Writers and boxers seem to have little in common. Does Ernest Hemingway's love for the "sweet science" show that writers and fighters share more than you think?
Hemingway loved boxing. But what could jabs, straight rights, and left hooks possibly have in common with the nuanced weaving of words? Plenty, it seems. Ernest Hemingway, arguably the 20th century’s most influential novelist in American literature, was enamored with the “sweet science.”
In A Moveable Feast, (Scribners) Hemingway’s memoir of 1920’s Paris, he mentions teaching Ezra Pound, one of many American expatriate writers in Paris at the time, how to box—with questionable success:
“…I was never able to teach him (Pound) to throw a left hook and to teach him to shorten his right was something of the future,” he wrote.
In Men Without Women (Scribners) Hemingway tells of an aging champion fending off his young challenger. Note the ease with which he speaks of his topic, a sure sign that he has immersed himself in the sport:
“The gong rang and Jack turned quick and went out. Walcott came towards him and they touched gloves and as soon as Walcott dropped his hands Jack jumped his left into his face twice….”
Hemingway also wrote of “The Battler” in his classic collection of short stories In Our Time (Scribners). The title character had been a champion until punishment in the ring, and the heartache of a dissolved marriage outside of it, led him to dementia and a hobo’s existence.
If one considers Hemingway’s style of prose—declarative and distrusting of excess adjectives—he/she might guess who his favorite fighters might be, were he alive today. They would be fighters who worked the ring like the bullfighting matadors he admired so much, or like the big game hunter that he was. No unnecessary flailing about, every move with a purpose, every step a set-up towards the climactic kill.
Fighters Who Fit the Hemingway Style
Floyd Mayweather Jr. and Roy Jones Jr. fit the Hemingway style. Neither man wastes punches and both take the time to set their opponents up. While the casual observer might think that Mayweather is dull or excessively defensive, Hemingway would know that he is being the matador—elusive, and graceful, but in the end powerful and victorious. So what if his fights seem one-sided. If the matador is close enough to thrust his sword into the bull, he is close enough to be gored. If Mayweather is close enough to hit his opponent, he is close enough to get hit.
Disciplined Writing
In A Moveable Feast, Hemingway wrought frequently of his discipline. He seemed to have little faith in his muse and believed that disciplined writing—to write in spite of his inclinations to do otherwise—would reward him. History has proved him right.
