I read Everybody Behaves Badly because I found it in a used book shop, and it led me to re-reading Sun, which I found even better than I had originally remembered. Now, The Sun Also Rises is not, page for page, always a happy book; it depicts drunken, shallow people (including all but the hero and stand-in for Hemingway, Jake Barnes) "behaving badly" on a trip to a fiesta in Spain. But I liked this book about that book quite a bit, though obviously you would never read it unless you read and knew about Sun as Hem's fictionalized version of the events he lived through over a period of a couple months in Paris and Pamplona. It was his first novel, and justifiably catapulted him to international fame as both literary and popular writer. The cult and scandal of Hemingway began around then and continues to this day.
Was Hem a philandering, arrogant, self-obsessed and self-promoting heavy drinker, destroying almost everyone who ever supported him, or a genius? I think the answer is yes. Recent articles and a biography talk about his eventual suicide as the culmination of at least nine serious concussions (including those that occurred during his surviving two plane crashes), and/or bi-polar disorder, all of which may be true, but what Blume's both gossipy (psst! did you know heiress Pauline Pfeiffer, the woman who openly stole Hem from sweet Paris Wife Hadley, strolled into a Paris cafe wearing a CHIPMUNK fur coat!?) but also well-researched book makes clear is that Hemingway redefined American style brilliantly, even as he eviscerated everyone who ever made it possible: Hadley, Harold Loeb, Gertrude Stein, Sherwood Anderson and so so many others. I do think Sun is nevertheless amazing, always have, and this biography, focused on the events that shaped Sun, doesn't diminish my feelings for the work.
One example of Hem's shameful dissing of a mentor (though he does not appear in Sun): Sherwood Anderson (Winesburg, Ohio), the victim of a cruel and badly written parody, The Torrents of Spring, which Hem insisted on being published as part of the deal with Scribner's for The Sun. Anderson had paved the way for the fellow Chicagoan (Hem's from my suburban Oak Park, initially) to make connections with all the ex-pats in Paris of the time and was endlessly supportive of his young mentee. In the end, Anderson, hurt by the unfunny "parody," was no longer Hem's friend, and in fact none of them from that time remained his friends, really, not even Fitzgerald, who had been another champion of Hem through thick and thin.
I have read several biographies of Hemingway, including one of the most popular ones, by his buddy A. E. Hotchner, who lionized him and fed his macho/genius mythology as only a friend could. In the end, Hotch asks Hem whether in retrospect he would have softened the vicious portraits of his "Lost Generation" "friends," and Hem said, "Oh, hell no," though he appears in A Moveable Feast-- essays about those days in Paris written decades later, some still being drafted on his desk as he died--to express regret over the dumping of Hadley for Pauline, whom he would dump for Martha Gellhorn, whom he would dump for Mary Welsh. Each of his major novels are today associated with a woman who supported him through the writing of it. Only Mary wasn't dumped, since it was she who found him dead from the shotgun.
How do I justify supporting an asshole like Hemingway (mentally ill or not) as a great writer? Because he was a great writer. My Dad found out Cassius Clay/Muhammed Ali was a draft resister and told me he would never watch him fight again, and that he was as a consequence of his actions not a "great" boxer. The two things are separate for me, to some extent. I know that #metoo issues may have to affect our assessment of, for instance, Woody Allen as filmmaker, and on and on with others, but I'll at least for now remain acknowledging Hemingway as writer, if not always great person. You may disagree with me, of course, and I'd get that, we all make different decisions about these things, but I think Blume would agree with me, which is one reason I appreciate her book. She doesn't pull punches when he deserves it as she also credits him as one of the great authors. I just re-read The Old Man and the Sea and go ahead, tell me that sucks, I dare you. Pure and powerful prose, just breath-taking, where he touches the very flame.