You drink yourself to death. You become obsessed by sex. You spend all your time talking . . . You are an expatriate, see? You hang around cafes.
"It sounds like a swell life," I said. "When do I work?" —The Sun Also Rises In high-ceilinged studios and sunny flats littered with children's toys, a new kind of American-artist-abroad is at work in Italy these days. Scorning the cognac-and-champagne antics of Hemingway's Lost Generation the American in Rome shuns a beard, rope shoes, and pants held up by a length of clothesline, prefers...
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