gifts for a neighbor’s child.nWe know that Hemingway oncenconsidered preparing a new edition ofnhis stories, but he never took the chorenbeyond a casual suggestion to his editornat Scribner’s, Maxwell Perkins. Withnall its trivia, this is not the collectionnthat Hemingway would himself havenprepared. Why he did not is somethingnof a mystery, unless one admits thentransparent possibility that in the endnhe decided to stand by his earlierncollection, that he had preserved all ofnhis work that he wanted to.nSerious students of Hemingway, ofncourse, have need to consider fragmentarynmaterials and drafts, but whatnof the general reader wanting only angood story by an admired writer? ThenFinca Vigia edition does not improventhe earlier edition of Hemingway’snshort stories, which sold by the thousandsnof copies each year. Scribner’snwould have done better to issue ansmall, inexpensive volume of uncollectednstories than to aver, as it did innpublished advertisements for the book,nthat here now stood the definitivenHemingway. Definitive, that is, untilnsome other fortunate neighbor turnsnup with a new set of Christmas fables,nor some drawer in Key West yields up andiscarded fragment from The Gardennof Eden, or some enterprising subeditorndetermines that Hemingway’s endorsementsnfor Ballantine Ale and Parkernfountain pens constitute a hithertonneglected aspect of his literary canon.nCommercial publishers can exist, ofncourse, only to the extent that theynprofit from their work, and there is nonend of recent cases in which greed hasntriumphed over literary integrity. Consider,nfor example, the “definitive” textnof James Joyce’s Ulysses that appearednin 1986 and was meant to lay to rest allnearlier versions of the book — especiallynthe student edition used innevery university in the Englishspeakingnworld. By correcting a handfulnof textual errors (and introducingncountless new ones in the bargain),nJoyce’s publisher was able to renewncopyright for the book, which was duento expire, and thereby could keep thenprofitable book to itself The new editionncarries, of course, a substantiallynhigher price than the earlier, superiornversion.nIn the case of Ernest Hemingwaynand Scribner’s, however, somethingnaltogether more unpleasant, if equallyncynical, is in play. From his middlenyears on, Hemingway suffered gravendoubts about the quality of his work,nwhich declined as he fell victim to hisnown myth of the blustering, harddrinking,nfearless sportsman and fighter.nAs a consequence, he labored endlesslynover the details of his craft, andnhe rewrote portions of The Old Mannand the Sea, for example, 30 and 40ntimes in order to achieve what henconsidered to be rhythmic and narrativenperfection. He had to work hardernat being good as the years passed, butnhe often succeeded, and his failingsnseldom deluded him. Had Hemingway,never mindful of his well-earnednreputation as a great writer and hard atnwork even under the burden of selfimposednhandicaps, truly been confidentnof Islands in the Stream, ThenDangerous Summer, and The Gardennof Eden, he would have readied thenmanuscripts for publication himself, ornleft explicit instmctions for their handlingnafter his death.nBut he was not, and he did not.nInstead, he regarded the manuscripts asnlost causes, and, adrift in the sorrownthat such knowledge and the advancingnyears visited upon him, he shotnhimself to death among the green hillsnof Idaho. And in the end he and thatndifficult knowledge were betrayed bynhis publishers, who ignored the clearlynstated wishes of one of their mostnprized writers and contrived to takenadvantage of his good name, whatevernthe consequences the unknowing deadnmight suffer.nIn the act, Scribner’s — now for allnpurposes defunct, swallowed up by anconglomerate takeover — did itself,nHemingway, and American literature angrave disservice, for the day will soonncome when the distinction betweennHemingway’s willingly published worknand the inferior, graverobbed texts isnblurred. On that day, in the balance,nErnest Hemingway will come to benregarded as just another writer, withnmore failures than triumphs to hisncredit, unable to discern the good worknin the bad. No writer should have tonsuffer such a fate, to have his or hernbody of work diluted by the addition ofnmaterial never intended for publication.nBut—and this is the great lessonnthe Hemingway affair teaches us, sincenwe know all about greed and brokennnnoaths and disloyalty — now defenselessnagainst literary necrophilia, all writersnof whatever stature should think hard,nmatchbooks in hand, about the dispositionnof their unpublished manuscriptsnwhen the end draws near. The publicationnof Hemingway’s raw, unfinished,nand even ghostwritten work onlyndiminishes his hard-won reputation. Itnis a shameful betrayal.nGregory McNamee is the author of anforthcoming book of essays. ThenReturn of Richard Nixon. He lives innTucson, where he is editor in chief ofnthe University of Arizona Press.nLIBERAL ARTSnWHY WORRY ABOUTnGARBAGE DISPOSALnWHEN LOCALnGOVERNMENT CANnBE SO MUCH MOREnINTERESTING?nExasperated by France’s nuclear testingnprogram at Mururoa Atoll in the SouthnPacific, the Mayor of Jarle, a smallnSwedish town 200 kilometers west ofnStockholm, has declared war on thenFrench.nMayor Elof Elinder claims to havendrawn his authority to declare war from anstatute instituted by Queen Christina ofnSweden in 1642. Originally intended tonapply against sailing ships, that law permitsntowns unilaterally to declare warnagainst any country.nWhile conceding that Jarle isn’t likelynto send troops up the Seine River,nMayor Elinder has opened fire on theneconomic front. He is urging Swedes tonboycott all French products, particularlynwine and food. The boycott, he added,nshould remain in force until the Frenchnstop their nuclear testing in the SouthnPacific.n—from the Spring 1989 issue of ThenBulletin of Municipal Foreign PolicynSEPTEMBER 1989/51n