Latest news with #CharlesScribner'sSons
Indian Express
21-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Indian Express
Why Ernest Hemingway was the boxer of American letters
Ernest Hemingway was never one to mince words or hold back his opinions. Whether through the pages of his books or at the offices of Scribner's, the Nobel laureate turned every chapter of his life into a battlefield, often dragging fellow writers into the ring. Known for his clipped prose, cold drinks, and colder opinions, Hemingway approached literary life like a seasoned boxer: hands up, jaw out, waiting for someone to swing. He punched back, too. Whether physically (as in the infamous Max Eastman incident) or in print (as with Fitzgerald, and Ford Madox Ford), Hemingway turned literary feuds into performance art. Here are just a few of the more bruising bouts Hemingway engaged in: Few feuds in American letters were as theatrically absurd as Ernest Hemingway's 1937 dust-up with author and critic Max Eastman. The confrontation, immortalised in the pages of The New York Times on August 14 of that year, reads like a lost scene from one of Hemingway's own parodies. It began in the offices of Charles Scribner's Sons, where Eastman, seated with editor Max Perkins, found himself face-to-face with Hemingway. They were discussing Eastman's earlier essay titled Bull in the Afternoon, a parody of Hemingway's work, Death in the Afternoon. It was a jab at Hemingway's macho affectations, complete with the cutting line: 'Come out from behind that false hair on your chest, Ernest. We all know you.' Hemingway did not take kindly to the suggestion of toupee-like chest hair. He reportedly responded by baring his own, demanding Eastman do the same, and then, unsatisfied with the answer, slapped him in the face with a copy of his book, Death in the Afternoon, which incidentally was about Spanish bullfighters. Eastman alleged he threw Hemingway over a desk and 'stood him on his head in a corner.' Hemingway denied it with typical swagger, offering $1,000 to charity, or to Eastman directly, for the chance to settle the matter in a locked room, bare-knuckle, with all legal rights waived. 'I just slapped him,' Hemingway told reporters. 'That knocked him down… He jumped at me like a woman—clawing, you know.' When pressed about Eastman's version of events, Hemingway scoffed: 'He didn't throw anybody anywhere.' The skirmish has entered literary lore, and is interpreted as a microcosm of Hemingway's lifelong war on critics, his volatile pride, and his theatrical masculinity. Ernest Hemingway was never known for generosity in his portrayals of friends and rivals. Gertrude Stein, F Scott Fitzgerald, William Faulkner all appear in his memoir A Moveable Feast. But perhaps the most lacerating sketch was reserved for Ford Madox Ford, the English novelist, critic, and editor who helped shape the literary modernism that Hemingway later came to define. 'He was breathing heavily through a heavy, stained moustache and holding himself as upright as an ambulatory, well-clothed, up-ended hogshead,' he wrote uncharitably of Ford in a chapter titled 'Ford Madox Ford and the Devil's Disciple'. Ford laboured breathing was likely the result of a World War I gas attack, but Hemingway took it as a symptom of affectation. 'I had always avoided looking at Ford when I could and I always held my breath when I was near him in a closed room,' he wrote, adding with withering irony: 'Maybe it was the odor he gave off when he was tired.' This last line may have been a nod to Pound's private warning that Ford 'only lied when he was very tired,' a comment Hemingway weaponised. Introduced by Ezra Pound, Hemingway briefly worked under Ford at The Transatlantic Review, a journal that had published early stories of his rejected by American magazines. But when Ford became ill, Hemingway took editorial control, and used it to ridicule Ford's friends, including Jean Cocteau, Tristan Tzara, and TS Eliot. He wrote of Eliot: 'If I knew that by grinding Mr Eliot into a fine dry powder and sprinkling that powder over [recently departed novelist Joseph] Conrad's grave Mr. Conrad would shortly appear…I would leave for London immediately with a sausage grinder.' Ernest Hemingway and F Scott Fitzgerald met in 1925 and quickly formed what appeared to be a strong literary friendship. Fitzgerald championed Hemingway early on, famously introducing his unpublished work to Maxwell Perkins at Scribner's and calling him 'the greatest living writer of prose.' But the gratitude was short-lived. In A Moveable Feast, he reduced Fitzgerald to a man defeated by his marriage and his nerves: 'Zelda said that the way for her to get her own way was to say that Scott could do anything she wanted him to… and that he would always give in.' He mocked Fitzgerald's talent, saying: 'His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly's wings… he did not know when it was brushed or marred.' The final blows came long after Fitzgerald's death in 1940. In a letter written a decade later, Hemingway offered a withering epitaph: 'I never had any respect for him ever, except for his lovely, golden, wasted talent. If he would have had fewer pompous musings and a little sounder education it would have been better maybe.' There was no love lost between Hemingway, and Fitzgerald's wife, he said: 'But anytime you got him all straightened out and taking his work seriously Zelda would get jealous and knock him out of it.' Taking a swipe at Fitzgerald's alleged alcoholism, he wrote: 'Also alcohol that we use was the Giant Killer… was a straight poison to Scott instead of a food.' Their friendship began with letters and literary admiration. It ended with ridicule, resentment, and regret. In the 1950s, a literary rivalry flared between Hemingway and William Faulkner. After the release of The Old Man and the Sea, Faulkner quipped that Hemingway 'has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary.' Hemingway, never one to back down, fired back: 'Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words?… I know the ten-dollar words. But there are older and simpler and better words, and those are the ones I use.' A war of words—fitting for two masters of them. For all his cruelty, Hemingway remains one of the titans of American literature. His style shaped the century, his stories endure, and his brawls (literary and literal), reveal a man who couldn't help but clash with the world. Aishwarya Khosla is a journalist currently serving as Deputy Copy Editor at The Indian Express. Her writings examine the interplay of culture, identity, and politics. She began her career at the Hindustan Times, where she covered books, theatre, culture, and the Punjabi diaspora. Her editorial expertise spans the Jammu and Kashmir, Himachal Pradesh, Chandigarh, Punjab and Online desks. She was the recipient of the The Nehru Fellowship in Politics and Elections, where she studied political campaigns, policy research, political strategy and communications for a year. She pens The Indian Express newsletter, Meanwhile, Back Home. Write to her at or You can follow her on Instagram: @ink_and_ideology, and X: @KhoslaAishwarya. ... Read More
The Wire
23-06-2025
- Politics
- The Wire
What Happens if Iran Withdraws From the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty?
"The sad duty of politics is to establish justice in a sinful world.' – Reinhold Niebuhr, Moral Man and Immoral Society: A Study in Ethics and Politics, New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1932. The US's bombing of Iran's nuclear facilities – Natanz, Isfahan and Fordow – is not merely a dangerous escalation of force. It is the symbolic destruction of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT) as a credible international regime. What unfolded under the cover of night was not just the targeting of technical infrastructure – it was a precision strike against the very idea that international law offers protection to those who comply with it. Iran has remained a signatory to the NPT for decades. Even after the 1979 revolution and the cascade of Western hostility that followed, it did not withdraw. It subjected itself to surveillance, inspection, and historic levels of constraint under the 2015 Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action (JCPOA) – an accord later dismantled not by Tehran but by Washington. And still, it was bombed. The implications are profound, and we must fully grasp their gravity. The NPT regime is no longer merely fragile – it is broken. By launching an unprovoked attack on a treaty-bound state without legal justification, the United States has severed the last thread of credibility holding the non-proliferation order together. The signal to the region – and beyond – is unmistakable: treaties do not shield; they expose. Compliance is not rewarded; it is punished. This act is not just a policy failure. It is a proliferation catalyst. Regional powers, such as Turkey and Saudi Arabia, which have long hedged their positions, now face a stark choice. The logic of restraint has collapsed. The bomb, once considered a threat, has become the only viable shield. Non-nuclear status, once a pillar of global consensus, now reads as strategic vulnerability. And for what? The tactical gains, if any, are illusory. No bomb can erase knowledge. No missile can obliterate scientific memory. Technical capacity, once acquired, is not so easily destroyed. Infrastructure can be rebuilt; expertise is retained. If the objective was to delay Iran's nuclear capability, the more probable result is to accelerate it – this time in total opacity. Iran's exit from the NPT now appears not just plausible but imminent. Outside that framework, there will be no inspections, oversight or restraint. What was once visible to the international community will go dark. Meanwhile, more than 40,000 U.S. troops stationed across the region now sit within the blast radius of asymmetric retaliation. Iran's networks – from the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps to Hezbollah to regional militias – are vast, experienced and unpredictable. This will not be a limited skirmish. It will be a cascade of drone strikes, assassinations, cyber sabotage, and insurgent backlash. The fantasy of a "contained" strike is the fiction of those who mistake war for theatre. Escalation is not a possibility – it is the architecture in motion now. The neoconservative fantasy The US's bombing also clarifies what this confrontation has always been about. Not uranium enrichment. Not latency thresholds. The deeper objective is regime degradation. A non-nuclear, diplomatically integrated Iran is more threatening to the regional status quo than an isolated, sanctioned one flirting with a breakout capacity. The JCPOA, though technocratic in its substance, posed a political risk: it worked. It capped enrichment, reduced stockpiles, and established a model of rigorous verification and inspection. But it also offered a path to normalisation. That was the red line. For Iran's adversaries, the most successful blows have not been overt airstrikes but covert operations: the targeted assassinations of scientists, the infiltration of supply chains and the sabotage of facilities. These quieter wars have done more to undermine Iran's autonomy than any jet-fueled spectacle. The bombing is not a strategy – it's theatre. It is a spectacular punctuation to a long campaign designed to deny sovereign technological development. And now, the neoconservative fantasy is realised. John Bolton did not achieve this war under George W. Bush. Nor under Obama. It was Donald Trump – who campaigned as the anti-war populist – who delivered it. After decades of lobbying, position papers and strategy memos from think tanks and pressure groups, it was Trump who authorised what others resisted. The spectacle of "America First" has now resolved into something far darker: America, conscripted as the enforcer of another state's maximalist ambitions. This is not strength. It is submission in uniform. The context matters. The US-Iran relationship is long and bitter: the CIA-led coup of 1953; support for Saddam Hussein in the Iran-Iraq War, even as chemical weapons were unleashed; the 1979 hostage crisis; decades of sanctions, cyberwarfare, and targeted assassinations. But this moment marks a departure. This is the first direct US strike on Iranian territory. And it is unlikely to be the last. Yet the rituals remain. After the missiles fall, the press conferences follow. Generals return to their podiums, and diplomats to their scripts. They speak of "restraint" as though it were still on the table. They call for peace while standing in the rubble of its foundations. They burn your house and then ask you to host the next round of negotiations. This is not diplomacy. It is imperial satire. What was destroyed was not only steel and stone – but the belief that treaties can provide shelter. That multilateralism is anything more than a façade. That power can, even marginally, be disciplined by law. The logic of enrichment To understand Iran's nuclear posture, one must listen carefully to those who have studied its internal logic. In Iran's Grand Strategy: A Political History, Vali Nasr, among the most astute of these voices, articulates a critical truth: Iran's nuclear program is not a step toward Armageddon but a bid for emancipation. It is a strategy of autonomy – not aggression. Enrichment, in Tehran's calculus, is not about weaponisation; it is about leverage. The centrifuge spins not toward annihilation but toward dignity. Enrichment is Iran's answer to coercion, its insurance against regime change, and its shield against extortion. Even the so-called moderates – Hassan Rouhani and Mohammad Javad Zarif – defended the program not out of dogma but because they understood the alternative: dependency or defeat. The JCPOA was, for Iran, not capitulation but calibrated detente – a temporary compromise to preserve long-term sovereignty. Its collapse merely confirmed what many within Tehran already suspected: that diplomacy, absent deterrence, is performance. That compliance, in a system shaped by brute force, is a liability. The centrifuge, then, becomes not a provocation but a necessity. A message in enriched uranium: We will not be ruled from afar. Forward defence Iran's foreign policy, Nasr argues, is shaped less by ideology than by trauma. Its doctrine – what he terms "forward defence" – is not expansionist but prophylactic. It is a shield built from memory: the 1953 coup, the eight-year war with Iraq, chemical weapons raining from the sky with international impunity, and the economic throttling of sanctions. This is not the strategy of zealots. It is the logic of a state besieged. Iran's support for regional allies is not a project of exporting revolution but rather a strategic buffer. Its regional posture is not a bid for empire but for deterrence. Its nuclear policy is cut from the same cloth. Enrichment serves as a hedge – a calculated deterrent against existential threats. This is precisely why the bombing strikes at something far more dangerous than uranium. It targets the entire doctrine of deterrence. And in doing so, it ensures its opposite. A strategic catastrophe What is now celebrated by some as a tactical success will be remembered as a strategic catastrophe. The precedent is grim. In 1981, Israel bombed Iraq's Osirak reactor, claiming to halt Baghdad's nuclear ambitions. In reality, it merely drove the program underground, beyond the IAEA's scrutiny, accelerating it in secret. Force did not bring compliance. It deepened resolve. A similar dynamic now begins. Iran will not fold. It will fortify. The line between hedge and imperative will vanish. And across the region, the message is unmistakable: to be non-nuclear is to be vulnerable. Deterrence is the new diplomacy. In Ankara, Riyadh, Abu Dhabi, and Cairo, officials are not recalibrating their policies due to Iran's ambitions. They are recalibrating because of America's message: treaties are expendable; force is the rule. The JCPOA was not flawless, but it worked. It capped enrichment, reduced stockpiles, and subjected Iran to a verification regime more intrusive than any in history. Even Israeli intelligence conceded its efficacy. But for hawks in Washington, Tel Aviv and Tehran, its success was intolerable. Not because it failed to constrain Iran but because it threatened to normalise relations with it. Now, with Iran poised to withdraw from the NPT, the treaty is at risk of collapse. With Russia and China unlikely to oppose such a move, the regime's universality dissolves. What replaces it will not be a new consensus – it will be a void – a world governed not by law but by power. And in that vacuum, proliferation will flourish. The logic has already shifted. The treaty does not protect non-nuclear states – they are punished within it. The bomb, once a taboo, is now a tool of sovereignty. The post-NPT world is no longer theoretical. It is emergent. The irony is brutal: scientific knowledge cannot be unlearned. Enrichment capacity, once achieved, becomes permanent. Bombs can destroy hardware, but not capability. Once a nation crosses the technical threshold, the only tools left are sustained diplomacy – or permanent occupation. Bombing is neither. It is not a solution. It is provocation dressed in policy. And yet, from the capitals of the West, the exact hollow phrases emerge. Calls for "restraint". Appeals for "stability". They speak as if they were not the arsonists. They applaud destruction, then draft communiqués on reconstruction. This is not diplomacy. It is theatre, staged atop the rubble of international law. The NPT was never flawless. But it was built on a promise: that the powerful would restrain themselves, and their fidelity would protect the weak to the law. That promise is now in ashes. India, Israel, and Pakistan never joined the treaty – and faced no consequences. North Korea withdrew – and built a bomb. Iran stayed – and was bombed. What remains is the truth beneath the wreckage: Iran followed the rules. And it was targeted for doing so. This is not the end of the nuclear story. But it is the end of the pretence. The bombing of Iran is not a blow against proliferation – it is the ignition of its next chapter. The NPT was not undone by Iranian duplicity. It was dismantled by great-power hypocrisy. And in that hypocrisy lies the deeper threat – not just to Iran, but to the world order. The idea that law can restrain might. That diplomacy can mediate power. That treaty can provide sanctuary. To bomb Iran is not just to degrade centrifuges. It is to declare that peace is conditional. That order is optional. That compliance is suicidal. The architects of this war may call it a victory. But history will recognise its proper name: proliferation. To bomb Iran is to bomb the NPT – and peace itself. Narendra Pachkhédé is a global affairs specialist and essayist working across London, Toronto, Paris, and Geneva. His writing engages with geopolitics, cultural criticism, and the shifting architecture of the international order.
