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238 pages, Unknown Binding
First published May 1, 1986
I like to see you in the morning all new and strange.
He had not known just how greatly he had been divided and separated because once he started to work he wrote from an inner core which could not be split nor even marked nor scratched. He knew about this and it was his strength since all the rest of him could be riven.
In preparing the book for publication we have made some cuts in the manuscript and some routine copy editing corrections. Beyond a very small number of minor interpolations for clarity and consistency, nothing has been added. In every significant respect the work is all the author鈥檚.
As published it is composed of 30 short chapters running to about 70,000 words. A publisher's note advises that ''some cuts'' have been made in the manuscript, but according to Mr. Baker's biography, at one point a revised manuscript of the work ran to 48 chapters and 200,000 words, so the publisher's note is disingenuous. In an interview with The New York Times last December, a Scribners editor admitted to taking out a subplot in rough draft that he felt had not been integrated into the ''main body'' of the text, but this cut reduced the book's length by two-thirds.
David Bourne woke when it was light and put on shorts and a shirt and went outside. The breeze had died. The sea was calm and the day smelled of the dew and the pines. He walked bare footed across the flagstones of the terrace to the room at the far end of the long house and went in and sat down at the table where he worked. The windows had been open overnight and the room was cool and full of early morning promise.
They held each other and he could feel himself start to be whole again. He had not known just how greatly he had been divided and separated because once he started to work he wrote from an inner core which could not be split nor even marked nor scratched. He knew about this and it was his strength since all the rest of him could be riven.
This was the first writing he had finished since they were married. Finishing is what you have to do, he thought. If you don't finish, nothing is worth a damn. (108)Hemingway worked on The Garden of Eden for fifteen years, starting in 1946, but never finished it. After Hemingway shot himself with his favorite shotgun, his widow Mary carried the manuscript of The Garden of Eden in a shopping bag to the publishers at Scribner. Of its 800 pages,鹿 200,000 words, and 48 chapters, they finally published the novel in 247 pages, 30 chapters, and 70,000 words. How this could happen, how it could be allowed, I haven't a clue. Either publish the man's work as he left it, or don't. Don't take the damn liberty of editing the man's work for him. And not just slightly editing it, either, by making it consistent, for instance, as the cheeky preface by Charles Scribner, Jr. suggests: they ultimately cut more than two-thirds of the novel including a long subplot. Unbelievable. I've been angry and indignant about it ever since I found out, and it makes judging the novel 鈥� at least the novel as Hemingway wrote it and intended it 鈥� nearly impossible.