Rewriting Hemingway's "A Very Short Story" from Memory
Rewriting Hemingway's "A Very Short Story" from Memory
A Writing Exercise Inspired by Neil Gaiman and Gene Wolfe
Like Cameron (
) here, I too read a volume of Neil Gaiman’s Sandman a long time ago and also happened upon the Gene Wolfe exercise at the back of it. I thought it interesting, and no doubt useful, and then forgot about it for years and years.Until yesterday in fact, when I first read the submission that follows. It’s funny how life works, you can forget something, you can neglect it, you can ignore it even but if you are meant to take it in it will somehow boomerang its way back to you in some fashion.
Anyway, in this practical and deceptively simple piece Cameron (in his debut STSC submission) reminds us just how fallible memory can be and just how much so many of us have allowed our powers of retention and recall to atrophy in this screen based age. Something to consider. And something, with the aid of the exercise that forms the heart of this piece, that we can do something to remedy.
Enjoy.
Some time ago—let’s call it a decade—I was reading…something by Neil Gaiman. I believe it was one of his Sandman graphic novels. And in the afterword (I think it was the afterword) were a few lines about fantasy author Gene Wolfe and a writing exercise he’d learned from him.
The idea behind the exercise is simple: take a short story, or perhaps a chapter from a book, and study it—I mean really study it. Line by line, word for word: etch each letter into your mind so you can sit down at your desk and rewrite the entire text verbatim.
Right, so…the idea behind the exercise is simple enough; the execution is something else.
Here’s the thing: there’s no way in hell anyone (least of all, me) is going to completely memorize a short story—even a very short story—without dedicating a considerable amount of time and effort.
But that’s okay; the point of this exercise is to compare the original text with what you’re able to conjure from memory. This way you can observe the little nooks and crannies in your replication and see for yourself what’s missing to make the story whole. There’s even a chance you may accidentally improve the original text in some unforeseen way.
And now for a little disclaimer: I’ve never attempted this exercise before, so I’m not entirely sure what I’m getting myself into, but because of personal time constraints, as well as your patience as a reader, I’m going to select a very short story to experiment with.
In fact, that’s also the title of the story: “A Very Short Story” by Ernest Hemingway, which you can find in The Complete Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway.
I’m not sure how well this is going to turn about but hopefully we can all learn something from the attempt.
Alrighty, first things first—here is the original text of “A Very Short Story” as published in my edition of The Complete Short Stories. Enjoy.
A Very Short Story by Ernest Hemingway
One hot evening in Padua they carried him up onto the roof and he could look out over the top of the town. There were chimney swifts in the sky. After a while it got dark and the searchlights came out. The others went down and took the bottles with them. He and Luz could hear them below on the balcony. Luz sat on the bed. She was cool and fresh in the hot night.
Luz stayed on night duty for three months. They were glad to let her. When they operated on him she prepared him for the operating table; and they had a joke about friend or enema. He went under the anæsthetic holding tight on to himself so he would not blab about anything during the silly, talky time. After he got on crutches he used to take the temperatures so Luz would not have to get up from the bed. There were only a few patients, and they all knew about it. They all liked Luz. As he walked back along the halls he thought of Luz in his bed.
Before he went back to the front they went into the Duomo and prayed. It was dim and quiet, and there were other people praying. They wanted to get married, but there was not enough time for the banns, and neither of them had birth certificates. They felt as though they were married, but they wanted every one to know about it, and to make it so they could not lose it.
Luz wrote him many letters that he never got until after the armistice. Fifteen came in a bunch to the front and he sorted them by the dates and read them all straight through. They were all about the hospital, and how much she loved him and how it was impossible to get along without him and how terrible it was missing him at night.
After the armistice they agreed he should go home to get a job so they might be married. Luz would not come home until he had a good job and could come to New York to meet her. It was understood he would not drink, and he did not want to see his friends or any one in the States. Only to get a job and be married. On the train from Padua to Milan they quarreled about her not being willing to come home at once. When they had to say good-bye, in the station at Milan, they kissed good-bye, but were not finished with the quarrel. He felt sick about saying good-bye like that.
He went to America on a boat from Genoa. Luz went back to Pordenone to open a hospital. It was lonely and rainy there, and there was a battalion of arditi quartered in the town. Living in the muddy, rainy town in the winter, the major of the battalion made love to Luz, and she had never known Italians before, and finally wrote to the States that theirs had been only a boy and girl affair. She was sorry, and she knew he would probably not be able to understand, but might some day forgive her, and be grateful to her, and she expected, absolutely unexpectedly, to be married in the spring. She loved him as always, but she realized now it was only a boy and girl love. She hoped he would have a great career, and believed in him absolutely. She knew it was for the best.
The major did not marry her in the spring, or any other time. Luz never got an answer to the letter to Chicago about it. A short time after he contracted gonorrhea from a sales girl in a loop department store while riding in a taxicab through Lincoln Park.
Before I inflict my rewritten version of the story on you, here are a few notes on my effort to memorize the text:
I spent about an hour rereading the story over and over again.
I then copied the story from my Kindle onto the post you’re reading right now.
And that’s it.
Granted, the story I chose to work with is pretty short, but it quickly became evident that my short-term memory is borderline nonexistant and unless I put a few more hours in there’s no way I could’ve gotten it perfect.
Anyway, here’s my rendition of “A Very Short Story”. Brace yourself.
A Very Short Story by Ernest Hemingway and Cameron Bradley
One hot evening in Padua they carried him onto the roof and he could look out over the top of the town. There were chimney swifts in the sky. After a while it became dark and the searchlights came on. The others went down and took the bottles with them. He and Luz could hear them talking on the balcony below. Luz sat on the bed. She was cool and fresh in the hot night.
Luz worked night duty for three months. They were glad to let her. When they operated on him she prepared him for the operating table; and they had a joke about friend or enema. When he went under the anæsthetic he held tight onto himself so he would not blab about anything during the silly, talky time. After he was on crutches, he used to take the temperature of the other patients so Luz would not have to get up from the bed. There were only a few patients and they all knew about it. They all liked Luz. As he walked back along the hallway he would think about Luz in his bed.
Before he went back to the front they went into the Duomo and prayed. It was dim and quiet, and there were other people praying. They wanted to get married but there wasn’t enough time for the banns. They felt as if they were already married, but they wanted everyone to know about it, and to make it so they could not lose it.
Luz wrote him many letters which he did not recieve until after the armistice. Fifteen of them arrived to the front in a bunch and he sorted them by the dates and read them all straight through. They were all about the hospital, and how much she loved him and how she could not get along without him and how terribly she missed him at night.
After the armistice they agreed he should get a job so they could be married. She would not come home with him until he had a good job and could meet her in New York. He would not drink, and did not want to see his friends or anyone in the States. Only to get a job and be married. On the train from Padua to Milan they quarreled about her not being able to come home at once. When they kissed good-bye at the station in Milan they were not done with the quarrel. He felt sick about saying good-bye like that.
He took a boat to America in Genoa and Luz went back to Pordenone to start a hospital. The town was lonely and rainy and there was a battalion of arditi quartered there. Living in the muddy, rainy town in the winter, the major of the battalion made love to Luz, and she had never known Italians before, and she wrote to the States to tell him that it had only been a boy and girl affair. She was sorry and knew he would probably not understand, but she expected to be married in the spring, absolutely unexpectedly, and hoped he would be grateful to her, and to remember her. She still loved him but it was only a boy and girl love. She wished him the best on his career and believed in him absolutely. She knew it was for the best.
The major did not marry her in the spring, or any other time. Luz never recieved a response to the letter to Chicago about it. A short time later he contracted gonorrhea from a sales girl at a loop department store while riding in a taxi around Lincoln Park.
Final thoughts:
While writing my remembered version of the story—which I banged out as quickly as possible—I could feel my memory of the original text fading from my mind like water through a sieve. I felt fairly confident I was hammering out the text word-for-word for the first two paragraphs; by paragraph #5 (out of 7) I realized I could no longer remember the exact sentences; I could only recall the basic events of the story…the exact language was lost to me.
Overall, I think Papa Hemingway would be proud, but I’m annoyed that I couldn’t nail the last paragraph, which is the punchline of this tragicomic gem and one of my favorite endings to any short story I’ve ever read.
Here is a breakdown of my mistakes by paragraph:
Paragraph 1:
Sentence #1: I forgot the word “up”.
Sentence #3: I wrote “on” instead of “out”.
Sentence #5: I wrote “talking on the balcony below” rather than “below on the balcony”.
Paragraph 2:
Sentence #1: I wrote “worked night duty” rather than “stayed on night duty”.
Sentence #4: I wrote “When he went under the anæsthetic he held tight…” rather than “He went under the anæsthetic holding tight on to himself…”.
Sentence #5: I wrote “After he was on crutches, he used to take the temperature of the other patients…” rather than “After he got on crutches he used to take the temperatures…”.
Sentence #6: I omitted a comma between “patients” and “and”.
Sentence #8: I wrote “As he walked back along the hallway he would think about…” rather than “As he walked back along the halls he thought of…”.
Paragraph 3:
Sentence #3: I omitted the second clause of the sentence, after “banns”: (“and neither of them had birth certificates.”).
Sentence #4: I wrote “They felt as if they were already married, but they wanted everyone…” rather than “They felt as though they were married, but they wanted every one…”.
Paragraph 4:
Sentence #1: I wrote “which he did not recieve” instead of “that he never got”.
Sentence #2: I wrote “of them arrived in a bunch” instead of “came in a bunch”.
Sentence #3: I wrote “…she could not get along without him and how terribly she missed him at night” rather than “…it was impossible to get along without him and how terrible it was missing him at night”.
Paragraphs 5 and 6:
There are too many minor discrepencies to list without giving everybody, including myself, a major headache.
Paragraph 7:
Sentence #2: I wrote “recieved a response” rather than “got an answer”.
Sentence #3: I wrote “later” instead of “after”.
Takeaways:
My personal take on this exercise is that choosing a story that’s too short doesn’t challenge the writer to bridge forgotton gaps in a larger plot. None of the differences between my rendition of Hemingway’s story and the original were so great as to reveal major flaws or inspire better ways of telling the tale; rather, I merely aimed to be a perfectionist and managed to mess up minor details several times over.
That’s not too say I didn’t learn anything from this; constantly rereading and striving to commit the words to memory fostered insight into the workings of the piece as a whole. And as Hemingway fan, I marveled at the way so few details seemed to unfold into a cohesive story with—for Hemingway—an unusually humorous ending.
What did you think? Let me know in the comments.
 | A guest post by
|
Thanks for this exercise. I have never seen it before and thought you did an outstanding job. That very short story seemed very long to me when it came to memorizing the exact words.
That's an interesting exercise. I actually low-key do a version of this exercise when I try to recreate one of my favorite Italo Calvino short stories called "Making Do." Here I will attempt to recreate it, then I will link a version I found online (which I DID NOT review before writing). I haven't read this story from its original text in well over a decade but I've retold it so many times, so, let's see:
There was a town where everything was forbidden. Because the authorities forbid everything one by one, and always with good reason, the townsfolk never complained and set their attentions to what wasn't forbidden. After a while the only activity not forbidden was tip-cat, so the townsfolk played tip-cat.
So it went for many years until the authorities considered the situation and realized they couldn't remember why anything was forbidden anymore. They talked it over and decided there was no cause to keep everything forbidden.
They went to the town field, where all the townsfolk were engaged in a game of tip-cat.
"Hear ye hear ye," they said, "Nothing is forbidden anymore."
"Great," the townsfolk said, and returned to their game of tip-cat.
"I don't think you understand," the authorities said, "nothing is forbidden. You can do anything you want to do now."
"Great," the townfolk said, "we would like to play tip-cat."
Well the authorities removed themselves from the field and discussed it amongst themselves. They determined the proper course to do was to forbid tip-cat.
"Hear ye hear ye," the authorities cried, "Tip-cat is forbidden!"
At which point the townsfolk revolted, executed all of the authorities, and without hesitation returned to their game of tip-cat.
----------------------------------------------
Now, here's the original:
There was a town where everything was forbidden.
Now, since the only thing that wasn’t forbidden was the game tip-cat, the town’s subjects used to assemble on meadows behind the town and spend the day there playing tip-cat.
And as the laws forbidding things had been introduced one at a time and always with good reason, no one found any cause for complaint or had any trouble getting used to them.
Years passed. One day the constables saw that there was no longer any reason why everything should be forbidden and they sent messengers to inform their subjects that they could do whatever they wanted.
The messengers went to those places where the subjects were wont to assemble.
‘Hear ye, hear ye,’ the messengers announced. 'You are free to do what you want.’
The people went on playing tip-cat.
'Understand?' the messengers insisted. 'You are free to do what you want.’
'Good,’ replied the subjects. 'We’re playing tip-cat.’
The messengers busily reminded them on the many wonderful and useful occupations they had once engaged in and could now engage in once again. But the subjects wouldn’t listen and just went on playing, stroke after stroke, without even stopping for a breather.
Seeing that their efforts were in vain, the messengers went to tell the constables.
'Easy,’ the constables said. 'Let’s forbid the game of tip-cat.’
That was when the people rebelled and killed the lots of them.
Then without wasting time, they got back to playing tip-cat.