The Green Hills of Africa by Ernest Hemingway

The Green Hills of Africa is one of Hemingway’s pieces of non-fiction. I’ve read The Sun Also Rises, A Farewell to Arms, For Whom the Bell Tolls and Old Man and the Sea, all of which I’ve enjoyed immensely so when I needed some literature for my trip to Vegas, I returned to Hemingway.

In Green Hills, Hemingway recounts his adventures of being on safari for a month with his wife (also known as Pauline, aka Poor Old Mama, aka P.O.M). Hemingway recounts the thrill of being in Africa, his fascination with big game, the excitement and disappointments of the hunt and people who annoy him. He talks about the natives who cart their belongings around, who guide them, and the quiet social structure amongst the guides and camp help.

As you read this, you can almost feel the dust being kicked up under the tires of the car as the Hemingway’s move to a new camp, you can see the sweat on the foreheads of the Masai as they wait for the white hunters to get their act together, you feel the impending mugginess as the rainy season threatens, and you feel the African soil under your feet as you follow Hemingway as he tracks a large kudo under the relentless afternoon sun and the evening calm around the camp fire.

While not as strong as some of his other works, his writing style is as always just fascinating. This was perfect reading for 101* temps beside a warm pool.