Of all the varied profiles of Ernest Miller Hemingway that already exist here in the twenty-first century, perhaps none does justice to his unusual capacity for adaptation. When Hemingway was with his male friends—during the Michigan summers, in the Paris cafes, in wartime, on his boat Pilar—or with other correspondents during the Greco-Turkish War, the Spanish Civil War, or World Wars I and II, he showed a carefully constructed masculinity. When he was with a woman he loved, he reflected at least a part of her empathetic sensuousness. When he felt the floodlight of media scrutiny upon him, he intentionally misbehaved— or at least his behavior fed his celebrity status: he was likely to be, at best, unpredictable. In a lifetime of only 62 years, Ernest Hemingway— whether healthy or ill—seemed proud of his ability to be a chameleon.