Americans, it would seem, can never read Ernest Hemingway's fiction without a picture of Hemingway the man in mind; the writer's mythology threatens to supplant the force of his work. If there is a comparable figure in Indian literature, it is Sadat Hasan Manto (1912-1955), whose centenary is May 11. Manto, who wrote in Urdu, was both the enfant terrible of his literary milieu and the sharpest and most disillusioned observer of the extraordinarily fascinating political currents of his age.
Hedge-fund billionaires are envied and hated, demonized and mocked. Their outlandish behavior hasn’t done much for their image, as Sebastian Mallaby shows in “More Money Than God,” a history of the alpha males who play the alpha game.
Moleskine, the Italian maker of notebooks once favored by Ernest Hemingway, is seeking about 350 million euros ($455 million) in an initial public offering announced today, two people with knowledge of the matter said.
The headaches began right away. Blame the frozen daiquiris. We were at Carteles, a cheap, downstairs, 10-seat sandwich shop in Manhattan’s East Village that doubles as a waiting room for Cienfuegos, the bigger, more expensive rum bar upstairs, hawking $120 bowls of highly spiked punch.