Thankfully, the commemoration of the 50th anniversary of Hemingway's suicide is over, and, despite the general admission that the man wrote English prose in a notable manner (i.e. using only one-syllable words), can we please acknowledge that he was a nasty bully, who demeaned his many women, and aggressively terrorized poor Scott Fitzgerald?
A little Hemingway goes a long way. The novels are mostly ultimately laughable, but, I must admit, the short stories are frequently stunning.
I never want to meet Robert Jordan again, but will continue to say hello to Jay Gatsby every few years. Also, I have no need to attend a bull-fight.