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112 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1925
‘He sat on the logs, smoking, drying in the sun, the sun warm on his back the river shallow ahead entering the woods, curving into the woods, shallows light glittering, big water-smooth rocks, cedars along the bank and white birches, the logs warm in the sun, smooth to sit on, without bark, gray to the touch; slowly the feeling of disappointment left him.’
‘Seney was burned, the country was burned over and changed, but it did not matter. It could not all be burned.’
In the swamp the banks were bare, the big cedars came together overhead, the sun did not come through, except in patches; in the fast deep water, in the half light, the fishing would be tragic. In the swamp fishing was a tragic adventure. Nick did not want it. He did not want to go down the stream any farther today.
In Paris, he was an ocean and more away from his home waters in Michigan. The separation intensified the writing. While he worked on the story, he kept a map of northern Michigan posted in his apartment, with blue marks for significant locations. In succeeding drafts, he stripped the story down to one disturbed person moving through a dreamlike, almost hallucinatory landscape of distorted reality. Brown grasshoppers evolve to black in the fire’s footprint, a physical impossibility in the time between flames and green-up. Swamps are not known for being deep and full of swift currents; they are still and often shallow—the many swamps I saw around Seney certainly are. Words repeat, the rhythm pulses, and the prose becomes an incantation. - from the Introduction by John N. Maclean.

I identify with Nick Adams probably more than any other hero in American letters because of his fragility and vulnerability. Yes, he sometimes tries to disguise it, but it shines through. - Introduction by Tim O'Brien to the short story Big Two-Hearted River in the collection The Hemingway Stories (March 2021).
