"Gentlemen rankers out on the spree
Damned from here to Eternity
God ha' mercy on such as we
Baa! Yah! Bah!" - Rudyard Kipling
In his effusive and affectionate tribute to his peer and best friend Evelyn Waugh, Graham Greene remarked rather astutely that "there was always, in Evelyn, a conflict between the satirist and the romantic." This applies perfectly to the two most recognisable aspects of Waugh's works - the serious, even elegiac novels that were wistfully nostalgic about an older, more traditional England and the broad, savage farces that mocked all and sundry with droll irreverence. The Sword Of Honour trilogy of novels, revolving around Guy Crouchback, an almost-middle-aged Englishman and his futile attempts to achieve some glory on the battlefields of the Second World War, was his attempt to blend both these facets but a closer look reveals, in Greene's unerring judgement, that it expressed his disillusionment with the Army.
It is easy to see the resemblance. Crouchback is very recognisably an alter-ego for Waugh himself, who himself joined the war in his late thirties, was disillusioned after the failure of his first marriage and who was also trying to reconcile himself diligently to the new faith he had chosen - Catholicism. Unlike his more open-minded and reflexive friend Greene however, Waugh was indeed a traditionalist, wherein his "romanticism" might have lain coiled to strike with "cynical" malice at the unprecedented cultural changes sweeping through Britain. However, "Men At Arms" is primarily a scathing and scabrous, despite the silken turns of phrase and acid wit, attack on the pompous formality of the Army and the eventual ignoble futility of war itself. The story follows Crouchback as he alternately struggles and succeeds at establishing himself as a worthy soldier in the relentless rigmarole of training and then at the frustrating flap of action and inaction on the very brink of military engagement as things go berserk across the continent with the beginning of the 1940s.
It is worth mentioning here however that while "Men At Arms" is primarily concerned with chronicling the (mis)fortunes and (mis)adventures of Crouchback, the novel is divided into chapters that mention a secondary character in their titles. That character is Apthorpe, Crouchback's fellow thirty-something conscript, a Monty-Python archetype of a cocksure army officer who is interestingly also something of an unabashed romantic, full of Quixotic ideas of heroism and even hygiene, fond of footwear and of carrying along his gear from one training encampment to another and prone quite easily to hilarious and not so hilarious hangovers. This seems like a deliberate decision on Waugh's side; he strives to contrast the almost adolescent idealism of Apthorpe, that suffers its fatal blow in an uproarious scene of catharsis with the more cautious idealism of Crouchback that gradually gives way to an equally exasperated form of disillusionment. The repartee between these two characters lends some of the most memorably witty segments of the novel, not quite preparing us for the devastating end that awaits them both.
In a sense too, the pitch-perfect humour of the novel is also demonstrative of this paradoxical contrast. It is at times almost deadpan and dry-witted, though always chuckle-worthy and on occasions, almost outrageous and even hilariously scandalous. This is again intentional of Waugh - even his broad satire of sensationalist journalism "Scoop" (hitherto the only Waugh novel I had read) exhibits this uneasy contrast - uneasy because, just as the romantic and the cynical aspects don't quite fit in smoothly, the satire and the slapstick do not always compliment each other. The duality of humour in Waugh's prose reminded me of Greene's "Travels With My Aunt" - a novel which let both the manic and depressive facets of its author's personality loose to delightful yet delicately poignant effect - that novel was both a rollicking, irreverent romp and a nostalgic and even love-lorn ode to a colourful and not necessarily innocent past far from dying out but there is another crucial difference. Greene was capable, even more than Waugh, of creating extremely compelling, believable and even enjoyably flawed characters while the latter merely drew his characters as entertaining caricatures - which is why we never quite believe Crouchback's yearning for glory or understand just what makes Apthorpe stick out as a sore thumb in his team.
That is perhaps a bit of a disappointment for at heart, beneath its deconstruction of heroism and patriotism, "Men At Arms" is a surprisingly sombre, even dispiriting portrait of the chaos and banality of war, of the ultimate defeat of pride and honour on an ignoble battlefield and how men's spirits can be rendered bereft of heroism or courage by the senseless tumult of these proceedings. Above all, Waugh must have been disillusioned with the Army indeed - his cartwheeling depiction of the boredom and mediocrity of the establishment and then at the domineering force of authority, as represented by the vicious and delusional Brigadier Ritchie Hook, a character with his own reserve of almost dangerous Quixotic idealism that borders on sadism, rings very true and plausible because one senses this happening not only in the army but in every organisation of the modern world today. His clipped prose style, vivid yet trimmed and finely cut as a well-tailored military uniform, also renders many scenes remarkably and also lets in a whiff, from time to time, of upheavals unfolding on the bigger stage of the global conflict, upheavals that cause domestic situations no less eventful or dramatic.
"Men At Arms" is indeed a strange beast of a novel - it is both hilarious and deeply upsetting, it is charmingly droll and even delightful and downright cynical and it does not really give the reader a very cheerful note to end on so as to whet his or her appetite up for the next novel in the trilogy. That said, Waugh was indeed a writer of consummate skill and perceptive insight and even a seriously flawed novel by a good writer is immeasurably better and worthier of reading than most other fiction, indeed.