Note: This is an updated review.
The Hemingway Files does an excellent job of warmly presenting Japanese culture, appealing to academics who love discussions about literary giants, and creating believable, likable characters whose actions for the most part fit well into the plot, with the possible exception of Miyamoto, who for me never rose to the level “nemesis.”
My objections probably have to do with the author’s style and voice, which never seemed to achieve the level of prose needed to make this a good novel. Of course reactions based on style are highly subjective. They can become a matter of deeply personal literary preferences. It is a testament to the strength of the story that I wanted to read all the way to the end. Many other readers (some of whom I have a passing acquaintance) loved the book, and I respect their opinions. Many feel that The Hemingway Files is “great literature.” Perhaps it is. We all have our favorites.
One of the main themes has to do with the love of “words, words, words.” Maybe that had me focused too much on every single word. It takes only a paragraph or two to describe how much someone loves a book, but many more to outline the “difficulties.” So I apologize for detailing the following, but feel it necessary, at least for me, if I’m going to give an honest reaction.
For this reader, the style and/or voice did not match well to the weighty subject matter. At times it seemed awkward, sometimes unwittingly pretentious, and occasionally the author may have become overly ambitious in bending or breaking fiction writing standards (an effort to be applauded) but with the effect of it seeming more like he was unaware of them. (There are no rules except when there are.) The overall result, for me, is that it interfered with my enjoyment of what otherwise could have been a great story.
I felt there was too much dependence on qualifiers, adjectives, adverbs, and abstract nouns, “decent, definitely, somewhat, lame, and literally,” and too much “hesitating” and “long moments,” gazes, and looks. And having Sensei Master Goto saying “back in the day” seemed out of character, more like something a student in a English Lit. class might say, not a Sensei Master.
Sometimes passive academic sentences felt like they slowed down the prose and seemed falsely punctuated with an exclamation! The stylistic use of exclamation points and their subsequent explanation felt forced, and the overuse of well-worn phrases became a distraction. For example, through the roof, at death’s door, point of no return, faint of heart, to be honest, to tell the truth, through the grapevine, all’s fair in love and war.
The author cleverly uses the interplay between two narratives, expanding on themes inherent in the prototypical Master-Pupil relationship. But some of it, for me, comes across as a little self-serving and pretentious, as in the description of the student’s prose as “purely a reflection of the author’s craft and powers as an artist.” However, the example given, “like wings,” seemed like an average simile. And it becomes difficult to separate the author from the voice of his two narrators. When that happens, he’s basically complimenting himself on his “powers as an artist.” And one of the narrators asks us to forgive him for his writing because it was “terrifically challenging.” And later when describing his feelings about “this manuscript,” he states that he was “thus releasing to the world a truly fascinating tale.”
Occasionally, I was in a pleasant state of suspense after reading something like, “What would Sensei think if I were to pursue his niece?” But the suspense was deflated immediately by adding “I had no idea at the time, but soon enough would find out.” Some readers no doubt like the extra narration. I obviously don’t. And every now and then, a simile or metaphor seemed to miss the mark, as in “the raging root beer foam of the river Seine, stampeding its way to the sea.” I had a hard time accepting a river as stampeding root beer.
For this reader, the climatic earthquake scene is disappointing, and doesn’t draw us into what should be moments that are intense, urgent, threatening. The description becomes too vague, “General chaos greeted me,” and “Sirens wailed near and far,” and “Many buildings appeared to be leaning this way and that, and some were simply toppled over.” Given that this scene is I think meant to explain a character’s PTSD, I need more than “damage was all around” and a “fair amount of damage littered the street.” I don’t feel the trauma. As if to emphasize that I shouldn’t, perhaps inadvertently suggesting that the PTSD was fake, I get the following explanation, “It was all rather mysterious and actually kind of cool.”
But, as I’ve indicated, objections about style and voice are often deeply subjective. The story and characters are very good, and other readers obviously have had a more positive reaction.
Should you have gotten this far, and are curious, here is the original review, which no longer appears on Goodreads and Amazon. I changed it for good reason. The original, while honest, was admittedly mean. No writer wants to see this sort of stuff and not sure if it’s helpful to readers. However, because I’m “not sure,” it remains here, safely on my personal blog and website where few will see it.
I have struggled for months trying to decide if I should post this review. And now I’ve finally succumbed. In doing so, perhaps I have become self-serving, something the author of The Hemingway Files excels at. That’s the problem with accusing another author. Invariably, there will be examples of you doing the same thing. Maybe I can take solace in the probability that few people will read this.
I’m wary of upsetting anyone unnecessarily. I do not know Professor Bush and never heard of him before reading this novel. I sincerely wish him the best, and apologize if this causes any ill feelings. Probably it won’t, as I’m obviously no literary heavyweight. But I am also acquainted with some of the people who have written raving reviews, and I respect their opinions. We can justify just about anything as “style” preferences. Lots of this novel is very good. I can see how you might like this book, but please take a moment to read what I have to say.
While my invectives are intentional, and border on sarcasm and hyperbole, they’re not mean-spirited. At some point, we must all speak the truth, regardless of consequence. I was going to invoke Robert Pirsig and his concept of Quality, but that would involve a long philosophical treatise of which I’m likely not smart enough to write. It is my sincerest hope that you will find my critique beneficial.
I sent an email to the publisher a few months back and have since discovered that there was also an agent involved. The publisher responded, “Thank you for your thoughtful note. All constructive feedback helps us to become a better publisher.” While it was more than a “note,” I was thankful for their response. The following is more or less the same as the email.
The Hemingway Files does an excellent job of warmly presenting Japanese culture, creating likable characters, and appealing to academics who love discussions about literary giants. Congratulations to Mr. Bush on drafting what could be a good story. However, my admiration ends there.
I am appalled and disappointed. I feel embarrassed for the publisher, the agent, and for the author. How can someone who writes about the importance of “the words” be so careless (or clueless) in their use? How can a publisher and agent allow their author, a Fulbright Scholar, to humiliate himself?
The writing is amateurish, almost every page saddled with mistakes. Taken together, they destroy a potentially good novel. You might be tempted to stop reading now, but if you have any sense of literary decency you’ll press on. Keep in mind that for every example cited here, there are many more.
There is a senseless dependence on qualifiers, adjectives, adverbs, and abstract nouns. These useless and unnecessary words come in bunches, repeated three or more times over a few paragraphs or pages. The author would have done well to “weed out” the following: even, actually, decent, directly, all, entire, slightly, some, a bit, essentially, literally, briefly, rather, quite, essentially, simply, certainly, very, definitely, somewhat, again.
Also, he should have done “something” about vague, overused and ineffectual phrases: I think, I believe, I remember, something like that, things of that sort, began to, continued to, seemed to me, made a move, a fair amount, general chaos, generally speaking, so to speak, of all things, of course, to say the least, of some sort, some kind of, as it were. Used once, okay, easy enough to overlook. But not again, and again, and “again.”
Lots of “hesitating.” Lots of “long” moments, gazes, looks, whiles, and looking in the eyes, directly, briefly, actually, or otherwise. The author doesn’t know what his characters should do, so he has them hesitate and look at each other. The use of “decent” and “definitely” make the narrator sound immature.
The author is painfully self-conscious, sensing that “something” is wrong. On page 265, “I look back over that last paragraph and see how lame my sentences sound. Show, don’t tell, is the old writer’s adage.” Acknowledging an adage doesn’t forgive its misuse. As most novelists know, both “telling” and “showing” are useful, but you must know how and when. On page 177, “Hearing my somewhat plodding graduate school prose being read to me aloud made me cringe.” Yes, the writing is cringe worthy. If he hears it, it’s “aloud,” and it’s obvious from the scene it’s being “read to me,” and using the word “plodding” only invites ridicule. Maybe try, “Hearing my graduate school prose made me cringe.”
Unnecessary and clumsy overuse of exclamation points! Fitzgerald advised to cut out all exclamation points because it was like laughing at your own joke! The author not only uses too many, they are tacked on haphazardly and repetitively! And they don’t match the characters, especially Sensei Master Goto! Exclamation points everywhere! Ridiculous! The author tries to excuse himself of this offence by having Professor Aoyama on pages 295 and 303 speak with “his voice full of frantic exclamation marks.” Is this self- mocking parody? On page 91, “He laughed at his own funny saying and so did I.” Aside the bad writing, there was no “funny saying” to warrant this. On page 340, “He laughed at his own joke, and so did I.” No joke. It wasn’t funny.
Overuse of well-worn phrases. (Serving leftovers at a fancy restaurant.) Through the roof, like a bomb, at death’s door, high noon, point of no return, faint of heart, plant on her lips, going strong, let him off the hook, got down to business, this way and that, to be honest, to tell the truth, whack job, through the grapevine (I heard it there to), all’s fair in love and war, hearts and minds, like Inspector Clouseau, road less traveled, cut my loses, need to abandon ship, final fling, all that’s said and done, don’t take no wooden nickels, some things never change, and most egregious, Sensei Master Goto saying “back in the day.”
The author often uses the wrong word, or a strained academic word when a cheaper one would suffice, and has little sense regarding word placement. (“The difference between the almost right word and the right word is… the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning.”) Words like “deduced” and “pondered” and phrases like “discerned my disagreement.” Page 36, reference to “jaw-dropping news” when there is nothing “jaw-dropping” about it. Later he writes, “My jaw dropped open, literally.” Literally? Overhyping and overusing “sinister.” The author is obsessed with “left” and “right.” Experienced writers know that you only need to identify left and right when it’s integral to the story. On page 227, “… my desire to know Mika on some other level than mere waitress. But for now it would have to wait.” Divergent use of “wait.” Waiting for the waitress or the desire? And, while some of the secondary characters can be interesting, Miyamoto doesn’t rise to the level of “nemesis.”
The author’s transition from literature professor to novelist isn’t complete. He uses passive academic sentences when he would be better served by active ones. Page 71 reads like a Wikipedia article, punctuated with an exclamation! (Only a moron would be shocked that it was about Gato’s family.) As if the exclamation! can make the info exciting! Page 332 reads like a travelogue. Page 120 like a CV.
Self-serving pretension. Page 66, the description of Jack’s prose as “purely a reflection of the author’s craft and powers as an artist.” Okay. But “like wings” is an average simile. On page 139, the author describes Sensei’s interpretation as “brilliant” and “dazzling” when the interpretation was not. Let the reader decide if it’s brilliant.
Needless broadcasting and remembering. Page 216, “things were destined to get much worse.” Never knew when they “got worse,” except for maybe the earthquake 150 pages later. As early as page 81, we are told that he was leaving Japan “once and for all.” In case you didn’t know, he doesn’t leave Japan until page 307. Jack is always “remembering” that something vague and horrible is going to ruin “something.”
The climatic earthquake scene is so poorly written that whatever merit the novel had crumbles like the walls of Sensei Master Goto’s house. Perhaps it’s best exemplified by the sentence, “General chaos greeted me on Minato-dori, the large avenue outside my condo.” Is General Chaos a friendly super villain greeting him? Why do we care what the avenue is called as it has no significance? “Sirens wailed near and far.” There were shouts “in Japanese.” What other language but Japanese? Think about these two sentences: “Many buildings appeared to be leaning this way and that, and some were simply toppled over” and “I just stepped through the wall.” This way and that? Through the wall? Given the suspect quality of writing, it’s impossible to believe that Jack suffers from PTSD. We are told many times, that “something” caused PTSD. We get “damage was all around” and “fair amount of damage littered the street” and “I stopped another moment, and looked down at Sensei now.” Stopping a moment is a job for General Chaos. Yes, I’m told about Jack ignoring the cries of the injured and about his part in Miyamoto’s death, but I don’t feel any trauma, except that of an abused reader. “It was all rather mysterious and actually kind of cool.”
Unnecessary explanations, add-ons. For example, on page 119, it should have ended with “What would Sensei think if I were to pursue his niece?” Adding “I had no idea at the time, but soon enough would find out” only serves to deflate suspense. Let the reader wonder right along with the narrator. The author is giving away too much. Page 87, “debating in his own mind.” Where else? Someone else’s mind? And, we are treated to ridiculous similes and metaphors. On page 218, “the raging root beer foam of the river Seine, stampeding its way to the sea.” When was the last time you thought of a river as stampeding root beer?
Self-conscious and self-serving. The author is asking us to forgive him for such bad writing because as he says on page 309 it was “terrifically challenging.” And self-serving on page 344, “A surprise ending to a rather humdrum life of teaching and research…. the endgame of this manuscript sending off to my agent, and thus releasing to the world a truly fascinating tale…” Right. Truly. Fascinating.
On page 316, “One can always go back and reread, which I have done numerous time over the past year – twice straight through, both times with pen in hand, like the lifelong editor I am.” He’s kidding, right. This book sorely needs an editor.
He refers to his “old friends – Jack Springer, Walt Whitman, Ernest Hemingway, and even Professor Goto—” If Hemingway were his friend, he would have ripped this ms apart – “The most essential gift for a good writer is a built-in, shock-proof, shit-detector.” Hemingway would be sickened by the repetition of so many useless “words, words, words.”
The Hemingway Files. What files? Lots of talk about the valise, and the stories, and maybe some correspondence with Pound, but nothing that would constitute “files.” And while the Hemingway anecdotes are part of the story, they are not the central part. And what of those manuscripts? Any writer “worth his salt” can imitate Hemingway enough to give us an opening sentence or two.
The author drops literary names as if he’s at a cocktail party and is desperate for approval. Just because he knows something about these people doesn’t mean they must appear in his first novel. Around page 322, references to Kafka, Wizard of Oz, Frodo, and Shawshank Redemption. Maybe the Shawshank reference is clever, absolution of theft, but “definitely” not “essentially” clear.
The author has not mastered the mechanics of writing novels. You may think this harsh, but it’s fair. If words are important, Mr. Bush should be able to easily defend their use – every single one.
Maybe you aren’t even reading this anymore because you stopped paying attention long moments ago. But correcting these amateurish mistakes might have made The Hemingway Files a good novel.
Again, I apologize. Probably I should’ve let it go. But I didn’t.
