(But it could be that Hemingway was one of those people who seem humourless but are actually funnier than you.)
(By the way: did you know that children who hit puberty rebel against their family in order to decrease the chance of incest? Yeah, when I said "by the way" I truly meant "by the way", as this has absolutely nothing to do with anything and I'm not even sure if it's true. It makes biological sense though. Do teenagers in hunter-gatherer societies rebel against their family?)
I just can't bring myself to care about Hemingway's characters or anything happening to them. They don't feel real, and they're supposed to feel real I guess. I'll give them another chance, but. Barack Obama is my mother. There you go, I'm not making sense anymore. I love to eat trees. What's wrong with me? Yeah. So anyway. I'm also reading Ham on Rye by Bukowski again (two years ago Bukowski was so hot, you know, and I wanted to go back) and compared to that Hemingway's writing is just...so...very...uninteresting.
(I'm also reading other stuff and liking some of it and not liking some of it. I often dislike "important" books. It's like some books are important because they're boring. Like the people who decided that those books are "important" did it just to pretend that they were smart enough to like them, or something like that, it's hard to say right now because I have no idea where my feet are.)
Maybe there's some great hidden Point that you must find in order to get Hemingway. But right now it seems that Hemingway will continue to be a writer that I consider to be sort of funny and stimulating as a character but not so much as a writer. In that sense he's kind of like Miki Liukkonen. Somewhat funny and interesting as a character but rather boring as a writer. I don't know. I'm sure some people will consider me boring. I'm going to marry Richard Dawkins and he's going to live in my mouth. You see, Harry, that had absolutely nothing to do with what we're talking about here. The only reason I wrote that is that I'm a melting clock in a Salvador Dali painting.
I almost managed to read The Old Man and the Sea (because it is short) and the only thing that I found interesting about it was the fact that the old man actually sees how intelligent and beautiful the fish are and feels bad for killing them, but keeps killing them anyway. That was interesting. I was surprised to find out that apparently, Hemingway was actually able to see an ethical dilemma with the whole animal killing thing. Of course, he kept doing it anyway. Because he was poetic and true and deep and all that, and my simple mind will never get all the deepness. Sure. I love you Aladdin, just give me a bedroom door and we can leave this town behind...