Michael Davidow's Blog: The Henry Bell Project - Posts Tagged "siegfried-sassoon"
Read 'em and Weep
Three kind of people seem to read this blog: those interested in fashion, those interested in wine, and those interested in spirituality. That’s a nice mix (especially since SPLIT THIRTY is about politics and advertising). I wish we could all get together.
Anyway, I truly appreciate when anybody reads my writing, so here is a quick entry for you very few folks.
I wrote a book; I’m trying to sell that book; that’s my only reason for being here. But I know that blogs are supposed to be entertaining and informative, more than anything else. So in hopes of being those things, for once, let me recommend another book for you to read, as well (or three, to be precise): Siegfried Sassoon’s “Sherston” trilogy, consisting of Memoirs of a Fox-Hunting Man, Memoirs of an Infantry Officer, and Sherston’s Progress.
These books chronicle the youth and war experiences of George Sherston, the lightly fictionalized alter ego of Sassoon himself. They range from his wealthy upbringing in the English countryside, to the horror of his experiences in the First World War, to his rather exhausted return home. But more importantly: they include a little episode in which he describes how happy a new pair of riding boots made him; they describe the length and breadth of his struggle with the unreality of war; and they include, finally and unforgettably, a hilarious dinner party scene in which a group of intoxicated English officers chase a piece of aspic around the table.
These books used to be pretty well-known. They aren’t, anymore. They should be.
So read some Sassoon. Then read SPLIT THIRTY.
P.S. For the necessary SPLIT THIRTY allusion in this entry: suffice it to say that Henry Bell quotes this author; not his novels, but his poetry. Here is the full text of the poem involved. It’s cruel, and it’s called “The Kiss.”
To these I turn, in these I trust– / Brother Lead and Sister Steel. / To his blind power I make appeal, / I guard her beauty clean from rust.
He spins and burns and loves the air, / And splits a skull to win my praise; / But up the nobly marching days / She glitters, cold and fair.
Sweet sister, grant your soldier this: / That in good fury he may feel / The body where he sets his heel / Quail from your downward darting kiss.
Anyway, I truly appreciate when anybody reads my writing, so here is a quick entry for you very few folks.
I wrote a book; I’m trying to sell that book; that’s my only reason for being here. But I know that blogs are supposed to be entertaining and informative, more than anything else. So in hopes of being those things, for once, let me recommend another book for you to read, as well (or three, to be precise): Siegfried Sassoon’s “Sherston” trilogy, consisting of Memoirs of a Fox-Hunting Man, Memoirs of an Infantry Officer, and Sherston’s Progress.
These books chronicle the youth and war experiences of George Sherston, the lightly fictionalized alter ego of Sassoon himself. They range from his wealthy upbringing in the English countryside, to the horror of his experiences in the First World War, to his rather exhausted return home. But more importantly: they include a little episode in which he describes how happy a new pair of riding boots made him; they describe the length and breadth of his struggle with the unreality of war; and they include, finally and unforgettably, a hilarious dinner party scene in which a group of intoxicated English officers chase a piece of aspic around the table.
These books used to be pretty well-known. They aren’t, anymore. They should be.
So read some Sassoon. Then read SPLIT THIRTY.
P.S. For the necessary SPLIT THIRTY allusion in this entry: suffice it to say that Henry Bell quotes this author; not his novels, but his poetry. Here is the full text of the poem involved. It’s cruel, and it’s called “The Kiss.”
To these I turn, in these I trust– / Brother Lead and Sister Steel. / To his blind power I make appeal, / I guard her beauty clean from rust.
He spins and burns and loves the air, / And splits a skull to win my praise; / But up the nobly marching days / She glitters, cold and fair.
Sweet sister, grant your soldier this: / That in good fury he may feel / The body where he sets his heel / Quail from your downward darting kiss.
