Beware the Ernest Hemingway zombie. He’ll come after you with a shotgun and a pith helmet. And if you run, you give him a moveable feast, which only makes him hungrier.
Isn’t it weird how we demand that the information in “non-fiction” books be updated as the “facts” evolve, but we consider the text of classic fiction to be sacred and immutable?
Another way to anger Ernie’s zombie is to tell everyone he was a KGB spy.