If somebody were to ask me to describe this book in one sentence, I would say, "Ernest Hemingway and his friends are hunting wild animals in Africa." That's it. That's all that ever happens. There is no convoluted plot here, no drama, no love story, no backstabbing, no heroes and villains, just hunting. And by God, is it boring!

For starters, Hemingway is good at describing scenery and landscapes, although he delves into excessive detail. He is also proficient in描绘 animals. However, in everything else, he fails miserably.

First of all, he never describes the people he is hunting with. What does Pop look like? Or his wife? Or the countless other black native hunters accompanying him? I have no idea. It's as if Hemingway simply assumed that whoever reads his book would already be familiar with his life and his close friends. It's almost as if he wrote this for himself, as a sort of diary (he probably did), and then later thought, "Oh, you know what? I could publish this."

And then he just sent it to the printers without much regard for editing.

I also detested how he referred to his wife as "P.O.M." as if it were some kind of secret or a disgrace to write her real name.

Another drawback of this book is its wooden dialogues and the abundant use of foreign words of the natives that he rarely translates, which further slows down the reading.

Then there is the constant cheering and boasting about how great a shot he is. Yes, because it takes real effort to pull a trigger at an unarmed and helpless animal.

And the incessant repetition of the story!

"We went into the shrubs and high grass. We saw something move. I saw the animal. How magnificent it was! I shot it down. The natives are jumping for joy and congratulating me. They skin the animal. We return to camp. We sit by the fire, drink alcohol, and read books. We go to bed."

And then the whole thing just repeats itself. Over and over again. And there you have it - Green Hills of Africa.

Considering the fact that I, in the mid-70's, was that squeamish high school girl who dropped out of biology class on the very day we were supposed to dissect a hamster, it comes as no surprise that I didn't like this book. Killing animals is simply not my thing. However, I can respect if people kill for food, at least on an intellectual level. But killing for fun or pleasure? That's a different story.

The story goes like this: Ernest goes to Africa in the early 1930's, accompanied by his second wife Pauline and some other acquaintances, to hunt. Ernest desires to kill a kudu but fails. He then drinks whisky. Next, Ernest meets an Austrian and drinks beer. He also trashtalks some other authors.

Ernest manages to kill a rhino, but the horn is too small compared to the one his friend has killed. He drinks whisky again. Later, Ernest praises some other authors. He then kills a lion and drinks whisky yet another time. Ernest contemplates deep thoughts about the noble art of writing.

After that, Ernest kills a zebra and whisky is served for everybody. He also kills a duck and asks for some more whisky. Finally, Ernest kills a kudu, but it's a female. And so the story continues in this seemingly endless and utterly boring manner. I'm glad I'm still that squeamish girl, but I do have a liking for whisky.

Way better than the reviews had me believe. This book offers a fascinating glimpse into the life of Hemingway the Hunter and his second wife Pauline in Africa. They hunted everything, and the cultural interactions described are both beautiful and scary. It shows how people treated each other in what was essentially barely post-colonial Tanzania or Kenya (I'm really not sure, but I do remember Kilimanjaro being mentioned at some point). The writing is beautiful, and it's clear that Hemingway was deeply feeling his memories when he wrote this, especially after he and Pauline got divorced. It's definitely worth the time to read this book and transport yourself elsewhere, and then be grateful that you weren't in that time and place. :)

And at night, the wild comes down. It digs in the sand with its sharply pointed hooves.

As it digs, the water starts to well up.

The wild animals then drink the water that has emerged.

This scene unfolds in the quiet of the night, away from the hustle and bustle of the day.

The moonlight may shine down, casting an eerie glow on the sand and the animals.

Perhaps there is a soft breeze blowing, adding to the tranquility of the moment.

The wild animals seem to be in their element, finding sustenance and quenching their thirst.

It is a natural cycle that has been happening for ages, a testament to the resilience and adaptability of nature.

We can only observe and appreciate this beautiful and somewhat mysterious scene from a distance.