Book review: "A Farewell To Arms", by Ernest Hemingway

Synopsis: Semi-autobiographical and stunningly realistic, "A Farewell To Arms" is based on one of the most intense periods of Hemingway's life. A young American (in the book, Frederic Henry) is helping the Italian war effort as an ambulance driver in the latter part of the First World War. Life becomes slightly more complicated when he meets, falls in love with, and impregnates an English nurse, Catherine Barkley. What's more, almost as soon as Freddy makes it back to the front, the Italians start a hasty retreat away from the speedy advance of the German and Austrian enemy. As he sees himself quickly falling behind enemy lines, he resorts to drastic measures to escape certain death and to find Catherine again, only to discover that his greatest trial is fast approaching... a true test of his human endurance from which there will be nowhere to run.

Review: As soon as you learn even a little about "Papa" Hemingway , you know he's going to write well. His life story oozes with adventure- every corner of it seems to be crammed with entertaining anecdotes that make you think that if you'd ever met him in a bar, there's a strong possibility that you'd never ever leave that bar (as long as you could keep up with his drinking pace, that is!). An 18 year-old volunteer injured during WW1 in Italy, cutting his teeth in inter-war Paris with only Pablo Picasso, Scott Fitzgerald and Gertrude Stein for drinking buddies, countless (mainly bullfighting, but also Civil war reporting) adventures is Spain and hunting in Africa, being a war-correspondent actually AT the D-day landings in 1944 (where he was labelled "precious cargo"), and retiring to write in post-revolution Cuba- just the tip of an incredibly well-travelled, war-wounded, bull-fighting, lion-shooting, bi-plane-flying (probably- it fits), yacht-sailing book-selling iceberg. His life itself is almost the stuff of fiction. And it's with little amazement that he's considered one of the most important American writers ever.

 Ernest Hemingway, from "Midnight in Paris"

So, "A Farewell To Arms" is off to a good start... much like Frederic Henry and the Italian army! All's going well on the campaign to defend the newly recognized Kingdom of Italy against the remnants of the Austro-Hungarian empire. Austria, a country which to many in the 19th century appeared to have been invented with the sole purpose of giving Napoleon a place to swing his sabre and fire off any spare cannon balls he had lying around, was at somewhat of a loose end. Hemingway himself says:

"The Austrian army was created to give Napoleon victories; any Napoleon".

And with that epic burn, they decided that the 20th century was going to be different. And what better way to celebrate the new century than with a bit of imperialistic expansion? It turns out that this empire building lark isn't like moving your fence a foot into your neighbour's garden when he's on holiday, though, as the Italians decide that being forced to wear pointy hats and grow outrageously overgrown mustaches isn't for them. Hence, the Austrians call on their younger, harder, German brother.

"It's the Germans that are attacking," one of the medical officers said. The word Germans was something to be frightened of. We did not want to have anything to do with the Germans".

Hemingway describes the chaos that ensued as a result of the Italian defeat at Caporetto so well, that many real-life survivors of the retreat swore that the only way he could have written such accurate details correctly is by actually having been there (he wasn't). It's no wonder he made himself a successful career as a war reporter- he lavishes the reader with a real sense of the disorder, disarray and general lawlessness of an army on the back-foot... Now, if only Frederic's countrymen would jump in and get involved in some politically motivated mass-murder for a change, then maybe we could enjoy the world as one, peaceful humanity. However, as he realises that he's more likely to die by being executed by a handful of rebellious Italian subordinates than by Kaisers Bill and Charles (of Germany and Austria respectively), he jumps headfirst into a river to avoid execution, and the wishful idea of some good ol' American intervention must seem like a very long way away for him...  Still, after his well-timed and supremely executed "Sod this!", Frederic gets back to Catherine, leaving the Italian army to scratch their heads over a missing ambulance driver while simultaneously face the fact that they're at the pointy end of a German bayonet... 

"We've been sitting here since Christmas 1914,
during which time millions of men have died,
and we've moved no further than
an asthmatic ant with heavy shopping"-
Captain Blackadder critiques the war

  

Obviously, any war ever fought anywhere would be utterly pointless if there wasn't a love-story to accompany it, a fact which has escaped neither Hemingway nor any Hollywood directors (except Spielberg). But Catherine Barkley is more than just an interesting and uplifting side-line to a tragic war-torn reality (although, she is that too). Being "married" to a fugitive in a foreign continent that seems intent on smashing itself to bits as quickly and efficiently as possible can't be easy, but she remains positive throughout, even when pregnant and having to do some midnight rowing across a lake towards Switzerland. Then again, it's not her who's going to have to face a firing squad if caught... so maybe there's a reason to be cheerful, after all... And as for the rowing- well, the promise of a life surrounded by Toblerone, cuckoo clocks and yodelling shepherds is enough to spur even the most amateur pregnant rower on!

If you haven't read Hemingway before, then the first lesson you will learn from the master is that by eliminating almost all punctuation, you can turn something as mundane as hooking up and getting pissed in a hotel room into mini-novella, such as the following:  

"Maybe she would pretend that I was her boy that was killed and we would go in the front door and the porter would take of his cap and I would stop at the concierge's desk and ask for the key and she would stand by the elevator and then we would get in the elevator and it would go up very slowly clicking at all the floors and then our floor and the boy would open the door and stand there and she would step out and I would step out and we would walk down the hall and I would put the key in the door and open it and go in and then take down the telephone and ask them to send a bottle of capri bianca in a silver bucket full of ice and you would hear the ice against the pail coming down the corridor and the boy would knock and I would say leave it outside the door please."

Try it out. On the downside, you'll give your English Writing teacher a seizure, but... well, actually maybe there are only plus points to it! XD

It's a fantastic book... but it's not a 10/10... and here's why. Read this passage, and tell me what's missing:


"I order you to come back to the car and cut brush," I said. The one sergeant turned. "We have to go on. In a little while you will be cut off. You can't order us. You're not our officer."

"I order you to cut brush," I said. They turned and started down the road. 

"Halt", I said. They kept on down the muddy road, the hedge on either side. "I order you to halt," I called. They went a little faster. I opened up my holster, took the pistol, aimed at the one who had talked the most, and fired. I missed and they both started to run. I shot three times and dropped one"...

All without a flicker of emotion, apparently! It's difficult to believe that even a war-weary veteran such as Frederic/Ernest could kill a man (let alone a man on his own side) without feeling something. A little low on the human-feeling front, I must admit (and just wait till you read the last page!!!)...

This week, retired war criminal and got-away-with-it mass murderer Tony Blair has said his next project will be to support the Bremain camp, to channel deep into the psyche of the British public and remind them that a little red-tape in Brussels is a small price to pay for booze runs to Calais and £15 mini-breaks to Barcelona. However, having Tony Blair in your camp for ANY kind of contentious issue is a bit like Charles Manson supporting your demonstration to raise the minimum wage. The way you react to the news of both of them backing your cause is the same, namely:

 "Oh... well, thanks... but no... no no no....no...

THANKS, though!

But, most importantly, no... a hundred thousand times, no...

no, no no..."

I mention this because, as we head towards an almost inevitable Brexit, and possibly afterwards a "Byegium", a "Departugal", a "Czechout", an "Italeave", a "Nethermind", a "Latervia", a "Fruckoff", a "Splitzerland", an "Austria La Vista", and a "Germany thanks it's been a blast", what is really only left are the following pertinent questions: have we really learned anything since 1918? Are we the more enlightened and tolerant generation that we simply assume we must be? And, if so, then can we reasonably claim a warm hearted sympathy for Frederic Henry and Catherine Barkley, two fictional refugees from a war which ended 100 years ago, whilst concurrently showing the cold shoulder to refugees who are taking strikingly similar journeys across Europe today?

Food for thought.

Score: 8/10

Book review: "Wars of the Roses: Ravenspur, Rise of the Tudors", by Conn Iggulden (part 4 of a 4 part series)

Synopsis: Earl Warwick is back! This time, it's from exile, and accompanied by a largely French-funded army, with the intent of removing Henry VI from the Tower of London, and sticking him on the throne at Westminster palace, therefore making Edward IV's dubious rule null and void. He's off to a good start, as Edward and Richard of Gloucester (who will one day lament over a lost horse in his role as Richard III) are caught unawares, and forced to flee the country, seeking refuge in the home of the Duke of Burgundy...

But it's not long before they're back, and thanks to Edward's charismatic influence, they're able to rally enough support to stage a counter-attack. A couple of bloody battles later, and power is theirs again, with all ghosts laid to rest...

Right...?

Of course not.

As a shining hope for the Lancaster cause emerges, the last of the Plantagenet line struggles to keep hold of its heirs, and it's "all in" from all players in this bloody 30 year game of cat-and-mouse, as both sides make their way to Bosworth field...

Review: "Who is this man, this over-looked and under-appreciated almost super-human "king", otherwise called "Edward IV"?", is a question that you may well find yourself repeating throughout this final chapter in an outstanding piece of semi-fiction. Yes, it seems that history doesn't like strong leaders nearly as much as it likes devious, cowardly villains (more on that later...)... or perhaps because he was a "usurping king", from a weak and tenuous royal line who's main claim was that some M.P.s (unreliable at the best of times) voted his father, the late Richard of York, to be their stand-in-monarch. Edward had inherited this honour the moment Richard of York STOPPED fighting battle in vain, and his head started having spectacular views of York from it's vantage point of the city's gate. Or maybe it's because his tenacious ambition to be king had dragged out a chaotic, bloody and frankly complicated civil war that seemed to have no end, and which few hoped to survive.

Whatever the reason, Edward is not a favourite for the history classes, and it's a shame because as "Ravenspur" shows he was, for want of a better word, a bit of a bloody legend. Proving himself countless times on the battlefield, often vastly outnumbered, under-prepared, under-funded or (in the case of Towton), knee deep in snow, Edward apparently terrified his opponents... and with good reason. They say "It's not the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog that counts". But just in case the fight inside this dog wasn't enough, life decided to make him over 6 feet tall (a giant in the comparatively short-statured world of 15th Century England)... and also, a ruthless and efficient killing machine.

However, being a giant womanising alpha-male with a steel liver and an appetite for destruction apparently has a downside- namely, you might suddenly die at 40. Cue stage... and... RICHARD ON! After a well-timed accusation that Edward's sons are illegit, Richard makes the noble sacrifice of taking the crown from their barely pubescent heads, and sticking it on his own... and act which, somewhat unsurprisingly, would result in a pretty stressful and risk-filled life! (who'd have thought???).

Lost and found: Richard III

As I was reading Ravenspur, I tried to constantly be aware of how Iggulden was portraying Richard III. Ask anyone (*anyone who is not from Leicester) what they thought of him, and they'll tell you he was a cold-blooded, hunchback fiend, who murdered his nephews and more than likely a few more poor sods on the way. However, it appears that we largely have Shakespeare to blame for this. For all his great works about Italian nobles roaming around the countryside slicing each other up like pastrami, his portrayal of Richard III is hardly flattering... and more importantly, possibly completely inaccurate! As I mentioned before- everyone loves a character, especially if he's been dead for 500 years and has a sinister rumour revolving around him. Undoubtedly, Richard committed ruthless acts on the way to becoming king and beyond... but MORE than his predecessors, or those around him? Unlikely. Iggulden does a great job of leaving us guessing about the princes in the tower, never quite letting on the "truth", and only hinting subtly at possible leads towards potential assassins... However, as he plainly admits at the end, it's his personal opinion that it WAS Richard who quietly disposed of his two nephews.

As for his classic hunchback- again, might be slander, or the misrepresentation of a normal growth of muscle from the result of a lifetime playing around with 2-ton swords. Although, he did have a crooked spine, so unless Shakespeare somehow tampered with THAT, I think the photographic evidence speaks for itself...

Of course, this whole series of books is made infinitely more interesting by the (fairly) recent discovery of Richard's skeleton. In 2012, after a huge amount of research and, as it would turn out, a minimal amount of digging, he was discovered in the FIRST TRENCH dug in the archaeological search for his remains in Leicester. Furthermore, it's said they he was found under a parking space that had the letter "R" (for "Reserved") on it... but, as we've seen so many times in this book, hearsay and rumour are convincing little things. Maybe this will be the final legend that is added to Richard III's name... :)

Richard III skeleton discovered- Youtube

"I told zem we already got one!"- The French knights
outwit an English King yet again...

From the character development throughout the final three books (of which there's FAR TOO LITTLE BLOGSPACE to go into now!), it's evident that Richard WAS a deeply complex person, and far more than a caricature of himself. Which makes what I'm about to comment on even more of a shame. You see, I felt like this whole series was building up to the battle of Bosworth. It's certainly the most famous battle in the War of the Roses, and a natural finale- the murdering, usurping king falling to make way for the younger, more exotic Henry Tudor, recently landed in Wales at the head of a largely French army...

And yet, the battle didn't seem to receive nearly as much attention as the battle of Towton did in Bloodline. It was disappointing to miss out on Iggulden's masterclass of battlefield description, which have proven to be vivid and piercing. It all felt quite rushed at the end- and that's a shame, considering that (as Iggulden himself described), there was a real risk, especially for Richard, who had lost both his wife and son shortly before. Now heir-less, he knew that even if he survived the battle and his bloodline didn't get trampled into the dirt by a horde of angry Welsh and French hired-hands (who were by that time so used to assisting vague claimants to the English throne that they probably saw it as a gap-year), then he'd still have to get a move on to make the Plantagenet name last another decade...

Unfortunately for him, of course, history had other plans.

"Tudor". Now THERE'S a name you
can trust not to cause a scandal... ;)

So, Bosworth fell flat, for me... but that's not to put a damper on a supreme set of books. It's been great fun reading this series- I've learnt more information about the Wars of the Roses than I will probably ever use (and I'm all the happier for it!), and I hope that Conn Iggulden and such writers continue to write books that take the worlds of our fascinating ancestors, and put them in the grasp of the ordinary hobby-reader.

Score: 8/10