Hemmingway’s short stories herein encapsulated are horrifying. You come to expect the tragedy that tears the happiness, that guts the simplicity. Hemmingway writes beautifully of passion; passion for love, passion for nature, passion for strife. His minimalism does not take away from the terrors of war he observes, merely lets us judge for ourselves what we are presented. Perhaps we see here deep into a fragmented mind, full of wonderful ideas but too self-loathing to draw any out, always losing them like tripping and falling backwards.