Being Geniuses Together, 1920-1930

This is a strangely, piercingly affecting book ostensibly by and about two largely forgotten writers among the "Lost Generation" of writers and artists in Paris in the 1920's. It is an emotionally engrossing tale, especially on Boyle's part, of what physical and emotional/spiritual sacrifices the life of the committed artist demands.-----Yes, there is plenty of name-dropping and stories concerning Pound, Joyce and Hemingway-But that hardly seems the point and neither does their art (except for Boyle, at times). This book is about what sort of People they were, how they lived their lives, both internally and externally. The stereotype of the artist as a self-destructive martyr to his or her art is certainly on display here, but the characters aren't represented as hollow stereotypes (which themselves exist, after all, for very good reasons). They leap from the page as living, breathing people, and one gains an insight into the modus vivendi of each of them. And it must be said that, of the writers from that milieu that are still remembered today (mentioned above), only Joyce comes through as a lovable figure, and a good man, despite his drinking bouts.The major achievement of this book is that it brings home the humanity of both Boyle and McAlmon as they lived their externally festive (especially McAlmon's), inwardly tormented (especially Boyle's) lives. There are several other aspects on which one could dwell, Mcalmon's generosity and relative selflessness (as written of by Boyle, not he), Boyle's supposedly more "Romantic" way of life and art (as written of by McAlmon, not she), but the main effect is that of laying out a physical and psychological tableau of their lives in the 1920's.-As McAlmon confesses, "It is a horrible admission, but some of us are driven to work at times to forget about living life. That creative urge, if you will, or is it that something remembered or contemplated is more entertaining than the actual scene and event being experienced? Somebody else spoke of Marsden as an 'eagle without a cliff', but aren't we all?"-Later he writes, "...we had moments of enjoying the sodden destruction of time in a weary world."---As we look back on this supposedly "dated" attitude of those expatriate writers, can we really say that their actions and outlook were so dated? What artist or what person has not had thoughts or periods of life such as expressed above?---At one point in the book, McAlmon reports a fellow reveller at a Parisian cafe chiding him for his well-known generosity and telling him that he has "too much humanity." This is the only criticism that can be levelled at this book, if you choose to categorize it as such.

This is an evocative memoir -- much more substantive than many books exploring the lives of expats in Paris in the 20s & 30s.