Hi guys, finally back to do another chapter review. My exams have technically been over since Friday, but I just haven't been in the reviewing mood, what with fall-out from exam tiredness, registering for new courses next year and sorting out an interview for a job. But now I'm back, and I was wondering about what people thought about the little book discussion I did last entry. I mean, I enjoyed looking back at what affected my development as a reader, but thus far I haven't had any reaction to it, so I was wondering whether I should include more entries like that, or whether I should just stick to chapter reviews. Well, with that said and done, I just need to recap the last chapter, although considering that that was the reader's first experience of the front line, I don't think it needs all that much of a recap. To cut a long story, anything that could go wrong went wrong.
And we start this chapter talking about lice. Well, that was an odd change of pace. We go from shells exploding everywhere you look to throwing lice into a boot polish lid/makeshift frying-pan. Weird. Anyway, while they flash-fry lice, they're contemplating the fact that Himmelstoss, the one nobody liked from earlier, is actually at the front now. Again, this might just be evidence that I have a vicious mindset, but I'm looking forward to this.
But instead of elaborating on the Himmelstoss thing, we instead get a discussion about what they would do if peace were suddenly declared. The overall answer seems to be "find women and have some fun". Nice to know that they still appreciate those simple pleasures in life. And then oddly enough, the idea of continuing in the army come peace-time comes about. Now I realise that after the war there won't nearly be as much danger present, but I would have thought that staying in the army would be the last thing I'd consider doing. There are a few more answers considered, then Himmelstoss turns up. My god, I don't think this scene could be any more awkward or hostile if it possibly tried. Tjaden insults him, as he's been meaning to do for a while, and it's all very satisfying, but there is the possibility that Himmelstoss can get him in trouble for that. So it doesn't feel entirely satisfactory.
We go back to the previous discussion about what they'd do if peace were declared, and they consider going back to school. For all of about 5 seconds before they tot up how many are left from their class and decide that the teacher would never be able to control them anyway. Cue making fun of their old teacher. Then cue a rather depressing realisation that the war has essentially ruined the psyches of an entire generation of young men. Thanks guys, I was beginning to hope that this would be a comparatively happy chapter.
So, of course, Himmelstoss has kicked up a fuss and tries to find Tjaden to knock him down a couple notches. It doesn't go so well, with the company's lieutenant giving him a dressing down, while Tjaden and Kropp get periods of open arrest each. Considering that open arrest is essentially being locked in a room that's allowed visitors, it doesn't sound all that bad. They reckon that Himmelstoss will last 3 days. Please let there be a pool set up.
After roll call, Kat and Bäumer decide to go steal a goose that they noticed on the way to their job on the front last chapter. It doesn't go as well as they'd hoped, but they do get the goose, which is the important thing I suppose. They have an intimate moment of silence as they cook the goose in a hut with blacked out windows in the middle of the night. It's all very sweet and affectionate, if a little bit trippy at points. Granted, he is half asleep, but it's still a bit odd to read. They eventually get round to eating it and, having had their fill, even bring a bit back to give to Tjaden and Kropp in open arrest. And that's pretty much where it ends, with that little show of camaraderie.
This was one of those quieter chapters, where there are little hints and reminders about the war and the damage it's causing, but it's mostly focused on the quiet moments where the group is just relaxing together. I rather like these chapters, because from what I've seen of war films, there seems to be comparatively little of this slow build-up of character development and relationships growing, which I think works to their detriment. But yeah, I liked this chapter, if only for the goose section at the end.
Signing off,
Nisa.
Wednesday, 25 May 2011
Thursday, 19 May 2011
Some early morning musing
Hi diligent reader, 'tis me. Who else would it be? No chapter review this time, I just felt like talking. Or typing. Whichever works best. In any case, having finished revision for the day (20 minutes after midnight, but that's a technicality I think I can ignore) I've been hit with a sudden sense of...emptiness seems too strong a word, but it seems to be the only one fit for the purpose. So I thought I'd talk with you about books, a subject that never fails to put a smile on my face. That is unless the book is frustrating me beyond all reason. Which is unfortunately a much more common occurrence now that I've grown up and I'm developing more of a taste for books and less patience for irritating ones. So where better to begin a discourse about reading, but at the beginning of a bookaholic's downward descent, to an eventual end that I can only imagine as being crushed by a towering to-be-read pile: the first book that you read that reached into you and defined you as a reader.
Mine is perhaps an odd book to pick, especially considering how young I was at the time. It was the summer holidays between years 5 and 6 in primary school, I would be turning 11 in less than a month, and I spent part of that summer reading Arthur Conan Doyle's A Study in Scarlet. Looking back, I can't help but look upon it with affection, even if I view it as one of Sherlock Holmes' lesser adventures nowadays. But even so, of all the places to start, it was perhaps the most obvious, the place where Holmes and Watson's singular relationship originated. I think Holmes himself was probably the biggest draw, though I didn't know why at the time. I think it might have been partly down to my circumstances at the time: as an non-athletic individual, summer camp, with an over-abundance of games of tag and bulldog, was hardly an attractive prospect, so I convinced my mum to let me bring a book with me each day. My reading habits before this summer were those of your average, slightly bookish 10 year old, but that summer I decided that I was going to read some classics, to improve myself. Now, despite what I'd told myself, a 10 year old girl with a hard-back copy of Little Women is going to stick out. I hadn't learned that in playgrounds, the nail that sticks out will be hammered down, in one way or another. To cut a long story short, I was bullied mercilessly for my retreat into literature; much as I appreciate now that this probably influenced my choice of reading, it was, and still is today, a very painful part of my childhood, and one which did me no benefit growing up. But in any case, by the time I got to reading A Study in Scarlet, the bullies had been put in their place, but I was still feeling somewhat delicate. So to find a character like Sherlock Holmes, a man who embraced his solitary nature and was celebrated nonetheless, it was something to cling to. To this day, I still love Sherlock. I love him for his determination to not bend to societal norms. I love him for his desire to constantly better himself. I love him for the great love he bears Watson, even if he is loath to put it into words. But most of all, I love his ability to still believe in human morality even after seeing some of the darkest, basest human motivations and actions. Hell, I even love the weaknesses, the typical Victorian upper class elitism, the weakness for his 7% solution. He's been the role model that I've aspired to for almost 10 years now. It's rather sad, but I can't think of many role models that I've held dearer to me. He and Dr Watson have inspired me to read with a passion that I lacked before, and, in their own way, they've shaped my sense of self: sometimes for the better, sometimes not, but I can't begrudge them those less helpful lessons.
So, for me it was the introduction to Sherlock Holmes and his ever faithful Bosworth, Dr Watson that has set me on this journey towards my smothering beneath the books I love so much. Is there a particular book or character that has defined the very person you are? Was there a moment where you suddenly realised that you were stuck with books for the rest of your life? If so, I wouldn't mind hearing of them.
Signing off,
Nisa.
Mine is perhaps an odd book to pick, especially considering how young I was at the time. It was the summer holidays between years 5 and 6 in primary school, I would be turning 11 in less than a month, and I spent part of that summer reading Arthur Conan Doyle's A Study in Scarlet. Looking back, I can't help but look upon it with affection, even if I view it as one of Sherlock Holmes' lesser adventures nowadays. But even so, of all the places to start, it was perhaps the most obvious, the place where Holmes and Watson's singular relationship originated. I think Holmes himself was probably the biggest draw, though I didn't know why at the time. I think it might have been partly down to my circumstances at the time: as an non-athletic individual, summer camp, with an over-abundance of games of tag and bulldog, was hardly an attractive prospect, so I convinced my mum to let me bring a book with me each day. My reading habits before this summer were those of your average, slightly bookish 10 year old, but that summer I decided that I was going to read some classics, to improve myself. Now, despite what I'd told myself, a 10 year old girl with a hard-back copy of Little Women is going to stick out. I hadn't learned that in playgrounds, the nail that sticks out will be hammered down, in one way or another. To cut a long story short, I was bullied mercilessly for my retreat into literature; much as I appreciate now that this probably influenced my choice of reading, it was, and still is today, a very painful part of my childhood, and one which did me no benefit growing up. But in any case, by the time I got to reading A Study in Scarlet, the bullies had been put in their place, but I was still feeling somewhat delicate. So to find a character like Sherlock Holmes, a man who embraced his solitary nature and was celebrated nonetheless, it was something to cling to. To this day, I still love Sherlock. I love him for his determination to not bend to societal norms. I love him for his desire to constantly better himself. I love him for the great love he bears Watson, even if he is loath to put it into words. But most of all, I love his ability to still believe in human morality even after seeing some of the darkest, basest human motivations and actions. Hell, I even love the weaknesses, the typical Victorian upper class elitism, the weakness for his 7% solution. He's been the role model that I've aspired to for almost 10 years now. It's rather sad, but I can't think of many role models that I've held dearer to me. He and Dr Watson have inspired me to read with a passion that I lacked before, and, in their own way, they've shaped my sense of self: sometimes for the better, sometimes not, but I can't begrudge them those less helpful lessons.
So, for me it was the introduction to Sherlock Holmes and his ever faithful Bosworth, Dr Watson that has set me on this journey towards my smothering beneath the books I love so much. Is there a particular book or character that has defined the very person you are? Was there a moment where you suddenly realised that you were stuck with books for the rest of your life? If so, I wouldn't mind hearing of them.
Signing off,
Nisa.
Monday, 16 May 2011
All Quiet on the Western Front - Part 4
Well, with 'The Heritage of Dante and the Renaissance' out of the way now, I only have one exam left. It's probably not a good thing to do, but I think I deserve a bit of a rest before I start preparing for my last exam. Hence why I'm here, with you lovely people, with All Quiet on the Western Front in my hands. So last chapter was surprisingly happy, considering the circumstances, thus the chances for it to all go downhill from here are probably fairly high.
Our fourth chapter starts with the group going up to the front on "wiring duty", whatever that means: much as I love retro technology and gadgets, I have no clue how most of them work. They keep up good spirits, shouting jokes to overtaking lorries and making plans to steal a goose, but you can tell that this isn't a pleasant job that they're about to do. Mainly because they don't mind being thrown off the truck they're on and ending up in hospital with a broken arm. The only bone I've ever broken is a toe, and that really bloody hurt, so it must be pretty damn unpleasant if they don't mind that happening. Although it may just be the fact that they're going to the front. Painful injury or threat of death? Yeah, that's pretty unsurprising now that I think about it. They get to the gun line, pretty much as far away from the actual action as the front line can get as far as I could tell from this, and things get noticeably more tense. It turns out that something big is likely to happen that night, as the British have started battery fire an hour earlier than normal. Is it just me, or does it seem really odd that the trenches were run on a timetable? Something along the line of "so long as we're just staying where we are, start shelling at 2200 hours sharp". I was expecting a bit more chaos somehow. In any case, there's a bit of a discussion about how being at the front immediately puts you on alert, but I think that's an obvious enough side-effect that I won't over-discuss it.
We now get a discussion about how earth is the most important part of life in the trenches. I'll admit, I was surprised at the importance it's given. When Bäumer talks about ducking down to avoid shell-fire, there's almost an intimacy with the earth, which I really wasn't expecting; it's like it's taken on both a guarding and consoling role for them. I mean, read through this bit and try to tell me that, despite the horrific circumstances, this is not beautiful:
The group gets to wherever they're doing their wiring duty, there's a little bit of description about various different things going on behind the trenches, a quick stop to pick up equipment and they're on their way. They're close to the trenches now, and the tension is rising. I almost don't want to go any further, because it's one of those scenes where you can just tell that something bad is going to happen.
So it turns out that I've not been thinking literally enough, and wiring duty is literally setting up lines of barbed wire. In any other circumstance, I would probably have some kind of sarcastic comment about this like "riveting stuff", but it just seems wrong here. They finish after a few hours, but there's still time until the truck comes back to retrieve them, so most of them settle down to try and get a nap, our narrator included. He wakes up just in time to crawl away from some shelling. Knew it. Only one shell lands in amongst the group, so they're safe for now, but Bäumer is still stuck with one of the new recruits huddling into his chest, which is rather sweet.
So the shelling stops and people are safe for now, but the group are now subjected to the haunting sound of wounded horses screaming. Much as I want to be really affected by this scene, I'm feeling only slightly sympathetic. I have no idea why: I like animals, I get affected by lives lost in wars and the graphic detail here is pretty shocking, but I'm just not all that sad about it. I guess because I was so anxious about the characters themselves dying or getting hurt, horses getting hurt doesn't have the same impact; if I'm honest, after worrying about the human characters, the horses are pretty much a relief in contrast. It's a horrible thing to say, and I know it's bringing up the issue of animals in warfare, but if Remarque wanted me to care so much, then he should probably have focused on them a bit more before they were all killed.
So they go back to where they're supposed to meet the trucks, when another round of shelling starts up, forcing them to hide in a military graveyard. I'll admit, I wasn't expecting that round. Bäumer gets knocked around a bit and ends up taking shelter in the grave he was hiding behind. I would say something about the sanctity of the dead, but it's extreme circumstances. He's then told by Katczinsky that there's now a gas attack to worry about too. Wonderful. Whoever came up with gas must have either been seriously unlucky or a total sadist. It's the most horrific thing I remember learning in History of Medicine, simply because of how bloody effective it is at killing you. So, while Bäumer's lying in the shell crater with Kat, Kropp and another guy, the barrage of explosive and gas shells is still going on, so staying in the crater is, unfortunately, their only option. Gas is heavy so it sinks into the craters, but they can't lie on higher ground because there's a chance they'll get hit by explosives; damned if they do, damned if they don't. To make things worse, the fourth guy gets his arm trapped when a shell blows a coffin through the air. If it weren't so tense, I'd laugh. Eventually though, the gas disperses and the shelling stops. Good lord.
So after everything's calmed down a bit, they get on with treating their wounded. They find one lad whose hip joint is now just so much torn up pulp. Turns out he's the one Bäumer comforted earlier on. Ouch. They consider mercy-killing him, seeing as he's unlikely to survive being moved, but a stretcher arrives before they can do it.
They eventually get back to the truck, but it's pretty plain to see that it's been a tough night for all of them, even if their losses are small. Their main job on the way back is to avoid the telephone wires that have dropped down low enough to take their heads off. What a lovely way to end a night's work.
So yeah, that's the chapter over, and what a chapter. Christ, I don't think I've been that tense in a while. Hell, I don't think I was that tense before my exam this morning. So really, reading has failed the intent of relaxing me this time, but I don't think it really matters. I really loved this chapter, even though I was fearing for their lives. I mean, it shows the work of a good author when they make you scared for the life of a fictional character, isn't it?
Signing off,
Nisa.
Our fourth chapter starts with the group going up to the front on "wiring duty", whatever that means: much as I love retro technology and gadgets, I have no clue how most of them work. They keep up good spirits, shouting jokes to overtaking lorries and making plans to steal a goose, but you can tell that this isn't a pleasant job that they're about to do. Mainly because they don't mind being thrown off the truck they're on and ending up in hospital with a broken arm. The only bone I've ever broken is a toe, and that really bloody hurt, so it must be pretty damn unpleasant if they don't mind that happening. Although it may just be the fact that they're going to the front. Painful injury or threat of death? Yeah, that's pretty unsurprising now that I think about it. They get to the gun line, pretty much as far away from the actual action as the front line can get as far as I could tell from this, and things get noticeably more tense. It turns out that something big is likely to happen that night, as the British have started battery fire an hour earlier than normal. Is it just me, or does it seem really odd that the trenches were run on a timetable? Something along the line of "so long as we're just staying where we are, start shelling at 2200 hours sharp". I was expecting a bit more chaos somehow. In any case, there's a bit of a discussion about how being at the front immediately puts you on alert, but I think that's an obvious enough side-effect that I won't over-discuss it.
We now get a discussion about how earth is the most important part of life in the trenches. I'll admit, I was surprised at the importance it's given. When Bäumer talks about ducking down to avoid shell-fire, there's almost an intimacy with the earth, which I really wasn't expecting; it's like it's taken on both a guarding and consoling role for them. I mean, read through this bit and try to tell me that, despite the horrific circumstances, this is not beautiful:
"When he presses himself to the earth, long and violently, when he urges himself deep into it with his face and with his limbs, under fire and with fear of death upon him, then the earth is his only friend, his brother, his mother, he groans out his terror and screams into its silence and safety"Maybe it's just me, but I imagine that that will stay with me for a while. There's a shorter section leading on from the earth part, where Bäumer describes how instinct comes to the fore when you get on to the front line, and he uses an interesting turn of phrase:
"We set out as soldiers, and we might be grumbling or we might be cheerful - we reach the zone where the front line begins, and we have turned into human animals."It's possibly the first time I've heard humans likened to animals in a good way. When you describe someone as an animal, it's usually to do with savageness and lack of civilised behaviour (essentially a description that can be applied to the majority of professional footballers), but here it's a reference to being in tune with your basic instincts and self-preservation. Another unexpected metaphor.
The group gets to wherever they're doing their wiring duty, there's a little bit of description about various different things going on behind the trenches, a quick stop to pick up equipment and they're on their way. They're close to the trenches now, and the tension is rising. I almost don't want to go any further, because it's one of those scenes where you can just tell that something bad is going to happen.
So it turns out that I've not been thinking literally enough, and wiring duty is literally setting up lines of barbed wire. In any other circumstance, I would probably have some kind of sarcastic comment about this like "riveting stuff", but it just seems wrong here. They finish after a few hours, but there's still time until the truck comes back to retrieve them, so most of them settle down to try and get a nap, our narrator included. He wakes up just in time to crawl away from some shelling. Knew it. Only one shell lands in amongst the group, so they're safe for now, but Bäumer is still stuck with one of the new recruits huddling into his chest, which is rather sweet.
So the shelling stops and people are safe for now, but the group are now subjected to the haunting sound of wounded horses screaming. Much as I want to be really affected by this scene, I'm feeling only slightly sympathetic. I have no idea why: I like animals, I get affected by lives lost in wars and the graphic detail here is pretty shocking, but I'm just not all that sad about it. I guess because I was so anxious about the characters themselves dying or getting hurt, horses getting hurt doesn't have the same impact; if I'm honest, after worrying about the human characters, the horses are pretty much a relief in contrast. It's a horrible thing to say, and I know it's bringing up the issue of animals in warfare, but if Remarque wanted me to care so much, then he should probably have focused on them a bit more before they were all killed.
So they go back to where they're supposed to meet the trucks, when another round of shelling starts up, forcing them to hide in a military graveyard. I'll admit, I wasn't expecting that round. Bäumer gets knocked around a bit and ends up taking shelter in the grave he was hiding behind. I would say something about the sanctity of the dead, but it's extreme circumstances. He's then told by Katczinsky that there's now a gas attack to worry about too. Wonderful. Whoever came up with gas must have either been seriously unlucky or a total sadist. It's the most horrific thing I remember learning in History of Medicine, simply because of how bloody effective it is at killing you. So, while Bäumer's lying in the shell crater with Kat, Kropp and another guy, the barrage of explosive and gas shells is still going on, so staying in the crater is, unfortunately, their only option. Gas is heavy so it sinks into the craters, but they can't lie on higher ground because there's a chance they'll get hit by explosives; damned if they do, damned if they don't. To make things worse, the fourth guy gets his arm trapped when a shell blows a coffin through the air. If it weren't so tense, I'd laugh. Eventually though, the gas disperses and the shelling stops. Good lord.
So after everything's calmed down a bit, they get on with treating their wounded. They find one lad whose hip joint is now just so much torn up pulp. Turns out he's the one Bäumer comforted earlier on. Ouch. They consider mercy-killing him, seeing as he's unlikely to survive being moved, but a stretcher arrives before they can do it.
They eventually get back to the truck, but it's pretty plain to see that it's been a tough night for all of them, even if their losses are small. Their main job on the way back is to avoid the telephone wires that have dropped down low enough to take their heads off. What a lovely way to end a night's work.
So yeah, that's the chapter over, and what a chapter. Christ, I don't think I've been that tense in a while. Hell, I don't think I was that tense before my exam this morning. So really, reading has failed the intent of relaxing me this time, but I don't think it really matters. I really loved this chapter, even though I was fearing for their lives. I mean, it shows the work of a good author when they make you scared for the life of a fictional character, isn't it?
Signing off,
Nisa.
All Quiet on the Western Front - Part 3
Hey there. Managed to squeeze a little time out of my revision to update on here; there's only so many past papers and notes on the Tre Corone that one can do in an evening before going absolutely barking mad. In any case, I'll be alleviating my exam/revision related boredom with a little bit of misery. Don't get me wrong, it's been good so far, but WWI isn't the cheeriest subject matter available to write about. Anyway, I believe we left off just after Kemmerich had died, so presumably we can draw the line of cheeriness from death now, and hope that it rises at least a little off the base line.
This time, we start of with some reinforcements to the company, including 25 new recruits; what's the likelihood that about 80% of them will be cannon fodder before this book is over, do you think? In any case, Katczinsky decides to treat one of the new recruits with some beans and bully beef that he managed to get off of the cook-sergeant from when they all got double rations in chapter 1. Which is rather nice of him. Like I said before, I do love the camaraderie that the soldiers seem to have here; it's a little spot of brightness in amongst the misery of war.
So now we get a section dedicated to Katczinsky. He seems to be the smart, intuitive one out of the characters that have appeared so far, doing stuff like finding hay for comfortable sleeping and food when there's no-one and nothing else for miles around. For some reason he reminds me of Red from Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption, he can get almost anything within reason. He seems to have the same sort of attitude as Red as well, finding humour where he can in tough situations. A useful kind of guy to have around, regardless.
We now move on to the company relaxing on the sunny side of camp. And before I forget to mention it, I just love this description of the camp here:
So the soldiers who had trained under Himmelstoss are rather pleased that he's now at the front, presumably because they can get some payback on him. Indeed, we're shown a rather satisfying revenge that Bäumer, Kropp, Haie and Tjaden carried out the night before they left for the front: namely beating him up in a back alley. Not the most honourable of schemes ever, but damn that has got to be satisfying. And on that satisfying note, we end our chapter. And we're quarter of the way already.
My favourite chapter so far, because we get to see more about some of the other men in the company and I presumably have a lot to look forward to with Himmelstoss now at the front.
Signing off,
Nisa.
This time, we start of with some reinforcements to the company, including 25 new recruits; what's the likelihood that about 80% of them will be cannon fodder before this book is over, do you think? In any case, Katczinsky decides to treat one of the new recruits with some beans and bully beef that he managed to get off of the cook-sergeant from when they all got double rations in chapter 1. Which is rather nice of him. Like I said before, I do love the camaraderie that the soldiers seem to have here; it's a little spot of brightness in amongst the misery of war.
So now we get a section dedicated to Katczinsky. He seems to be the smart, intuitive one out of the characters that have appeared so far, doing stuff like finding hay for comfortable sleeping and food when there's no-one and nothing else for miles around. For some reason he reminds me of Red from Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption, he can get almost anything within reason. He seems to have the same sort of attitude as Red as well, finding humour where he can in tough situations. A useful kind of guy to have around, regardless.
We now move on to the company relaxing on the sunny side of camp. And before I forget to mention it, I just love this description of the camp here:
"It smells of tar, summertime and sweaty feet."I don't know why, but that just brings a smile to my face; there's no more description than that here, but it really evokes a sort of carefree feeling about the place, maybe because what we've had so far has been so downbeat. In any case, while they're there Katczinsky and Kropp have a bit of an argument about what the war essentially is like: Kat is off the opinion that after it's finished, people will just forget about it, while Kropp disagrees, arguing that if countries insist on going to war, their respective leaders should be the ones to fight, not soldiers. That idea would be pretty cool, if it could only be implemented; it would also give us more excuses to play Frankie Goes to Hollywood's "Relax" at official events. The conversation then sort of drifts along into discussions (and probably a lot of bitching) about drill. Most of which I still consider useless. From drill, we move to Himmelstoss (the horrific instructor from chapter 2) and the idea that putting a man in uniform and a position of power over other people turns them into horrible people. Which is pretty much true. Well done for figuring that out before the psychologists, guys. In any case, our paragraph ends with the revelation that Himmelstoss has been called out to the front. I'm going to sound very cruel, but if he dies, there will be part of me cheering.
So the soldiers who had trained under Himmelstoss are rather pleased that he's now at the front, presumably because they can get some payback on him. Indeed, we're shown a rather satisfying revenge that Bäumer, Kropp, Haie and Tjaden carried out the night before they left for the front: namely beating him up in a back alley. Not the most honourable of schemes ever, but damn that has got to be satisfying. And on that satisfying note, we end our chapter. And we're quarter of the way already.
My favourite chapter so far, because we get to see more about some of the other men in the company and I presumably have a lot to look forward to with Himmelstoss now at the front.
Signing off,
Nisa.
Wednesday, 11 May 2011
All Quiet on the Western Front - Part 2
Hey guys, time for chapter two of All Quiet on the Western Front. But firstly, a little notice for those of you who follow my blog regularly. Because of my university exams, I'm probably only going to post intermittently until I finally finish them on the 20th. Considering the regularity I've gotten into the swing of recently, it's a bit annoying, but it's pretty important if I want to continue going to uni. Anyway, last chapter we'd learnt a little bit about Bäumer and his companions, and visited one of their dying friends in hospital. Fun times all around.
We start off the chapter with Bäumer musing about the lack of ties to pre-war lives that the younger soldiers have. An interesting topic, not necessarily one I'd think of either. The implication seems to be that the older soldiers, the ones with jobs, wives and children, have more ties to life before the war, so that they can see past the end of the war to a point where life continues as normal; the younger soldiers don't seem to have that option as they've been sent away at the point where they're just about to start lives of their own and the bonds between parents and girlfriends are at a particularly weak point. If that holds true, going back home will be singularly awkward then.
The next paragraph is quite a short one and tries to defend Müller for wanting to take Kemmerich's boots: it makes sense seeing as the orderlies will most likely steal them after he's dead and he wouldn't need them even if he did live, considering he only has one leg now. The argument is well-reasoned, but somehow seems a bit out of place. Why insert it into the chapter after Müller has tried taking them?
There's another fairly short paragraph about the effect that basic training had on them. Having gone in with enthusiasm and naive patriotism, they have all that beaten out of them through drudgery, routine and abuse from above. And while I will admit that discipline is essential for any large group of people, there's usually more chance of discipline actually appearing when you earn people's respect, not just shout at them to respect you. That and I could never understand the emphasis on marching drills in basic training; okay, you're increasing discipline, but you're also not actually training them for trench warfare or modern warfare in general. I mean, strategy would sort of dictate that everyone marching in straight lines would be very easy to kill, wouldn't it?
It skips in time a bit to when their class is split into threes and fours, and shipped off to different squads. Bäumer and his mates seem to have gotten a real bastard for a squad leader, who seems to hate them for little to no reason at all. Hence giving them tasks like clearing the parade ground of snow with a dust-pan and brush, in response to petty things like having your underwear protrude a little too far when it's laid out for inspection. It seems to stop after they threaten to start an inquiry on him. Got to love turning the system back on people who abuse it. Anyway, despite all that, they seem to appreciate the basic training because it toughened them up. Granted, the marching probably never came in handy, but I imagine the tougher attitude helped.
So now we switch back to the present, where Bäumer is sitting by Kemmerich's bed as the doctors go round picking out patients that can be moved, in order to send them home. Kemmerich seems oddly lucid for a dying man, realising that his leg's been amputated and that he's probably going to die. There's a slight diversion into how small these boy soldiers are underneath their thick boots and uniforms, and just how fragile the human body really is. So Kemmerich dies and the complete and utter apathy that the doctors and orderlies have is sickening really. He hasn't been dead more than a few minutes or so and they're already bundling him up in tarpaulin. I mean, you can kind of understand them wanting to use the beds for another injured person, but it's still a bit much when none of them could really give a crap. Anyway, that's pretty much where the chapter ends, right after Bäumer gives Müller those boots.
Again, a very well-written chapter. That I'm vaguely depressed now is testament to that. Thus far not much of a plot as such, but then I suppose this is more a slice-of-life/character study kind of affair.
Signing off,
Nisa.
We start off the chapter with Bäumer musing about the lack of ties to pre-war lives that the younger soldiers have. An interesting topic, not necessarily one I'd think of either. The implication seems to be that the older soldiers, the ones with jobs, wives and children, have more ties to life before the war, so that they can see past the end of the war to a point where life continues as normal; the younger soldiers don't seem to have that option as they've been sent away at the point where they're just about to start lives of their own and the bonds between parents and girlfriends are at a particularly weak point. If that holds true, going back home will be singularly awkward then.
The next paragraph is quite a short one and tries to defend Müller for wanting to take Kemmerich's boots: it makes sense seeing as the orderlies will most likely steal them after he's dead and he wouldn't need them even if he did live, considering he only has one leg now. The argument is well-reasoned, but somehow seems a bit out of place. Why insert it into the chapter after Müller has tried taking them?
There's another fairly short paragraph about the effect that basic training had on them. Having gone in with enthusiasm and naive patriotism, they have all that beaten out of them through drudgery, routine and abuse from above. And while I will admit that discipline is essential for any large group of people, there's usually more chance of discipline actually appearing when you earn people's respect, not just shout at them to respect you. That and I could never understand the emphasis on marching drills in basic training; okay, you're increasing discipline, but you're also not actually training them for trench warfare or modern warfare in general. I mean, strategy would sort of dictate that everyone marching in straight lines would be very easy to kill, wouldn't it?
It skips in time a bit to when their class is split into threes and fours, and shipped off to different squads. Bäumer and his mates seem to have gotten a real bastard for a squad leader, who seems to hate them for little to no reason at all. Hence giving them tasks like clearing the parade ground of snow with a dust-pan and brush, in response to petty things like having your underwear protrude a little too far when it's laid out for inspection. It seems to stop after they threaten to start an inquiry on him. Got to love turning the system back on people who abuse it. Anyway, despite all that, they seem to appreciate the basic training because it toughened them up. Granted, the marching probably never came in handy, but I imagine the tougher attitude helped.
So now we switch back to the present, where Bäumer is sitting by Kemmerich's bed as the doctors go round picking out patients that can be moved, in order to send them home. Kemmerich seems oddly lucid for a dying man, realising that his leg's been amputated and that he's probably going to die. There's a slight diversion into how small these boy soldiers are underneath their thick boots and uniforms, and just how fragile the human body really is. So Kemmerich dies and the complete and utter apathy that the doctors and orderlies have is sickening really. He hasn't been dead more than a few minutes or so and they're already bundling him up in tarpaulin. I mean, you can kind of understand them wanting to use the beds for another injured person, but it's still a bit much when none of them could really give a crap. Anyway, that's pretty much where the chapter ends, right after Bäumer gives Müller those boots.
Again, a very well-written chapter. That I'm vaguely depressed now is testament to that. Thus far not much of a plot as such, but then I suppose this is more a slice-of-life/character study kind of affair.
Signing off,
Nisa.
Tuesday, 10 May 2011
All Quiet on the Western Front - Part 1
On to my third book now, the first book from my various ill-advised trips to the second-hand book stall (my pile of immediate "to-read" books is ridiculously high at the moment, 14 books after this one, but I can't help feeding the rush that I get from the feel of a new book in my hands). Got this one mainly because it's one of those books that should at least be attempted once in a lifetime.
Anyway, first chapter and I'm already excited by the smell of the old pages. Wow, I'm getting far too excited. We start our story 5 miles behind the front lines, where our main characters, a group of German soldiers (with names like Tjaden and Müller, how could they be any other nationality?) are having a celebration of sorts, to mark the fact that they now have enough food to eat. Well, as far as mildly depressing starts go, that's a good one. They also have double rations of tobacco, which as a non-smoker I can't see the appeal of, but I suppose war could drive you to anything. So we're introduced to the group, who I'll try to differentiate between as best I can (big casts all at once confuse me somewhat), as they line up for food: there's the narrator Bäumer; his friends from school, Kropp, Müller and Leer; a locksmith Tjaden, a peat-digger Westhus and their leader Katczinsky. All of them, apart from Katczinsky, are only 19 years old. So it turns out that the cook-sergeant has cooked for 150 men, the normal size of their company, the day after they've been reduced to 80 men because of long-range shelling from the other side. They seem to be rather blasé about the fact that the food that their eating in effectively paid for by the loss of almost half their group. But I suppose rumbling bellies overcome decorum in this sort of situation. I'll admit, while the hints of the brutality of war do add up to make a rather depressing tone, it does have some great bits of humour and camaraderie between the characters. Like when the company commander comes along and forces the cook-sergeant to hand out all 150 rations to 80 men.
It skips now to Bäumer, Kropp and Müller going out to the field behind the barracks to read their post and to take a dump. A bit odd to read about, I'll tell you that. At this point it seems that they've gotten to the point where this sort of thing as a communal activity is just second nature now. Our narrator even begins to describe the beautiful things you can see while taking a communal dump in a field. And it does sound rather pretty, if in a very odd way:
Indeed we do. Kantorek turns out to be their form-master from back when they were at school, who persuades his entire class to enlist in the army. They all agree, some after some persuasion, mainly because of the wide view that those who refused to enlist were cowards. And while I'm very supportive of the armed forces, whatever nationality they happen to be, it says something about them when they resort to the "coward" tactic in order to get recruits. So after actually fighting out in the front-line and seeing one of their class-mates killed, ironically the one who was most hesitant, they realise that war is not the wonderful, patriotic duty that their teacher told them it was. And I must say, I have to agree with the book here: it's not a teacher's place to force people into following particular paths, it's a teacher's place to prepare their students for whatever path they decide to follow.
Anyway, whilst in the field, they decide to visit another of their friends, Kemmerich, who is currently in hospital with a wound to the leg. They get there and I realised that this wouldn't be the kind of hospital visit where everyone is cheery and optimistic about the treatment these people are getting. Quite why I forgot that after about a year studying the history of medicine, I don't know. Anyway, it turns out that the wounded leg had to be amputated, and that Kemmerich is unlikely to be going home. They try and be cheerful for the dying guy's benefit, but it sounds really forced and just plain awkward. They persuade an orderly to give their friend some morphine, to help with the pain, but none of them are under the illusion that he'll survive the night. The chapter ends with them walking back to the barracks.
Well, that was...depressing, if really well-written. I guess for me it's very poignant of what soldiers used to go through with war, and to be honest I don't think it's gotten much better for them over the years. And the fact that as nations we still don't give them the credit they deserve is, I think, one of the worst things we could possibly do. Sorry, this rant may well crop up a few more times before this review is done, I just feel that strongly about it.
Signing off,
Nisa.
Anyway, first chapter and I'm already excited by the smell of the old pages. Wow, I'm getting far too excited. We start our story 5 miles behind the front lines, where our main characters, a group of German soldiers (with names like Tjaden and Müller, how could they be any other nationality?) are having a celebration of sorts, to mark the fact that they now have enough food to eat. Well, as far as mildly depressing starts go, that's a good one. They also have double rations of tobacco, which as a non-smoker I can't see the appeal of, but I suppose war could drive you to anything. So we're introduced to the group, who I'll try to differentiate between as best I can (big casts all at once confuse me somewhat), as they line up for food: there's the narrator Bäumer; his friends from school, Kropp, Müller and Leer; a locksmith Tjaden, a peat-digger Westhus and their leader Katczinsky. All of them, apart from Katczinsky, are only 19 years old. So it turns out that the cook-sergeant has cooked for 150 men, the normal size of their company, the day after they've been reduced to 80 men because of long-range shelling from the other side. They seem to be rather blasé about the fact that the food that their eating in effectively paid for by the loss of almost half their group. But I suppose rumbling bellies overcome decorum in this sort of situation. I'll admit, while the hints of the brutality of war do add up to make a rather depressing tone, it does have some great bits of humour and camaraderie between the characters. Like when the company commander comes along and forces the cook-sergeant to hand out all 150 rations to 80 men.
It skips now to Bäumer, Kropp and Müller going out to the field behind the barracks to read their post and to take a dump. A bit odd to read about, I'll tell you that. At this point it seems that they've gotten to the point where this sort of thing as a communal activity is just second nature now. Our narrator even begins to describe the beautiful things you can see while taking a communal dump in a field. And it does sound rather pretty, if in a very odd way:
"The blue sky is above us. On the horizon we can see the yellow observation balloons with the sun shining on them, and white puffs of smoke from the tracer bullets. Sometimes you see a sudden sheaf of them going up, when they are chasing an airman."And so on. They play a few rounds of cards and sort of communicate how close they were to dying back there, without actually talking about it. I know that that description just then sucked, but it's all I can come up with at the moment. While they're out there, Kropp finds a letter from a guy called Kantorek, who we'll presumably now hear about.
Indeed we do. Kantorek turns out to be their form-master from back when they were at school, who persuades his entire class to enlist in the army. They all agree, some after some persuasion, mainly because of the wide view that those who refused to enlist were cowards. And while I'm very supportive of the armed forces, whatever nationality they happen to be, it says something about them when they resort to the "coward" tactic in order to get recruits. So after actually fighting out in the front-line and seeing one of their class-mates killed, ironically the one who was most hesitant, they realise that war is not the wonderful, patriotic duty that their teacher told them it was. And I must say, I have to agree with the book here: it's not a teacher's place to force people into following particular paths, it's a teacher's place to prepare their students for whatever path they decide to follow.
Anyway, whilst in the field, they decide to visit another of their friends, Kemmerich, who is currently in hospital with a wound to the leg. They get there and I realised that this wouldn't be the kind of hospital visit where everyone is cheery and optimistic about the treatment these people are getting. Quite why I forgot that after about a year studying the history of medicine, I don't know. Anyway, it turns out that the wounded leg had to be amputated, and that Kemmerich is unlikely to be going home. They try and be cheerful for the dying guy's benefit, but it sounds really forced and just plain awkward. They persuade an orderly to give their friend some morphine, to help with the pain, but none of them are under the illusion that he'll survive the night. The chapter ends with them walking back to the barracks.
Well, that was...depressing, if really well-written. I guess for me it's very poignant of what soldiers used to go through with war, and to be honest I don't think it's gotten much better for them over the years. And the fact that as nations we still don't give them the credit they deserve is, I think, one of the worst things we could possibly do. Sorry, this rant may well crop up a few more times before this review is done, I just feel that strongly about it.
Signing off,
Nisa.
Monday, 9 May 2011
From The Prince of Mist to All Quiet on the Western Front
It's been an interesting journey through the twists and turns of Carlos Ruiz Zafon's The Prince of Mist, but now it is finally drawing to a close.
So overall, what did I think of this? I think that this is a good book, if quite hit and miss at times.
In terms of the story, it's very engaging and I imagine that if I had picked it up when I was around 13, I would have loved the mystery and the secret history that the characters have. But that isn't to say that it's perfect, far from it. My main problem with the book was the sheer amount of pointless scenes, seemingly purely to show that these characters are as normal as normal can be; an audience should not still need convincing of this around chapter 9, seeing as there are only 18 chapters in total. My other problem is how the ending is dealt with. For a conclusion to the conflict that's as brutal and uncompromising as this, the final chapter and the epilogue did a poor job of dealing with it.
The characters are, for the most part, wonderfully written. Out of all the characters though, the one who seemed to have the most attention lavished on him was Cain, the eponymous Prince of Mist. I'll admit, he was probably my favourite character, if only because he made me laugh sometimes. He goes through a strange process of becoming less scary the more the reader knows about him, which is probably why we're never actually told what his origins are, which is nice I suppose.
Overall, an imaginative, well-written book with plenty of suspense and mystery, that is let down by the occasional weak moment. It's going to sound odd, but I think that if Zafon had written this with adults in mind instead of "young adults", the weak moments could have largely been avoided; having read both of the adult works of his that have been translated into English at around the age of 15-17, I can say with confidence that he is much more in his zone as a writer when addressing an older audience. In any case, the overwhelming sense that I got from my time growing up is that adults seem to think that we're simpler than we are: a story is more engaging when the author isn't simplifying his language for the 13-17 year old sales demographic, because we know that the author isn't pandering to us. But, I will admit that this is Zafon's first published novel, so I can forgive him for some mis-steps, considering he wrote two of my favourite books ever. My final rating: 3.5/5
Now to preview my next book for review. Largely considered a classic war novel, I'll be reviewing All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque. My edition is somewhat unhelpful by not providing a blurb with which I can give you a taste of the kind of thing that is to come, so I'll be using one from Wikipedia. It's sad, I know.
Signing off,
Nisa.
So overall, what did I think of this? I think that this is a good book, if quite hit and miss at times.
In terms of the story, it's very engaging and I imagine that if I had picked it up when I was around 13, I would have loved the mystery and the secret history that the characters have. But that isn't to say that it's perfect, far from it. My main problem with the book was the sheer amount of pointless scenes, seemingly purely to show that these characters are as normal as normal can be; an audience should not still need convincing of this around chapter 9, seeing as there are only 18 chapters in total. My other problem is how the ending is dealt with. For a conclusion to the conflict that's as brutal and uncompromising as this, the final chapter and the epilogue did a poor job of dealing with it.
The characters are, for the most part, wonderfully written. Out of all the characters though, the one who seemed to have the most attention lavished on him was Cain, the eponymous Prince of Mist. I'll admit, he was probably my favourite character, if only because he made me laugh sometimes. He goes through a strange process of becoming less scary the more the reader knows about him, which is probably why we're never actually told what his origins are, which is nice I suppose.
Overall, an imaginative, well-written book with plenty of suspense and mystery, that is let down by the occasional weak moment. It's going to sound odd, but I think that if Zafon had written this with adults in mind instead of "young adults", the weak moments could have largely been avoided; having read both of the adult works of his that have been translated into English at around the age of 15-17, I can say with confidence that he is much more in his zone as a writer when addressing an older audience. In any case, the overwhelming sense that I got from my time growing up is that adults seem to think that we're simpler than we are: a story is more engaging when the author isn't simplifying his language for the 13-17 year old sales demographic, because we know that the author isn't pandering to us. But, I will admit that this is Zafon's first published novel, so I can forgive him for some mis-steps, considering he wrote two of my favourite books ever. My final rating: 3.5/5
Now to preview my next book for review. Largely considered a classic war novel, I'll be reviewing All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque. My edition is somewhat unhelpful by not providing a blurb with which I can give you a taste of the kind of thing that is to come, so I'll be using one from Wikipedia. It's sad, I know.
"The book describes the German soldiers' extreme physical and mental stress during the war, and the detachment from civilian life felt by many of these soldiers upon returning home from the front."Not a very good blurb, but the only one I could really find that got the job done. I'll admit, I'm not going into this one completely blind, as I watched the film adaptation as part of my high school History class, but I don't remember it that well, considering that the class was pretty noisy as it was the last lesson before summer holidays and the teacher looked to be on the verge of mental collapse. So I'm near blind, which is good too. In any case, I hope you enjoyed joining me with The Prince of Mist and I hope that you enjoy All Quiet on the Western Front as well.
Signing off,
Nisa.
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