Not a lament for the Venus de Milo.
This book is described on the blurb as an anatomy/critique of war and in a way it is but it is also about a love affair, conducted in that sort of on and off, desultory way that love affairs often are.
I liked it because of Hemingway's crisp, timeless narrative style and because it is mostly the internal monologue of a man, any man, living his life of quiet aquiesence.
I felt bereaved when I had finished reading it. Recommended.
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