It becomes a bit tedious, Green Hills of Africa, by Ernest Hemingway, does, especially for a vegetarian. A lot of meat, a lot of gratuitous killing of animals for no reason. But the writing is as usual a master class in crispness. And several devices work well, POM for poor old momma. The trading of literary anecdotes. And the cast of characters is always interesting. Even more interesting for me is the arrogance of not speaking more than a few words of any of the local languages (including Swahili) but not hesitating to sketch characters and imagined backgrounds, projecting all kinds of biases onto the large retinue of servants, guides, trackers, hanger-ons, skinners, drivers, gun carriers, etc. It’s breathtaking. Someday a good Tanzanian writer will reverse the gaze.