It's true that my wife and I scoured our book shelves when trying to come up with a name for our yet-to-be-born son. Hence, when he was born, we named him Miller (and incidentally, he owes more to Arthur than he does to Henry. But either way...).
This week, I've been dipping into a book about Hemingway (more about which in a future post), the first time I've read a book about or by Ernest in many years. Lo-and-behold, I was reminded by this latest book that Papa was christened Ernest Miller Hemingway. When I informed my wife of this fact, she was less than completely amused, subscribing as she does to Zelda's theory that ol' Hem wrote about 'bullfighters, bullslingin' and bullshit.'
Personally, I'm already beginning to see similarities.
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