Cinquante mille dollars et autres nouvelles

by Ernest Hemingway, Victor Llona (Translator), Ott de Weymer (Translator)

Avec Cinquante mille dollars, qui relate un combat de boxe truqué, L'invincible, l'un des premiers textes d'Hemingway sur la corrida, et Les tueurs, qui connut une magnifique adaptation cinématographique avec Ava Gardner et Burt Lancaster, ce recueil rassemble trois des plus célèbres et des plus représentatives nouvelles du grand écrivain américain.

Genres: Short Stories, Fiction, Classics, Historical Fiction, Literature, Sports

235 pages, Pocket Book

First published January 1, 1927

About the author

Ernest Miller Hemingway was an American novelist, short-story writer and journalist. Best known for an economical, understated style that significantly influenced later 20th-century writers, he is often romanticized for his adventurous lifestyle, and outspoken and blunt public image. Most of Hemingway's works were published between the mid-1920s and mid-1950s, including seven novels, six short-story collections and two non-fiction works. His writings have become classics of American literature; he was awarded the 1954 Nobel Prize in Literature, while three of his novels, four short-story collections and three nonfiction works were published posthumously.
Hemingway was raised in Oak Park, Illinois. After high school, he spent six months as a cub reporter for The Kansas City Star before enlisting in the Red Cross. He served as an ambulance driver on the Italian Front in World War I and was seriously wounded in 1918. His wartime experiences formed the basis for his 1929 novel A Farewell to Arms. He married Hadley Richardson in 1921, the first of four wives. They moved to Paris where he worked as a foreign correspondent for the Toronto Star and fell under the influence of the modernist writers and artists of the 1920s' "Lost Generation" expatriate community. His debut novel The Sun Also Rises was published in 1926.
He divorced Richardson in 1927 and married Pauline Pfeiffer. They divorced after he returned from the Spanish Civil War, where he had worked as a journalist and which formed the basis for his 1940 novel For Whom the Bell Tolls. Martha Gellhorn became his third wife in 1940. He and Gellhorn separated after he met Mary Welsh Hemingway in London during World War II. Hemingway was present with Allied troops as a journalist at the Normandy landings and the liberation of Paris. He maintained permanent residences in Key West, Florida, in the 1930s and in Cuba in the 1940s and 1950s. On a 1954 trip to Africa, he was seriously injured in two plane accidents on successive days, leaving him in pain and ill health for much of the rest of his life. In 1959, he bought a house in Ketchum, Idaho, where, on July 2, 1961 (a couple weeks before his 62nd birthday), he killed himself using one of his shotguns.

Reviews

[Maureen · Rating 3 out of 5]

A short story written in 1927 by Ernest Hemingway. It’s about two boxers, a very popular form of entertainment at the time.
Champion Irish boxer Jack Brennan is past his best, and there are other things he wants to do with his life, so his upcoming match with Jimmy Walcott needs to be his last, and he’s going to make sure that it is!
A sad little tale, as expected from Hemingway.

[Luís · Rating 3 out of 5]

This short story is taken from the book The Snows of Kilimanjaro and Other Stories by the author himself.

[George Ilsley · Rating 4 out of 5]

A 1927 short story from Ernest Hemingway that demonstrates the use of realistic dialogue to shape the narrative and reveal the ambiguity of character. There are almost no descriptions of the main characters.

This is a boxing story; the boxers weigh at most 147 pounds; one of them, Walcott, "had the widest shoulders and back you ever saw."

Hemingway liked boxing stories and cultivated a tough-guy image. He was less fond of being knocked down by the Canadian writer Morley Callaghan; Hemingway blamed it all on the sloppy timekeeper, F. Scott Fitzgerald.

"Fifty Grand" is a tale of hope, betrayal, double crossing, betting and gambling, and to this reader is open to various interpretations ("Your friends Morgan and Steinfelt," Jack said. "You got nice friends.").

The use of simple language is admirable and at the time, revolutionary. That revolution needs to happen again. Other elements of the story feel dated, yet the simple language is almost futuristic.

[Federico DN · Rating 2 out of 5]

Let's get ready to tumble!

Jack Brennan is the current welterweight champion, but steadily declining in shape and form. His upcoming title match is against contender Jimmy Walcott, and all odds are heavily against him. What is there to do, once the prime has faded away?

I could swear without the dialog repetitiveness of every single of Hemingway's characters, the length of his stories would be cut in a third. I mean by the fifth time it gets bothersome, but by the tenth I'm ready to chuck the damn thing out the window. Yet, truth be told, it's only one small niggle; the major problem with Hemingway is that on the other two thirds of his writings he's also insufferably boring.



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PERSONAL NOTE :
[1927] [26p] [Fiction] [Not Recommendable]
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★★☆☆☆ The Snows of Kilimanjaro and Other Stories <--

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¡Preparémonos para caer!

Jack Brennan es el actual campeón de peso welter, pero disminuyendo constantemente en físico y forma. Su próxima pelea por el título es contra el contendiente Jimmy Walcott; y todas las probabilidades están muy en su contra. ¿Qué hay para hacer, una vez que el apogeo se ha desvanecido?

Podría jurar que sin la repetición de los diálogos de cada uno de los personajes de Hemingway, la duración de sus historias se reduciría en un tercio. Lo que quiero decir es que a la quinta vez se vuelve molesto, pero a la décima ya estoy listo para tirar la maldita cosa por la ventana. Sin embargo, a decir verdad, no es nada más que un pequeño inconveniente; el mayor problema con Hemingway es que en los otros dos tercios de sus escritos también es insufriblemente aburrido.



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NOTA PERSONAL :
[1927] [26p] [Ficción] [No Recomendable]
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[Clayton Roach · Rating 4 out of 5]

Easy yet elegant literature. Hemingway's short stories come with no fluff but rather firm information that gives away a deeper meaning than is read on the pages. He subtly mentions characteristics/morals that give us subconscious insight into what the protagonist, Jack Brennan, stands for. The story ends just as fast as it started but the time in between is packed tightly enough with words that illustrate a classic Hemingway character: admirable. Throughout the story, Jack Brennan displays feats of self-discipline, which is attributed to his success and desire to be a good father and husband. That's the magic of Ernest Hemingway's writings: there's always something much deeper within, and it takes attention to the small details to catch it.

[Steven Godin · Rating 3 out of 5]

Loads of Hemingway short stories floating around online for free, and I hadn't read him in ages, so just picked one at random after scrolling through a list. This one being about boxing; in particular a fading champion. Hemingway has always been a master when it comes to dialogue, and you really buy into that here, along with the actual fight that takes place, which is dramatically told. At 25 pages it's one of his longer short stories, but I got more pleasure reading Cat in the Rain, which is only a couple of pages long. It's decent enough though and worth seeking out for Hemingway admirers who haven't read it.

[Zainab Al saba'a · Rating 4 out of 5]

Touching.. and sad of course, as expected from Mr. Hemingway.

[Connor · Rating 2 out of 5]

The only reason I'm giving this two stars is because it wasn't so awful that it deserved the minimum grade. But still, what was that, some sort of exercise in minimalist writing? How can we make a story with the fewest details and by getting the reader as marginally attached to the characters as possible?

I'll admit, the fight was mildly entertaining and the ending was a nice little wink, but good lord idgaf about Jack or Jerry or Hogan or Willcot.

I was honestly hoping for someone's head to split open in the fight just for some payoff to all of the mind numbing exposition that led up to it.

But I mean oh, Jack's good at cribbage, so that's awesome for him.

[Classic reverie · Rating 5 out of 5]

Hemingway's "Fifty Grand" is a boxing story about a fading champion and last fight with a surprising ending.

Short story in short- Jack has placed a bet on his last fight, but on who?


➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖

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“What do you think about the shape I’m in?” Jack asked me. “Well, you can’t tell,” I said. “You got a week to get around into form.” “Don’t stall me.” “Well,” I said, “you’re not right.” “I’m not sleeping,” Jack said. “You’ll be all right in a couple of days.” “No,” says Jack, “I got the insomnia.” “What’s on your mind?” “I miss the wife.” “Have her come out.” “No. I’m too old for that.”
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“We’ll take a long walk before you turn in and get you good and tired.” “Tired!” Jack says. “I’m tired all the time.” He was that way all week. He wouldn’t sleep at night and he’d get up in the morning feeling that way, you know, when you can’t shut your hands. “He’s stale as poorhouse cake,” Hogan said. “He’s nothing.” “I never seen Walcott,” I said. “He’ll kill him,” said Hogan. “He’ll tear him in two.” “Well,” I said, “everybody’s got to get it sometime.”
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“Not like this, though,” Hogan said. “They’ll think he never trained. It gives the farm a black eye.” “You hear what the reporters said about him?” “Didn’t I! They said he was awful. They said they oughtn’t to let him fight.” “Well,” I said, “they’re always wrong, ain’t they?” “Yes,” said Hogan. “But this time they’re right.”
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He was sore all day. We didn’t do any work. Jack just moved around a little to loosen up. He shadow-boxed a few rounds. He didn’t even look good doing that. He skipped the rope a little while. He couldn’t sweat. “He’d be better not to do any work at all,” Hogan said. We were standing watching him skip rope. “Don’t he ever sweat at all any more?” “He can’t sweat.” “Do you suppose he’s got the con? He never had any trouble making weight did he?”

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“No, he hasn’t got any con. He just hasn’t got anything inside any more.” “He ought to sweat,” said Hogan. Jack came over, skipping the rope. He was skipping up and down in front of us, forward and back, crossing his arms every third time. “Well,” he says. “What are you buzzards talking about?” “I don’t think you ought to work any more,” Hogan says. “You’ll be stale.”
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“Where’s Jack?” John asked me. “Up in his room, lying down.” “Lying down?” “Yes,” I said. “How is he?”
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I looked at the two fellows that were with John. “They’re friends of his,” John said. “He’s pretty bad,” I said. “What’s the matter with him?” “He don’t sleep.” “Hell,” said John. “That Irishman could never sleep.” “He isn’t right,” I said. “Hell,” John said. “He’s never right. I’ve had him for ten years and he’s never been right yet.” The fellows who were with him laughed.
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“I better go find Hogan,” I said. “All right, if you want to go,” Jack says. “None of these guys are going to send you away, though.” “I’ll go find Hogan,” I said. Hogan was out in the gym in the barn. He had a couple of his health-farm patients with the gloves on. They neither one wanted to hit the other, for fear the other would come back and hit him. “That’ll do,” Hogan said when he saw me come in. “You can stop the slaughter.

❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌spoiler alert


Jack wants to bet his money on his opponent and this being his last fight he fouls and this brings a win but not such a decisive win.

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“You know,” he says, “you ain’t got any idea how I miss the wife.” “Sure.” “You ain’t got any idea. You can’t have an idea what it’s like.”
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“It ought to be better out in the country than in town.” “With me now,” Jack said, “it don’t make any difference where I am. You can’t have an idea what it’s like.” “Have another drink.” “Am I getting soused? Do I talk funny?” “You’re coming on all right.” “You can’t have an idea what it’s like. They ain’t anybody can have an idea what it’s like.” “Except the wife,” I said.
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“She knows,” Jack said. “She knows all right. She knows. You bet she knows.” “Put some water in that,” I said. “Jerry,” says Jack, “you can’t have an idea what it gets to be like.” He was good and drunk. He was looking at me steady. His eyes were sort of too steady. “You’ll sleep all right,” I said. “Listen Jerry,” Jack says. “You want to make some money? Get some money down on Walcott.” “Yes?”

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“Listen, Jerry,” Jack put down the glass. “I’m not drunk now, see? You know what I’m betting on him? Fifty grand.” “That’s a lot of dough.” “Fifty grand,” Jack says, “at two to one. I’ll get twenty-five thousand bucks. Get some money on him, Jerry.” “It sounds good,” I said. “How can I beat him?” Jack says. “It ain’t crooked. How can I beat him? Why not make money on it?” “Put some water in that,” I said.
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“I’m through after this fight,” Jack says. “I’m through with it. I got to take a beating. Why shouldn’t I make money on it?” “Sure.” ��I ain’t slept for a week,” Jack says. “All night I lay awake and worry my can off. I can’t sleep, Jerry. You ain’t got an idea what it’s like when you can’t sleep.” “Sure.” “I can’t sleep. That’s all. I just can’t sleep. What’s the use of taking care of yourself all these years when you can’t sleep?”
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“It’s bad.” “You ain’t got an idea what it’s like, Jerry, when you can’t sleep.” “Put some water in that,” I said. Well, about eleven o’clock Jack passes out and I put him to bed. Finally he’s so he can’t keep from sleeping. I helped him get his clothes off and got him into bed. “You’ll sleep all right, Jack,” I said. “Sure,” Jack says, “I’ll sleep now.” “Good night, Jack,” I said. “Good night, Jerry,” Jack says. “You’re the only friend I got.” “Oh, hell,” I said.
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“You’re the only friend I got,” Jack says, “the only friend I got.” “Go to sleep,” I said. “I’ll sleep,” Jack says. Downstairs Hogan was sitting at the desk in the office reading the papers. He looked up. “Well, you get your boy friend to sleep?” he asks. “He’s off.” “It’s better for him than not sleeping,” Hogan said. “Sure.”
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I sat down at the table. Jack was eating a grapefruit. When he’d find a seed he’d spit it out in the spoon and dump it on the plate. “I guess I was pretty stewed last night,” he started. “You drank some liquor.” “I guess I said a lot of fool things.” “You weren’t bad.”
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“Where’s Hogan?” he asked. He was through with the grapefruit. “He’s out in front in the office.” “What did I say about betting on the fight?” Jack asked. He was holding the spoon and sort of poking at the grapefruit with it. The girl came in with some ham and eggs and took away the grapefruit. “Bring me another glass of milk,” Jack said to her. She went out. “You said you had fifty grand on Walcott,” I said. “That’s right,” Jack said.
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“That’s a lot of money.” “I don’t feel too good about it,” Jack said. “Something might happen.” “No,” Jack said. “He wants the title bad. They’ll be shooting with him all right.” “You can’t ever tell.” “No. He wants the title.

It’s worth a lot of money to him.” “Fifty grand is a lot of money,” I said. “It’s business,” said Jack. “I can’t win. You know I can’t win anyway.”
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“As long as you’re in there you got a chance.” “No,” Jack says. “I’m all through. It’s just business.” “How do you feel?” “Pretty good,” Jack said. “The sleep was what I needed.” “You might go good.” “I’ll give them a good show,” Jack said.
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“I told the wife I’d take a room at the Shelby tonight,” he said. “It’s just around the comer from the Garden. I can go up to the house tomorrow morning.”
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“That’s a good idea,” I said. “Your wife ever see you fight, Jack?” “No,” Jack says. “She never seen me fight.” I thought he must be figuring on taking an awful beating if he doesn’t want to go home afterward. In town we took a taxi up to the Shelby. A boy came out and took our bags and we went in to the desk.
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Walcott was sore as hell. By the time they’d gone five rounds he hated Jack’s guts. Jack wasn’t sore; that is, he wasn’t any sorer than he always was. He certainly did used to make the fellows he fought hate boxing.
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After the seventh round Jack says, “My left’s getting heavy.” From then he started to take a beating. It didn’t show at first. But instead of him running the fight it was Walcott was running it, instead of being safe all the time now he was in trouble. He couldn’t keep him out with the left hand now. It looked as though it was the same as ever, only now instead of Walcott’s punches just missing him they were just hitting him. He took an awful beating in the body. “What’s the round?” Jack asked. “The eleventh.” “I can’t stay,” Jack says. “My legs are going bad.” Walcott had been just hitting him for a long time. It was like a baseball catcher pulls the ball and takes
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some of the shock off. From now on Walcott commenced to land solid. He certainly was a socking-machine. Jack was just trying to block everything now. It didn’t show what an awful beating he was taking. In between the rounds I worked on his legs. The muscles would flutter under my hands all the time I was rubbing them. He was sick as hell. “How’s it go?” he asked John, turning around, his face all swollen. “It’s his fight.” “I think I can last,” Jack says. “I don’t want this bohunk to stop me.”

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It was going just the way he thought it would. He knew he couldn’t beat Walcott. He wasn’t strong any more. He was all right though. His money was all right and now he wanted to finish it off right to please himself. He didn’t want to be knocked out.
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Walcott came up to Jack looking at him. Jack stuck the left hand at him. Walcott just shook his head. He backed Jack up against the ropes, measured him and then hooked the left very light to the side of Jack’s head and socked the right into the body as hard as he could sock, just as low as he could get it. He must have hit him five inches below the belt. I thought the eyes would come out of Jack’s head. They stuck way out. His mouth come open.
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The referee grabbed Walcott. Jack stepped forward. If he went down there went fifty thousand bucks. He walked as though all his insides were going to fall out. “It wasn’t low,” he said. “It was a accident.” The crowd were yelling so you couldn’t hear anything. “I’m all right,” Jack says. They were right in front of us. The referee looks at John and then he shakes his head.
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Jack stands up and the sweat comes out all over his face. I put the bathrobe around him and he holds himself in with one hand under the bathrobe and goes across the ring. They’ve picked Walcott up and they’re working on him. There’re a lot of people in Walcott’s corner. Nobody speaks to Jack. He leans over Walcott. “I’m sorry,” Jack says. “I didn’t mean to foul you.” Walcott doesn’t say anything. He looks too damned sick.
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“Well, you’re the champion now,” Jack says to him. “I hope you get a hell of a lot of fun out of it.” “Leave the kid alone,” Solly Freedman says. “Hello, Solly,” Jack says. “I’m sorry I fouled your boy.” Freedman just looks at him. Jack went to his corner walking that funny jerky way and we got him down through the ropes and through the reporters’ tables and out down the aisle. A lot of people want to slap Jack on the back. He goes out through all that mob in his
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bathrobe to the dressing-room. It’s a popular win for Walcott. That’s the way the money was bet in the Garden.

[KZ · Rating 4 out of 5]

Banger. Les nouvelles abordent plusieurs sujets : suicide, estime de soi,folie… avec l’efficacité de l’écriture d’Hemingway.
Simple, efficace.

[André · Rating 3 out of 5]

Boxing matches were very popular as a form of entertainment in the late 19th and early 20th century. For that reason, many authors started to write about this subject, and Hemingway was no exception.
Inspired in the welterweight championship fight between Jack Britton and Mickey Walker, Hemingway's short story was published in "The Atlantic Monthly" in 1927.

"Fifty Grand" narrates the story of an Irish champion boxer, Jack Brennan as he trains for his fight against Jimmy Walcott. Set in a later time of Jack's boxing career, the Irish protagonist struggles to focus on his upcoming fight. Remaining in thinking about his wife and kids, Jack is conscious that his career is about to cease. Despite Brennan's skill and craftsmanship in the ring, the Irish protagonist is aware that doesn't last a chance against his upcoming opponent and for that reason he bets 50grand dollars on his own defeat. The outcome is predictable, but Jack's natural prowess will be a hard task to Walcott.

The prize money in the story reveals the moral code of Jack (outside the ring) since he bets against himself. However, the Protagonist is depicted as a well-crafted boxer and professional in the ring. Brennan is a reserved fellow who cares about his family and closest ones, and for that reason, money is his only goal in order to support his family.
Overall, the final question might be: Was Jack unethical in his decision in betting against himself?

Hemingway's realism was fundamental in the way he builds the dialogues between characters. His boxing knowledge was also significant to build an easy-flowing plot. "Fifty Grand", despite being a lesser-known story by the author, thematics about moral code and professionalism are well represented in this simple boxing tale.

rating: 3/5 stars

[Mack · Rating 5 out of 5]

The old boxer knows how, but is too old to do it anymore, but he won't back down or step down because he has other brands in the fire. It's not pride; it's his complicated life. He is pragmatic. He can survive one more beating and then settle down. Hemingway didn't write about the boxer getting brain damage, though. He didn't catch that, or he didn't have the conscience for it.

[Sarah Tanguy · Rating 4 out of 5]

J'ai commencé à lire sans saisir que c'est un recueil de nouvelles. J'ai tellement accroché qu'au lieu de les alterner avec d'autres lectures comme je fais d'habitude, je les ai enchaînées jusqu'à plus soif.

Les trois du début (Cinquante mille dollars / Mon Vieux / L'invincible) sont exceptionnelles, les deux premières sont des récits à la première personne d'un protagoniste adjacent, le tout sont centrées sur la difficultés de sports très spécifiques (boxe, courses hippiques, corrida). On est au milieu de toutes les tensions à sentir la sueur, goutter le sang et essuyer les larmes qui s'échappent pudiquement. Les histoires sont viriles et la narration est violente dans la simplicité des descriptions et la normalité des souffrances, dans une banalisation de la brutalité des vies vécues et des destins croisés et choisis. On a du mal à s'en remettre.

Les deux suivantes (Le champion / Le village indien) ne m'ont pas procuré grand chose, elles sont liées par un même personnage et se suffisent à elle-mêmes de la même façon que les précédentes ; j'adore les nouvelles justement pour la capacité efficace d'être directement dans le feu de l'action et de ne pas avoir à questionner ce que l'on sait des évènements évoqués.

La dernière nouvelle (Les tueurs) est amusante et m'a permis de finir un peu plus en paix ce recueil. J'accuserai donc plus la sélection française de rassembler ces nouvelles que l'écriture en elle-même.

[Razvan Banciu · Rating 4 out of 5]

Nu mă întrebați cum am ajuns la cele patru stele, mai ales că Hemingway nu s-a numărat vreodată printre favoriții subsemnatului. Din contră, citind destul de multe romane de ale sale, nu există vreunul să-mi fi plăcut în mod deosebit. Cap de listă, atât de mult lăudata Fiesta (The Sun Also Rises, titlul mi se pare e departe cea mai reușită parte a romanului) plus romanul postum, pe care nu mă mai chinui să-i caut numele, în care un băiat umblă cu două fătuci, una mai plecată de-acasă decât alta și nici el foarte întreg, plus alt roman postum, cel cu traficul din Florida, plus, plus, plus...
Și totuși, probabil și din amintirea vremurilor trecute, m-am hotărât că Cincizeci de bătrâne merită mai multă apreciere. Nu neapărat pentru conținut, cât pentru amintirile legate de ea, acum mai bine de cincizeci de ani, când am citit-o sub formă de benzi desenate, făcând ea parte dintr-o serie ce a avut mare succes la puștii de atunci.

[Isaac Chan · Rating 3 out of 5]

Excellent story about boxing - I loved the retro vibe, the realism, the slice of life. I loved how I was given the opportunity to get into the mind of a boxer before a fight - Jack’s anxiety and self-doubt was gripping to read. It’s perhaps a reminder that even the most composed people on the surface have their moments of stress and uncertainty. Hemingway’s prose, again, is 1 of a kind: vivid, economical, terse. I could hear the American accents from the characters and I could imagine the sounds of punches. On a side-note, $50k in 1927 is about $923k today - so Jack was a fucking baller. Hedging my bets is also something I often do, so me and Jack might be birds of a feather; however, I acknowledge that constant hedging behaviour does not build strong character and strength of mind in the long term.

[Darinda · Rating 3 out of 5]

Read in The Snows of Kilimanjaro, and Other Stories.

Synopsis: A boxer prepares for his last fight.

A heartbreaking story about a boxer who is too old to continue fighting. He has missed other things in life due to his boxing career, and he's preparing to move on to a day when boxing is his past.

[Vintagebooklvr · Rating 2 out of 5]

2 1/2 stars. A boxer has a less than stellar training session leading up to a big boxing match and then the match itself. Simple but as in most of Hemingway's stories there is more going on. I'm not a fan of boxing but it is well written.

[Vytas · Rating 3 out of 5]

The short stories themselves are very good, just that there are way better selections of them, such as The First Forty Nine Stories.

[Claire]

This one is also clever! A little sad and hits your gut a little bit.

[Ami Ambrio · Rating 4 out of 5]

One of his better stories but not the best. Would recommend learning about boxing before reading so you can become wel versed in lingo

[Zowi · Rating 1 out of 5]

Abandonné page 155...

[Robert Cox · Rating 4 out of 5]

Hooooooly, did this actually have a happy ending? Did the good guys make out alright in the end? Most have had a ghost writer on this one

[Hajer · Rating 4 out of 5]

L'expression 'Coup bas' prend tout sens.

[ei_tc Ryan · Rating 5 out of 5]

Pukka.

[Chris Moreland · Rating 5 out of 5]

I would kill to be able to see the original manuscript that had an extra 3 pages in the beginning. I'm very curious if Fitzgerald really did mutilate his story.

[prout flambant neuf · Rating 4 out of 5]

c pas le bon bouquin fin c qu’une nouvelle mais en tout y’en avait 5 et c’était top sauf la corrida g pas kiffé

[Tommie Haag · Rating 2 out of 5]

Painful to read, but I guess it left me with a feeling of simple despair.

[bhavdeep · Rating 3 out of 5]

that was compelling! on a side note, i wish goodreads let me give half stars.

7/10 ⭐️

[Nolan · Rating 3 out of 5]

An easy read that I reckon matters more to Hemingway fans than curious audiences checking the story out on a whim.

[Dave · Rating 3 out of 5]

This was okay.