Munro Leaf and Ernest Hemingway: A Romance

Leaf and Hemingway are bedfellows, not in the carnal sense, obviously, but in the literary sense. They both romanticized the bullfight, one as a child´s tale of marching to a different drummer: the other as a glorification of manhood. Oversimplication, of course, but interesting reads.

For those who know me, it will come as no surprise that Ferdinand the Bull was one of my favorite books as a child. Wonderful illustrations and a great story about pacifism, personal identity and last, but never least, reading! A keeper that still sits on my bookshelf.

I came much more slowly to Hemingway, to Death in the Afternoon. That also should come as no surprise to those who know me. Steeped in the feminism and pacifism of the 60´s and 70´s, I put off reading anything Hemingway until adulthood. Words, images, a travelogue of places I longed to see.

Growing up in South Texas, bullfights were literally in my backyard, the Reynosa bullring barely 20 miles away. I never attended. I waited until now to attend a bullfight, somehow the thing to do when visiting Spain.

And seeing a corrida on a scorchingly hot afternoon in Sevilla, I think that both Munro Leaf and Ernest Hemingway, somehow, both told the story.

Paradoxes abound. In this bloodletting sport, the Cruz Roja (Spanish Red Cross) rents seat cushions to spectators who must sit on hard, sunbaked brick seats for two hours. It is a fundraiser. The disposal of the bulls includes selling the meat, proceeds from which go to charity. Toreros (matadors, creators of death as I knew them growing up) reap fame and fortune in 15 minutes that can end brutally. Finca (hacienda) owners protect their stock of fighting bulls from human contact to prevent the ¨Ferdinand¨effect. It is about bloodsport and artistry of motion. It is about cultural identity.







Travel is about revelations. On this afternoon in June, in Sevilla, I discover a need to read both Leaf and Hemingway again. I also know that I will not see a corrida again.