Bringing together Sigmund Freud, Osip Mandelstam, Lloyd George, Bertrand Russell, Isaac Rosenberg, Siegfried Sassoon, Vera Brittain - voices famous and unknown - Peter Vansittart takes us through the course of the Great War, juxtaposing letters from the trenches with music-hall songs, and the words of poets and politicians. Linking the public and the personal, the history with the myth, his rich and unorthodox anthology forms a moving image of everything that went into the War, and culminated in its 'scalding waste of spirit'.
Peter Vansittart was a master of the historical novel and a writer of outstanding talent. He wrote more than 40 books, which also encompassed anthologies, works on literature and social history.
This was an odd, random, and somewhat nonsensical book, though I suspect that style was deliberately entertained to oust the contradictions of "the Great War." He delighted in showing off ironies of expressed sentiment versus realities of conflict (59, 178). He did a good job of demonstrating some of the false mixtures of warfare and religion that often occur (40-41, 224-225, 231), and exposing emergent hatred (69, 188). He also depicted some of the filthy aspects that emerge during war. The poetry, quoted constantly, was scarcely any less horrid in literary appeal than the foul language of some soldierly chants.
Hawkish as I may seem, I concede some very valid points were raised. (Who wouldn't consider WWI an incredibly senseless loss of life?) "European civilization has failed" (Fridtjof Nansen, 120). ". . . the Bishop of London marked his satisfaction . . . by consecrating a war shrine in Hyde Park! . . . I went through all the lessons . . . in the book of Common Prayer, and in no case has any lesson any reference to the Sermon on the Mount! No wonder there is not much Christianity when that is how the Established Church treats the whole basis of Christ's teaching" (C. H. Norman, 240).
Still, many of the "voices" were not my usual fare of trustworthy sources. I rarely pay any attention to the most vigorous pacifists--or the angriest warmongers. Or Rosa Luxemburg or Bertrand Russell. By the way, I went into a hysterical fit of laughter to read Russell's hypocritical rant that he hated "corruptors of youth" (241).
On the whole, this was mainly worthwhile only (and only partially) to my peculiar sense of historical taste. I didn't particularly enjoy it, and some of my sensibilities were offended.