"Ezra was right half the time, and when he was wrong, he was so wrong you were never in any doubt about it"
About this Quote
Hemingway turns a literary judgment into a piece of high-caliber character writing: Ezra Pound as a man whose errors arrive with the force of weather. The line’s hook is its mathy bluntness - “half the time” - then the pivot into spectacle: being wrong so loudly, so absolutely, that certainty replaces confusion. It’s praise with a blade hidden in it, the kind Hemingway perfected: admiration for conviction, impatience with cant, and a grudging respect for anyone who commits to an idea hard enough to make it unmistakable.
The context matters. Pound wasn’t just a fellow modernist; he was a catalyst. He championed Hemingway early, edited with evangelical zeal, and helped wire together the transatlantic avant-garde. But Pound also became the cautionary tale: the genius who welded aesthetic radicalism to political delusion, culminating in fascist sympathies and wartime broadcasts. Hemingway’s sentence reads like a retrospective coping mechanism for that whiplash. How do you honor the patron without laundering the catastrophe? You frame Pound’s extremity as a kind of clarity.
The subtext is also a quiet self-portrait. Hemingway admired people who lived at the edge of certainty - boxers, soldiers, writers with hard opinions. He’s defending a model of masculinity and artistry where being decisively wrong can be preferable to being safely vague. There’s wit here, but it’s the dry wit of a man acknowledging that the same intensity that makes a friend invaluable can also make him dangerous.
The context matters. Pound wasn’t just a fellow modernist; he was a catalyst. He championed Hemingway early, edited with evangelical zeal, and helped wire together the transatlantic avant-garde. But Pound also became the cautionary tale: the genius who welded aesthetic radicalism to political delusion, culminating in fascist sympathies and wartime broadcasts. Hemingway’s sentence reads like a retrospective coping mechanism for that whiplash. How do you honor the patron without laundering the catastrophe? You frame Pound’s extremity as a kind of clarity.
The subtext is also a quiet self-portrait. Hemingway admired people who lived at the edge of certainty - boxers, soldiers, writers with hard opinions. He’s defending a model of masculinity and artistry where being decisively wrong can be preferable to being safely vague. There’s wit here, but it’s the dry wit of a man acknowledging that the same intensity that makes a friend invaluable can also make him dangerous.
Quote Details
| Topic | Sarcastic |
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