revolution makes me think that yes - for whatever reason, my political sensibilities cannot coexist with the literary person I'd hoped to be.

While the author states that Hemingway "lacked a sense of politics," his appreciation of the romance of communism and taking a side - his "rough brand of radical chic" - gel perfectly with the absolutist, realpolitiky qualities that make me love his writing.

I know that I could never compromise myself politically (I am too much of an idealist for that) to help myself succeed creatively. But that certainly doesn't keep the major pangs of jealousy at bay. Hemingway's life - Paris, Cuba, Key West, Africa, Spain (not necessarily in that order) - and the salon-like community of expatriates - it all makes my Power Point presentations and office in Towson (nice and sunny as it is) feel very small.

At the same time, the author mentions that Hemingway seemingly had to destroy a marriage or a close friendship every few years, just to keep it fresh. That sounds painfully selfish and lonely to me.

And not worth it. I suppose.