Andrea Consoli Consoli itibaren Collinsville, CA, Birleşik Devletler
Yeniden okuma biraz daha az sevdim.
The title of Erich Maria Remarque’s novel seemed to have been with the English-speaking world forever. It entered the language almost on its own without a necessary linkage to the very book that carried it as its English title. The title became slang for “lack of action” and is now almost a cliché with at least an older generation. The book for me—submerged under its title “All Quiet on the Western Front”—held an invocative mystery. I had the impression that it was a dense, slightly Baroque treatment of WWI written by a German author. The title stayed with me but, intimidated by that imagined density, I never got to Remarque’s book itself. After re-reading Ernest Hemingway’s “Farewell to Arms” and a re-visit to the Liberty Memorial in Kansas City with its outstanding World War One museum, I thought I might try another novel on that war. I decided to pull Remarque out of the black hole into which I had consigned him. He was a contemporary of Hemingway and his and Hemingway’s novels were published about the same time. Both writers were, like all of their generation, significantly impacted by the war itself and by the socio-economic currents that were flowing through European society during the early part of the XX Century. Hemingway, in “Farewell to Arms”, had given me a very personal albeit fictionalized view of the Italian Front which vibrated in his deceptively barren, concise prose. Hemingway had actually served on that front as an ambulance driver and had been wounded in the line of duty. I was now hopeful that Remarque, who also served but as an actual combatant in the war, would give me some perspective on the battles in France. And that the story would be told from the point of view of the German infantry suddenly seemed all the more intriguing. While I was prepared for a view of WWI in Western Europe—the trench line that ran from Belgium to Switzerland--I was unprepared for the power of the work itself. The cover of my edition of the novel claimed that it was “the greatest war novel of all time.” If not the greatest, it certainly is one of the major contenders for that title. In shattering, edgy prose far removed from the Baroque density I had imagined, the protagonist, Paul Bäumer, carries us through battles that eat at the very souls of the youthful combatants. Remarque’s story is every bit as cynical of the conflict as Hemingway’s. Cries Bäumer mid-point in his story: “We are forlorn like children, and experienced like old men, we are crude and sorrowful and superficial—I believe we are lost.” Frederick Henry/Hemingway and Erich Remarque/Bäumer—all, the Lost Generation. What was distinct about the First World War was the structure of the confrontation at least on the Western front. There the combatants faced each other from opposing trenches that remained reasonably stable for the duration of the conflict. Between the opposing trenches was a width of barren terrain (“no man’s land”) bisected by barbed wire and mines. Exchanges included heavy artillery, poisoned gases, grenades as well as massive offensives with drawn bayonets and tanks. Disease and illness were constant companions in the trenches of both sides: dysentery, fevers, trench foot, influenzas, infections along with such common carriers as rats and lice. Remarque captures the sounds, smells and visions of that horror with honed perception. If there is a controlling theme to the novel—apart the physical and mental stress caused by the war—it is the great difficulty civilian soldiers have in returning to civilian life after service on the Front. Bäumer cries “we are lost.” It is a cry common to all soldiers in all wars. What binds Bäumer to the trenches is the love he has for his comrades in arms. Those men come to constitute his family. It is the very same sentiment echoed by the American soldiers who pass through, for example, Sebastian Junger’s book, “War”, dealing with the American army in Afghanistan’s Korengal Valley. Times they sometimes never change.