If this weren’t a true story, no one would buy it as fiction. The book opens in the spring of 1943, as Norway is suffering under Nazi occupation. Four...moreIf this weren’t a true story, no one would buy it as fiction. The book opens in the spring of 1943, as Norway is suffering under Nazi occupation. Four ex-pat Norwegian commandos are heading to the coast with the intent of recruiting and training saboteurs – their ultimate goal is a German airbase, as the Allies desperately need a sea route to Russia. The mission is compromised, and young Jan Baalsrud is left on a tiny, snowy island in the Arctic Circle, drenched, shot, bleeding, unarmed, with only one shoe and a team of Nazis a couple hundred yards behind. How could anyone survive? The cold alone is enough to kill most of us off, not to mention the fright. What follows – frostbite, snow blindness, avalanches, treachery, heroism, starvation, and, always, miles and miles of Arctic snow – kept my mouth hanging open most of time. You couldn’t make this stuff up. Almost as astonishing as Jan’s story is the will of the people who help him, the danger they faced knowing what would happen to their families if they were found out. I have to admit I never think of Norway unless I’m watching the winter Olympics, and certainly I never think of it in the context of World War II, yet the Norwegians’ love of their country in all its frozen, inhospitable glory, and their will to fight the occupation are truly inspiring. Howarth’s prose is a bit bland, but perhaps that was intentional, as the story is breathtaking enough.(less)
This play is far more powerful in production than on the page, yet reading it still gives a searing glimpse into the difficulties Congolese women are...moreThis play is far more powerful in production than on the page, yet reading it still gives a searing glimpse into the difficulties Congolese women are facing in their country’s civil war, a convoluted, vicious conflict in which rape is systematically – and pervasively – used as a weapon. Drawing on her extensive interviews with victims/survivors, Lynn Nottage presents a tale of such suffering that it seems like a warped horror story from another time period or, we could wish, another planet. Yet it’s a frighteningly immediate story – variations of the drama are being enacted in real life every day. Also, the mineral at the center of the war, coltan, is fought over partly because it’s an essential component of cell phones. In an oddly disconcerting way, every one of us has a piece of the Democratic Republic of the Congo sitting on our desk or in our purse. I’m not prone to displaced guilt, but you have to admit it gives one pause.
The play takes place in a bar/brothel at the edge of a war zone and presents widely disparate characters – insurgents, government soldiers, prostitutes, international traders, and villagers. But at the center is Mama Nadi, the commanding owner and madam. One day she might be serving the insurgents, the next she might be entertaining the government soldiers, but her establishment is a neutral zone and everyone checks his bullets at the door. Mama’s forceful personality and equivocal ethics encapsulate the muddy, moral mess of war as well as the resilience of human nature. You know a world in which a brothel is a retreat, and working in a brothel a girl’s best hope, is not going to be a pretty one. But however horrific and alien the circumstances, the characters in the play grab you with their humanity, and they force you to relate to that shared humanity by witnessing assaults against it and, at times, triumphs of it.
I saw Ruined performed in the round, which means you could see through the actors and on-stage drama to rows of other theatre goers. This had the benefit of almost superimposing the action onto the audience; I simultaneously watched the actions of people halfway around the world and the reactions of people like me. The odd unity of actors and audience was suitable for a play full of alien and shared experience. Casual references to witch doctors and spats over nail polish occur in the same scene; the foreign and familiar are not mutually exclusive, and neither are unspeakable abuse and the possibility of healing. At the end of the play half the audience was smiling and breathing an audible “Ahhh” while the other half didn’t even applaud because they were still wiping their eyes…the combination of brutality and humanity is quite unsettling. However, I’d definitely wait to see it performed rather than read it – while it’s powerful, it’s no Streetcar. (less)
The brilliance of this book is its approach – Howarth goes through the day, section by section, and depicts what Waterloo was like from the perspectiv...moreThe brilliance of this book is its approach – Howarth goes through the day, section by section, and depicts what Waterloo was like from the perspective of several different men. Dry and confusing strategy is cast aside in favor of real-life experience and descriptions of the truly breath-taking gusts of fate that determined this battle. Good thing you know the outcome before you start! And, as a bonus, sort of, I have to admit that if anyone can breathe humanity into that dreadful little megalomaniac from Corsica, David Howarth can.(less)
David Howarth is another historian I would invite over to dinner every Sunday night if he lived nearby and weren’t already dead. I doubt he’d find me...moreDavid Howarth is another historian I would invite over to dinner every Sunday night if he lived nearby and weren’t already dead. I doubt he’d find me as delightful as I find him, but I’d try. Even if you have no interest in the Norman Conquest, this book is so enchantingly and clearly written that you’ll think you’ve stumbled into a particularly good novel about those zany folk in medieval England and France. Even better, Howarth was an accomplished sailor, so he can offer educated speculation about the logistics of crossing the English Channel in various vessels – with war horses! – at various points, which doesn’t sound super exciting but is when he writes about it. My favorite aspect of his writing style is his matter of fact tone: he says, “Here’s what one original source says, here’s what this other original source says, here’s why they’re both suspect, and, for what it’s worth, here’s what I think probably happened.” It’s quality, in-depth scholarship for people with short attention spans. I almost drew little hearts in the margins. (less)
This is an intensely interesting examination of the poetry and psychological treatment of three Great War poets – Siegfried Sassoon, Wilfred Owen, and...moreThis is an intensely interesting examination of the poetry and psychological treatment of three Great War poets – Siegfried Sassoon, Wilfred Owen, and Ivor Gurney. Sassoon and Owen were treated at Craiglockhart and returned to the front; Gurney broke down in March of 1918, and while he recovered enough to be discharged from the army by October, he continued to suffer from mental illness and spent the last fifteen years of his life in mental institutions, believing the war was still going on. But don’t despair! This isn’t a book of doom and gloom. Rather it’s an examination of the different ways poetic expression acted as therapy. By returning to the scenes of devastation in their memories and using their imaginations to transform those experiences into art, the poets took control of the uncontrollable. This book traces different aspects of that recovery.
Both the discussions (at times transcripts!) of the poets’ psychological treatments and the analysis of their poetry are accessible – and fascinating beyond description. This is an invaluable source for those interested in World War I poetry, psychotherapy, shell-shock, and the power of creative expression to deal with trauma. An absolute treasure! (less)
It’s a rare day that I become smitten with a 75-year old historian, but that day came when I read the introduction to The Face of Battle. I have sever...moreIt’s a rare day that I become smitten with a 75-year old historian, but that day came when I read the introduction to The Face of Battle. I have several of John Keegan’s books, most of them featuring lots of photographs, but this is the one that made him famous – and for good reason. His elegant prose has the right amount of wit and clarity, scholarship and humility, gripping description and hard facts. After an introduction to military historiography that left me – I'm not even kidding – thinking “What a fascinating topic!!” he describes three seminal European battles that took place in the same region: Agincourt, Waterloo, and the Somme. I can’t say that you don’t need to be a teeny bit interested in military history to be interested in this, as I do happen to be interested in military history, but I can objectively testify to his eloquence. He describes what it would be like to be a man-on-the-ground combat soldier in each of these battles with the arrows whizzing by, the cannon smoke obscuring the field, and the rain of bullets falling indiscriminately and unceasingly. (I know “rain of bullets” is cliché, but I’m not John Keegan.) And with a considerable understanding born of his years researching and teaching at Sandhurst, he explains what on earth compells the average soldier to endure the misery and danger of combat. To hear him describe the experience of these battles, buy the book – you, too, can know as closely as it’s possible to know what it would be like to fight in another time period. It’s worth far more than $11 and five or six hours just be wowed by his prose and grateful for your life. Plus you’ll know a lot more about these battles than you would by reading anything else.(less)
Jonathan Shay is a psychotherapist – and impressive amateur classicist – who has spent decades treating Vietnam veterans with severe PTSD. In this fas...moreJonathan Shay is a psychotherapist – and impressive amateur classicist – who has spent decades treating Vietnam veterans with severe PTSD. In this fascinating book, he analyzes what he sees as the moral breakdown of Achilles in terms of factors common to the Vietnam War. The first section of the book outlines these factors: a betrayal of “what’s right”; the shrinkage of the social and moral horizon; grief at the death of a special comrade; guilt and wrongful substitution; and going berserk (a clinical condition, not slang). In each of the chapters he describes these conditions as revealed through years of treating veterans, often quoting transcripts of therapy sessions, and analyzes their presence in The Iliad. In the second section he goes through soldiers’ common reactions to these conditions, again drawing from Vietnam veterans’ accounts, and demonstrates the same reactions in Achilles. It’s convincing and utterly compelling.
I’m no classical scholar, but I have read The Iliad many times and can appreciate his deep understanding and meticulous examination. His book is worth multiple readings. In fact, Achilles in Vietnam has filled a role in my understanding similar to movies of favorite novels, like “Gone With the Wind” – now I can’t read The Iliad without this as context and subtext! I also was stunned by the descriptions of combat in Vietnam — both the conditions of guerilla warfare against the Viet Cong and common U.S. military practices seemed designed to inflict maximum psychological damage on our soldiers. Be forewarned: this is not for the faint of heart. If you’ve studied the Vietnam War then much of this will be familiar. If not, brace yourself; the accounts are from men whose combat trauma was debilitating enough that they sought professional help. Also, Dr. Shay quotes veterans’ words verbatim, and the profanity is almost as stunning as the substance. I have no tolerance for profanity and felt like I needed to wash out my head with a power hose, yet at the same time I couldn’t help feel sorry for both the lack of education that often produces such a low level of language and the obvious crutch that profanity was for these men; if the eloquent can’t find words to describe such horrors, what hope had they? (Not all the interviewees swear four or five times in a sentence; there are distinct levels of language corresponding to levels of education, a fact that the Vietnam veterans I know are quick to assert.) The final section of the book focuses on PTSD and possible healing, with less analysis of Achilles; nonetheless, it’s fascinating reading. (less)
Edith Wharton’s pet subjects — failed marriages, social minefields, and stymied dreams — play out against the backdrop of the Great War. As always, Wh...moreEdith Wharton’s pet subjects — failed marriages, social minefields, and stymied dreams — play out against the backdrop of the Great War. As always, Wharton’s prose beautifully combines criticism with compassion, lyricism with clarity, and subtlety with wrenching drama. I found myself re-reading passages and just sighing.
The set up for this novel hooked me before I even read it: In the summer of 1914, a divorced expatriate father living in Paris is anticipating a month’s travel with his son, George, who just finished college in America. Adding a rosy glow to the prospect is the father’s recent success as an artist after years of struggle, which means he’ll finally be able to support his son financially. (After all, he wants George to be “independent” and not have to work in some soul-destroying business such as the one his ex-wife’s second husband owns — such a nice touch to combine class snobbery and whiff-of-Bohemian artistic snobbery!)
Anyway, war breaks out and prevents the father/son vacation, but the big crisis is that George can be drafted into the French army because he was born while his parents were visiting France. Oh, the twists of fate. This danger forces the ex-husband, ex-wife, and her second husband (who essentially reared the son) into an uneasy collaboration to protect George, without his knowing it, from active duty. The three parents scramble and scheme to pull every string they have to get George behind a desk, but, to everyone’s amazement and horror, George enlists himself in the infantry. The mother is devastated and the fathers are secretly proud. The bulk of the novel concerns the agonies of parents waiting on the home front, a situation more complex because of the divorce and the weirdness of being foreigners in a country at war.
Wharton explores the human psyche with such unrelenting perception that it’s almost painful. So many times I wanted to reach into the book and shake the characters even as I ached for them. You yearn for these people to rise above their petty concerns — the father resents the second husband because he’s wealthy and was able to provide a home for George; the second husband resents the father because he has a father’s claim on George — but people usually fall short. However, Wharton is a genius at portraying the moments of connection that offer transcendence. For instance, both men know the wife isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer and needs to be handled carefully, though they can’t say it aloud, both have a father’s love for George, and both have a conflicted admiration for George’s willingness to fight. I wanted the characters to burst into soulful, lushly orchestrated duets about their differing roles, but Wharton doesn’t provide musical theatre, just realistic insight, and so the result is more exploratory than cathartic.
Edith Wharton lived in Paris during the Great War and drove an ambulance to and from the front, so she writes with nuance and authority on the issues of being American in Paris during the years before the U.S. entered the war. Mostly, though, I enjoyed a personal and family saga that gives insight into both a vanished social context and universal experiences. (less)
Alexander McCall Smith has a penchant for “cute” titles, some quite funny(At the Villa of Reduced Circumstances). However, something about a character...moreAlexander McCall Smith has a penchant for “cute” titles, some quite funny(At the Villa of Reduced Circumstances). However, something about a character named La, short for Lavender, struck me as too twee even for my low standards. I should have followed my instinct and skipped this, but I hoped for shades of Guernsey Literary and Potato Pie Peel Society, or maybe “Paradise Road,” or at the very least some insight into the Women’s Land Army.
In brief, the story is about a woman who moves to a farm to wait out World War II and starts an orchestra that meets once a month or so. The book’s failing can be summarized as briefly: None of the plotlines, let alone the themes, is developed. There’s a Polish refugee who might not actually be Polish (spies? moral dilemmas? star-crossed lovers?!?) but nothing thrilling happens. There’s La’s farm work that breezes past chickens and planting potatoes for about five paragraphs total. Then there’s some thief-in-the-neighborhood intrigue that I can’t remember the resolution to because it was dull and underdeveloped, and finally there is the orchestra, the one that “saves the world,” which practices only a few times and has two performances at which nothing happens.
Books that can’t help but be dull are one thing; who would expect drama from Bird Watching for Beginners or How to Be Your Own Accountant? But dull books that should be intriguing are the worst kind of bait-and-switch. This could have been about conflicts of personal and national loyalties, the transcending power of music, and ordinary people coping with extraordinary circumstances. The big mystery is how you could take these elements and turn out a tedious story. It also — worse still — is philosophically unmoored. For example, La wails about the destruction of war, but then thinks, “Hmm, those Nazis are so terrible that they’re actually evil! We must stop evil.” Later she laments, “Why would we develop more weapons? Who would ever go to war again? Let’s revive the old orchestra and have a concert for peace!” Imagine this oversimplification stretched out for three hundred pages. (less)
Ernst Jünger is an insurance actuary’s worst nightmare — he smoked, drank, experimented with drugs, served in two world wars, sustained multiple injur...moreErnst Jünger is an insurance actuary’s worst nightmare — he smoked, drank, experimented with drugs, served in two world wars, sustained multiple injuries, and yet died only one month shy of 103. And his exploits on the front! You couldn’t make this stuff up. I confess to not knowing many Germans, but the national stereotypes (organized, efficient, not a lot of laughs) were more than born out in his memoir.
One of the things that struck me the most about the book was how different it was from British memoirs of the Great War. To begin with, Storm of Steel was published in 1920, a good ten years before most people had recovered enough to write their memoirs. But Ernst Jünger was a born soldier, and therein rests the core of the book’s particular power. Absent are the self-deprecating humor, the overwhelming sense of loss and the bitter ironies of English memoirs. Jünger was a man of duty, focus, and extraordinary resilience. He didn’t write to condemn the war and shock future generations into pacifism, nor did he write to glorify war — he merely recorded his experience with a descriptive power unhampered by lengthy reflections and commentary. When he discovers that his younger brother had been deployed nearby he does show some real fear, but for the most part he’s remarkably objective about the four years of brutal, relentless slaughter.
That’s not to say the slaughter doesn’t play a starring role. The mud, the rats, the screeching shells, the gas, the horrific injuries, and the driving rain of bullets and shrapnel are clinically, even ruthlessly described. You get a clear picture of the battlefield’s inexorable and indiscriminate danger. But he describes horrors, such as layers of corpses from previous offensives being turned up by new shelling and entire towns being obliterated, with the sort of detachment that, combined with his apparent indestructibility, makes for the ultimate soldier. For Jünger, war didn’t destroy young men — it strengthened them, albeit at a steep price. He seemed to relish the chance to prove himself by volunteering for every daring reconnaissance mission, savoring the danger, the heightened senses, the high stakes of success or failure — even though many of his comrades were blown to smithereens during these missions.
Yet in spite of the years of bloodshed that could easily have destroyed or dehumanized him, he never lost the simple joys of smoking his pipe or discovering tins of jam in a British dugout. I couldn’t help thinking that if you had enough Jüngers in your country, the idea of a super race would seem pretty reasonable. At the end of the war he calculates, “Leaving out trifles such as ricochets and grazes, I was hit at least fourteen times, these being five bullets, two shell splinters, one shrapnel ball, four hand-grenade splinters and two bullet splinters, which, with entry and exit wounds, left me an even twenty scars.” Who calls being grazed by a bullet a "trifle"?! I guess someone who's been through the Great War. After one double wound (shot in the head and leg), he walked two miles to a casualty clearing station. Compare that to my recent brush with Crest white strips, which made my teeth hurt so much after only a few minutes that I had to take three Aleve and go to bed. I doubt Ernst would have had much patience with me.
This isn’t an easy read — by the end you sort of feel as though you’ve been through the war yourself — but it’s unbelievably compelling. (less)
I know, who would admit to buying a "Complete Idiot’s" guide to anything? Not that there aren’t plenty of subjects for which I’d need a complete idiot...moreI know, who would admit to buying a "Complete Idiot’s" guide to anything? Not that there aren’t plenty of subjects for which I’d need a complete idiot’s guide, like physics or car mechanics, but why on earth would I want to learn about those? The Great War, on the other hand, is a beloved obsession, but it’s as complex as it is interesting. And, as history books are written by historians and not great authors, sometimes a peppy overview with three bullet points at the end of each chapter listing "The Least You Need to Know" is just the ticket.
The big problem with this book, besides the title, is that it has no maps. If you have a detailed geographical, topographical, and political map of Europe circa 1914 already in your head, then you probably don’t need this book in the first place. But for the rest of us, it’d be nice to know where the Meuse River valley is and exactly how Poland used to be divided. And who really has a grip on the Balkans, regardless of the time period? As for more far-flung areas, forget it. I took a battlefield tour of the Gallipoli Peninsula a few years ago and still became frustrated with the Dardanelles Campaign explanation. A quick Wikipedia search can clear up most geographical questions, but what’s the point of having an "idiot’s guide" if you still have to look stuff up? Perhaps if you don’t need to picture where things happened, though, this isn’t so much of a problem.
On the plus side, I thought the overview of the Eastern front was concise and informational, and almost every page has either a battle term explained or a pertinent quotation from letters, diaries, or books. And every now and then there’s biographical sketch of a major player, telling where he came from and what eventually happened to him, which I found really interesting. Another big bonus is that in the front of the book there’s a handy "Compact Chronology" page that you can tear out and use as a bookmark. With breezy writing and lots of headings, this book is super easy to read and provides a great reference for an extremely complicated war. (less)
A friend gave this to me with the recommendation, “You’ll LOVE this – it sounds like you!” I assume she meant because the main character is a witty bo...moreA friend gave this to me with the recommendation, “You’ll LOVE this – it sounds like you!” I assume she meant because the main character is a witty book lover, not because she’s a critical spinster. I don’t dare ask.
At any rate, this is easily one of the most charming books I’ve read in a while. Our heroine, Juliet, spent the war writing light pieces for a women’s magazine, and now she yearns for more substantial material. When she receives a letter from a Guernsey man who has in his possession a book she used to own, and finds out that during the war he belonged to a “Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society,” she’s intrigued. She writes him back. It turns out that at the beginning of the occupation (Germany occupied the Channel Islands from 1939-1945), a group of friends had gathered for a covert pork supper, only to have to make up some excuse for breaking curfew when a Nazi officer discovered them walking home late at night. The Literary Society was the result.
Juliet begins corresponding with the various members of the society, but eventually decides she wants to go to Guernsey to meet them in person — as will you!! What a delightful assortment of characters — most of their letters made me laugh out loud, and several made me cry. Juliet’s letters are an absolute scream. Plus, as a bonus, you get an intriguing glimpse into what life was like for those trapped on an occupied island for the duration of the war. The hardships, friendships, and everyday heroism of the characters actually warmed my heart!
My only complaint is that it wasn’t until page 61 that the author managed to write in a different voice. In other words, most of the characters sound exactly alike, as though the same person is corresponding with herself. Creating distinct voices is a trick for any author, but good ones do it far more successfully. And there’s one woman, a non-member of the Literary Society, who’s so absurdly interfering that she makes Mrs. Kravitz of “Bewitched” look like an Arthur Miller creation. But the rest of the book (ridiculous sitcom character aside) is delightful enough to make up for the contrived and often predictable aspects. A quick read that will leave you smiling...and wanting to go to Guernsey! (less)
The final installment of Pat Barker’s trilogy regains some of the cohesion lost in the second one, partly because it focuses more on Dr. Rivers’ past,...moreThe final installment of Pat Barker’s trilogy regains some of the cohesion lost in the second one, partly because it focuses more on Dr. Rivers’ past, and partly because Billy Prior — as repugnant as ever — finally returns to battle. What does it say when the horrors of trench warfare perk up a story?
A chunk of the narration takes place as Dr. Rivers battles influenza and his mind wanders back to the time he spent in Melanesia researching a tribe of head-hunters. Their barbaric thirst for heads yet their willingness to curtail the practice, the white man’s abhorrence of head-hunting yet their willingness to send millions of young men to their deaths, a people destroyed by their refusal to fight wars and a nation destroyed by fighting a war...these contradictions all give a not-too-subtle commentary on the moral ambiguity of 20th century British culture. Frankly, I’d sort of checked out. A little social criticism goes a long way if you’re not distracted by engaging characters. Plus I’d endured too many tasteless sexual encounters between Billy and whoever was handy to really care much about the book. (What on earth would make an author think that coarseness is going to be anything other than repellent? Are there readers so depraved that they don’t mind?? I shudder to think.)
One of the big disappointments with the trilogy is that the characters who were so fascinating in Regeneration, Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfred Owen, are absent from the second book and make only cameo appearances in the last. Much of the charm (which isn't really the right word) of Regeneration's premise is the fleshing out of historical people and encounters. Instead, Barker took the least appealing character from the first book and focused the rest of the series on him.
The ending, at least, packs a punch. And as a bonus, Wilfred Owen returns for a brief appearance, even if it is only in time to get killed at the Sambre-Oise Canal (he died on November 4, exactly one week before Armistice; his mother received word of his death as church bells rang out victory — that part’s not in the novel). I would definitely read Regeneration and definitely skip the next two. Bizarrely, The Ghost Road is the one that actually won the Booker Award. (less)
Five stars for brilliance, one for enjoyment (we're working with a flawed rating system). The second installment of the Regeneration trilogy presents...moreFive stars for brilliance, one for enjoyment (we're working with a flawed rating system). The second installment of the Regeneration trilogy presents one the most complex psychological portraits I’ve ever read, made more complex by the fact I had to read it through one half-closed eye because of the occasional graphic depictions of gay sex. However, there’s more to the book than insight into new territory (which normally I appreciate, but not so much here). The story goes outside Craglockhart Hospital to follow one of the more problematic patients, Billy Prior, in his wartime duties and continued treatment with Dr. Rivers. But really the novel is an exploration of duality, both between people and roles, and within one’s own self — soldier/pacifist, working class/officer, doctor/patient, heterosexual/homosexual, sane/insane. The conflicts resulting from these dualities are set against the backdrop of — and in some cases result from — the deep and unsettling changes the Great War was causing in English society. While I admit the novel is in many ways a triumph, I didn’t like it at all and even had a hard time following it in places (which is sort of unusual). There’d be no point reading it out of context of the trilogy. (less)
For me, this first book in Pat Barker’s trilogy presents a perfect storm of interests — World War I, English poets, and madness. Incorporating actual...moreFor me, this first book in Pat Barker’s trilogy presents a perfect storm of interests — World War I, English poets, and madness. Incorporating actual people and events into the narrative, the novel takes place at Craiglockhart, a hospital outside Edinburgh requisitioned in 1916 as a facility for officers suffering from shell-shock. Supervising the show is Dr. William Rivers, a real-life neurologist, anthropologist, and psychiatrist who pioneered early work in nerve regeneration.
One of the central stories concerns the poet Siegfried Sassoon, whose conviction that the war was being unnecessarily prolonged prompted him to publish an inflammatory “Declaration Against the War”. In a shrewd move, the review board realized that court-marshalling such a prominent officer would scandalize and demoralize the public. Instead, they ruled that Sassoon had suffered “a breakdown” and sent him up to Craiglockhart to recuperate. Sassoon’s “treatment” (which consists mainly of playing golf and debating with Dr. Rivers, as he obviously isn’t mentally ill) raises all sorts of interesting questions about the nature of duty and love in wartime. Just as intriguing, though, are the stories of the other patients and Rivers’ attempts to treat their various symptoms of shell-shock, as well as Rivers’ own struggles with the moral facets of his work.
This is not a book for the faint of heart; Barker’s sparse prose is the perfect vehicle for searing images of horror and destruction. Plus, as unsavory as war is on its own, it can always be made more unsavory by the personal lives of the soldiers. Nevertheless, Regeneration is intensely gripping and presents a haunting exploration of issues raised by prolonged trench warfare. (less)
Perhaps this is better in the original French? It opens promisingly enough: on a dark January night in 1917, five soldiers are hauled up to the bizarr...morePerhaps this is better in the original French? It opens promisingly enough: on a dark January night in 1917, five soldiers are hauled up to the bizarrely named Bingo Crépuscule trench and forced into No Man’s Land as punishment for wounding themselves in order to get out of the war. Ostensibly, by the next day all are killed by German fire. However, a letter sent in 1919 to the fiancée of one of the dead soldiers leads her to believe otherwise. She embarks on a search to trace anyone who might know what actually happened, a search made both more difficult and more interesting by her physical limitations (she’s wheelchair bound) and the devastation of post-war France.
Mathilde’s search is certainly intriguing, if a bit circuitous. Also intriguing are the unfolding stories of the five soldiers' lives and war time service. However, some of the characters are a bit coarse. It’s a decent mystery and an interesting look into the nightmare of World War I, but not the most compelling novel I’ve ever read. (less)
This created such a stir when it came out that I borrowed my brother-in-law’s copy to see what the fuss was about — sadly, not as much as I’d hoped. T...moreThis created such a stir when it came out that I borrowed my brother-in-law’s copy to see what the fuss was about — sadly, not as much as I’d hoped. The story opens at a large country house on a stifling hot summer day in 1935. The central character, Briony, an irritating tweenie with an overactive imagination who fancies herself an author, has just finished writing a play that she wants to put on for her visiting older brother and his friend. Also on the scene are her obnoxious cousins, whom she is supposed to be nice to because their parents are getting a divorce, a mother who is AWOL with a “migraine”, a father who is busy with something else, her older sister, and their housekeeper’s handsome son Robbie, who’s getting ready to attend medical school. Briony witnesses a couple of encounters between her sister and Robbie (one rather graphic, so brace yourself) that she doesn’t understand, and then is party to a deception that wildly changes the course of their lives. The second section of the book takes place five years later and follows Robbie, now in the army, as he retreats to Dunkirk. The third section returns to Briony, who is working as a nurse as part of her “atonement” for what she did, and the final part takes place at her 77th birthday party. While sections are beautifully written, overall I thought it lacked unity, and some of the characters were so irritating that I just wanted to slap them and close the book. Frankly I enjoyed the movie far more, which I know makes me sound like a philistine, but at least the film was cohesive. (less)
Renowned World War I historian Lyn Macdonald uses countless interviews to create an almost mesmerizing chronicle of the other army — the volunteer nur...moreRenowned World War I historian Lyn Macdonald uses countless interviews to create an almost mesmerizing chronicle of the other army — the volunteer nurses. "On the face of it," she introduces, "no one could have been less equipped for the job than these gently nurtured girls who walked straight out of Edwardian drawing rooms into the manifest horrors of the First World War." Tales of humor, despair, and unequalled courage as these women watched their contemporaries — and their world — die in the Great War. The war may have destroyed a generation of men, but it re-created a generation of women. (less)
True story of four British soldiers who found themselves lost behind enemy lines in 1914. For two years the villagers of occupied Villeret hid and pro...moreTrue story of four British soldiers who found themselves lost behind enemy lines in 1914. For two years the villagers of occupied Villeret hid and protected them as best they could, but in 1916, the soldiers were exposed, rounded up and shot. Who betrayed them and why is the mystery Macintyre tries to uncover through extensive research and interviews with the village survivors and descendents, but the real focus of the book is the unrelenting horror of living under German occupation and the amazing stories of the soldiers—one man hid in a wardrobe, another dressed as a girl, one spoke French well enough he simply became a villager. Gripping — reads almost like a mystery novel, and it comes with pictures! Hardly realized I was reading non-fiction.(less)
Summer of 1944. Every bridge, historical landmark, and civic building in Nazi-occupied Paris was wired with explosives. Hitler’s plan was to reduce th...moreSummer of 1944. Every bridge, historical landmark, and civic building in Nazi-occupied Paris was wired with explosives. Hitler’s plan was to reduce the city to rubble if Allied troops got too close. He didn’t know that the Allies were planning to bypass Paris, and of course the resistance fighters didn’t know Paris was rigged to blow up. Their hope was to bring things to a head once the Allied forces were near enough to help, unaware of the consequences. Throw into the mix the unlikely hero of the story: General Dietrich von Choltitz, the newly-appointed military governor of Paris. He loved Paris. Plus he had met Hitler and realized the Führer was mad. However, his duty was to his country, and he knew his family was under watch in Germany. Could he disobey a direct order, sacrifice his duty, and endanger his family? On the other hand, could he actually be responsible for destroying the most beautiful city in the world at the behest of a madman?? You'll have to read the book to see how he helped keep the different incendiary elements from blowing up long enough to keep Paris from blowing up.
You get a truly gripping account of living in occupied Paris, and a sense of just how close the world came to losing it. The drama is presented mostly at an individual level: stories of Resistance and FFI in-fighting, diplomats and their mistresses, people smuggling messages in bicycle baskets. Interestingly, most of the characters are motivated by survival or profit, not ideology; on some level, von Choltitz ultimately placed culture above politics. Though I’m not a big fan of the French (what Anglophile is?), the thought of that most magnificent city burning left me breathless and a bit teary through the entire book. Best to read it while you're visiting Paris, so you can reassure yourself that everything turned out okay. Vive la France! (less)
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