A Farewell to Arms

My reading habbits are starting to impress me. My writing skills are not. But though I'll probably never be mentioned alongside the likes of Hemingway and Dickens I find comfort in knowing that very few people do. Hell, I'm not even a writer, so why should i worry, right?

I had never read the real classics (whatever that's supposed to mean. In my book it's got something to do with age and reputation...), but sitting in Hemingway's, a bar in the golden triangle area of Kuala Lumpur, I figured it was only a matter of time. The mojitos were nothing but amazing, and I remember thinking that if you ever have someone name a bar after you, serving the best drinks in the world, you've probably done something right at one time or another. However, nearly another four years would pass until I picked up my first Hemingway novel.

A Farewell to Arms would be the sixth novel I read in 2009. Maybe the first classic, I wouldn't know. The race of filling the blanks is one I can never win, too many books have been written, too much music has been made, but at least the blank spot with Hemingway's name on it is now partially covered. I think I'll give Kafka a go next.