Robert Capa stepped on a land mine in French Indo China (AKA Vietnam) sixty years ago on May 25, 1954 and these two new books will help remind older readers of why Hemingway and Capa earned places in the War Correspondents Hall of Fame and explains to younger readers why the two are held is such high esteem by a new generation of wannabes.
The two new books work better in tandem much like Rudolph Nureyev and Dame Margot Fontaine were good dancers but weren't they so much better when they danced together?
The naggingest question about the Spanish Civil War was (and still is): "Why don't the Americans help us?" It runs through the book as a leitmotif. If Americans are so damn adamant about the superiority of the democratic way of governance, why did they quietly stand by and let a fascist military leader win?
Could it be that the one percent in the USA in the mid Thirties was convinced that via the concept of "interline courtesy" they owed their real allegiance to Spain's one percent and that mouthing platitudes about "the people" was just a necessary bit of public relations that had nothing to do with the binary choice between fascism and communism?
Reading "Hotel Florida" makes asking the question "Why didn't the Occupy movement succeed?" an exercise in delusional optimism.
Vaill paints a vivid word picture of Capa taking some photos of Taro while she sleeps. A tender vignette in the midst of the unfolding tsunami of carnage is a commendable writer's feat, but it is also very handy to flip to page 65 in the "Paris Years" book and actually see one of the frames Capa shot.
The theme of war as a crucible for love is also explored in the recently published "The Love-charm of bombs," by Laura Feigel, which follows the intertwined sagas of several couples in London, during the Battle of Britain at the start of WWII.
"What Soldiers Do (Sex and the American G. I. in World War II Farnce)," by Mary Louise Roberts, asserts that part of the process of getting the soldiers psyched up to face enemy fire on the beaches of Normandy was to use the promise of earthly delights that awaited the ones who would liberate Paris.
"Love, Sex and War (1939 -- 1940)," by John Costello takes a scholarly approach to the premise that during war members of the clergy turn a blind eye towards fornication and adultery as a way of enlisting the rubes into being enthusiastic about fighting (and perhaps dying in) wars for the benefit of a nation's one percent elite. This book was published by Pan Books of London and may not have had much of an effect on public sentiment in the USA about the possibility that cannon fodder is not a high priority concern when war is in the offing for the One Percenters.
"The Hotel on Place Vendôme," by Tilar J. Mazzeo" includes the same cast, the same setting (a famous hotel) but a different city. Paris instead of Madrid.
"We Saw It Happen (the news behind the news that's fit to print)," edited by Hanson W. Baldwin and Shepard Stone (the 1939 book from Simon & Schuster) is a surfeit of stogy and stultifying material that inadvertently makes the subtle point that it is better if the men and women who will fight, photograph, and report a war, have some jolly good times before they keep their appointment in Samara.
Hemingway, Gellhorn, Capa, and Gerda Taro did make it seem like the good times at the Hotel Florida were the war time journalists' equivalent of the legendary exploits of the entertainers who were the rat pack in Las Vegas.
Vaill reports that Hemingway's employer the North American Newspaper Alliance (NANA) was rather displeased with the first-person boasting aspects of the dispatches that Hemingway provided but that brings up a tantalizing question for literary scholars: Was Hemingway a prototype for the Gonzo Journalism trend in the Sixties?
Those who become obsessed with the Gellhorn and Heminway affair might also want to read "Gellhorn (A Twentieth-Century Life)," by Caroline Moorehead.
"Robert Capa (a Biography)," by Richard Whelan provides supplemental proof that Capa was a fearless, loveable rascal.