Did it change you? How?
On this last day, I'd like to ask you readers -- especially those who haven't yet posted a comment -- to let us know if reading "All Quiet on the Western Front" changed your view of war in any way. If not, why not? If so, how?
I'll answer that question in my column in this Sunday's paper. Briefly, though, it strongly affected my view. It did not turn me into a "militant pacifist" -- which is how Remarque described himself after the war -- because tragically, war must always be held in reserve as a necessary evil. Militant pacifism would never stop a Hitler, or a Stalin. But I came to a new understanding about the evil of war, and why we must only resort to it in the last possible instance.
The only work of art about war that affected me so powerfully was "Saving Private Ryan," but the effect that great film had on me was different in kind. I was impressed by the violence and trauma of war, but in the context of World War II -- which was morally necessary -- the takeaway I had was, "Dear God, what those poor men gave for a good cause." It is easier, perhaps, to examine the violence of war in and of itself by reading the Remarque novel, because it was written about a war that had no grand moral meaning that might have redeemed the sacrifices. That is to say, I interpreted "Saving Private Ryan" in the context of a "good" war, which arguably distorted the way I saw the violence and trauma and madness of combat. You don't have that possibility with the Remarque novel; a layer of moral insulation that is open to you with WW2 is not possible with this WW1
Without jumping the gun on the Fussell book, all it takes is reading the first chapter, in which Fussell merely touches on some of the utterly incompetent, insane and effectively evil decisions generals made that condemned men by the TENS OF THOUSANDS to instant slaughter. This happened over and over and over and over and over. According to Fussell, one British onslaught that resulted in 60,000 dead Tommies in a single day happened in part because the upper-class British officers though the working-class infantrymen were too stupid and animalistic to be taught how to march in any other way but straightforward, in ranks. Where the Germans "hosed" (Fussell's word) them down with machine gun fire.
Sixty thousand. In one day.
It occurred to me last night that the agonizing crucible that the fictional Paul Baumer lived through was replicated virtually unendingly. The mind breaks at the very thought -- which seems like will be Fussell's theme. Anyway, I went into "All Quiet" feeling that I knew that war was horrible. I came away from it with a far more visceral understanding of its horrors, and a personal commitment to do whatever I can to make sure my country doesn't rush into war, ever again -- that if we must go to war, it is only because every other option has been thoroughly exhausted, and it's necessary not only for our national "interest," but for our national survival.
How about you?
Comments
One of the most powerful and relevant aspects of "All Quiet on the Western Front" to me is that I can honestly say that upon my early reading of the book, I actually could not tell the difference between the main character, Paul Baumer, and any other soldier that might be fighting in WWI (i.e. American, British, Canadian, French, etc...). If it wasn't for the German last names and my background knowledge of the book's historical context, I would have thought him to be a British or American soldier because he seemed so similar to the heroes of our own past in demeanor, appearance, emotion, thought, and action. He doesn't at all seem to me the sordid, ugly, cruel, and evil "enemy" that we must have fought in both WWI and WWII. He, too, was just a young boy with heroic ideals who was led into battle believing he was fighting for the glory of his country as did (and do) our own soldiers. There is a universality amongst soldiers that only they can ever comprehend (albeit they be enemies in war, even). I believe that Remarque said it best in Chapter 9 when Paul realizes that he has taken the life of a French soldier, Gerald Duval. "Comrade, I did not want to kill you. . . . But you were only an idea to me before, an abstraction that lived in my mind and called forth its appropriate response. . . . I thought of your hand-grenades, of your bayonet, of your rifle; now I see your wife and your face and our fellowship. Forgive me, comrade. We always see it too late. Why do they never tell us that you are poor devils like us, that your mothers are just as anxious as ours, and that we have the same fear of death, and the same dying and the same agony—Forgive me, comrade; how could you be my enemy?"
Posted by: Heather | June 29, 2007 03:12 PM
Changed by reading the book? Probably not. Moved? Yes, powerfully. Reminded of other wars and other times? Sorrowfully, Yes:
The 'shell-shocked' uncle whom I was taught to fear and avoid when I was a small child...
The 23-year old Marine, my "Paul", whose private hell I shared as a naive 18-year old bride...
The precious 20-year old son who's lottery number was THIRTEEN for the draft to send boys to fight for our worthy cause in Vietnam...
I parrotted the WWII patriotic party line and said, if his father was not too good to serve, then neither was our son. THEN I WAS CHANGED by what his father said next. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about. You have never been there. I have. I will keep my son from going to war by whatever means I can." We never really talked about his experience but that one statement said it all for me.
Reading All Quiet helped me understand that the "Paul" for whom I waited to return from WWII never did. And now I cry for his seared soul.
Posted by: Mitzi | June 30, 2007 10:43 AM
The reading solidified my view that war should not be engaged simply for national interest alone but for national survival. Kropp's thoughts on page 41 of Chapter 3 summarized my own: those leaders declaring the war should be the ones fighting it. This is opposed to the way it has been done through the ages....the masses are sacrificed. Part of the reading that was so alarming to me was how matter-of-fact the soldier must watch their friends die and then move on about their day. I also appreciated the ridicule that the soldiers had for Kemmerich regarding all of his teaching during their training and how utterly useless is was for the actual trench warfare that was being fought.
Did it change me? Yes. It frankly embarrassed me that in my lifetime we have engaged in two senseless wars. While I was an infant when the Vietnam conflict was escalating, I grew up watching movies and reading books and questioning my parents how they could have allowed so much senseless killing to occur. I now find myself asking my own self these same questions as the conflict in Iraq continues. What are we asking these young men and women to do? Is the goal achievable? Do they have the right equipment and supplies needed? Have they received enough training?
I appreciate the Dallas Morning News promoting this book club and encouraging this discussion. I look forward to the next reading.
Posted by: CAbington | June 30, 2007 06:06 PM
I fine book. Throughout I found myself thinking, "You just have to make it to 11 November. You can do it." But I knew they couldn't.
I can understand why, when it was published, it was so shocking to a public that knew little of what the Western Front was like. However, fiction is most effective when it can focus and hone a subject to provide a new perspective. Today, 103 years after WWI began, the factual horror of trench warfare, much of it captured in soldiers' letters and journals, has as much if not more impact on me than Remarque's novel, which seems to me to state the commonplace.
The denouement of the four years of slaughter captures much of the message of the novel: Althought the Germans agreed to the Armistice at 5:10 a.m. on 11 November, it did not take effect until 11 a.m. and the Allied command insisted that planned attacks go on as scheduled. As a result, 11,000 men were wounded and killed on Armistice Day--a larger number of casualties than suffered on D-Day in WWII. That defines "meaningless." Thanks for your insightful comments. I look forward to rereading Fussell with you all.
Posted by: Chuck Snakard | July 3, 2007 08:52 PM