The wound came first. In July 1918, two weeks short of his nineteenth birthday, Red Cross volunteer Ernest Hemingway was blown up by an Austrian trench mortar at Fossalta di Piave and fell in love, in the Milan hospital, with his nurse — Agnes von Kurowsky, who ended it by letter the next spring. It took him ten years to convert the two events into fiction, moving the wound to an ambulance officer named Frederic Henry and the nurse into Catherine Barkley, and folding in a retreat he never saw: the Caporetto chapters were built entirely from maps, testimony, and nerve, and Italian veterans refused to believe he hadn't been there.
He wrote it through 1928 and 1929 — a year that included his father's suicide — and rewrote the ending obsessively; he later claimed thirty-nine attempts, and the surviving manuscripts show even more. Scribner's Magazine serialized it and was banned from Boston newsstands for its trouble, while Max Perkins fought a rearguard action over the soldiers' vocabulary, much of which reached print as dashes.
Published in September 1929, weeks before the Crash, it became his first bestseller — the book that made Hemingway a public institution rather than a modernist rumor. It remains the American novel of the First World War, and the place where his two permanent subjects, love and ruin, first ran the full course together. How it ends is the most famous thing about it, and you will not learn it here.