Tag Archives: The Great War

Review: Dead Wake (Larson)

Dead Wake: The Last Crossing of the Lusitania.

Thoroughly researched and documented, Larson’s version of the Lusitania’s doomed voyage is a vast improvement on the superficial treatment the maritime crime received in the book by Protasio.  The increase in historical details about the ship, her skipper, and about the U-boat and its commander fill the documentary voids left in the other author’s book.

It retains the unfortunately choppy vignette style of reporting on the experiences of individuals who were involved, and the countdown to disaster becomes tedious, but the text is otherwise engagingly written. There are no photographs, but the reader does not miss them, because Larson describes their content with a writing voice that conveys the “you are there” sensation better than any other author of history: his words really do paint pictures in the mind.

In the end notes, the author eschews numerals and uses brief quotations from the text when identifying sources, which is a cumbersome way to provide documentation, but it does avoid interrupting the flow of the narrative. There is an extensive bibliography and an adequate index.

If you want to know about the Lusitania, this is a hefty, quality paperback that ably takes you where you need to go.  Recommended.


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Review: The African Queen (Forester [book, 1940 edition]; film, 1951).

The African Queen.

The African Queen is one of those rare movies that improves upon the book. It has a much more satisfying denouement than the 1940 edition of C. S. Forester’s novel, even if it does perpetuate the pleasant myth that ship captains have the authority to solemnize marriages. But this is meant to be fictional entertainment, not a historical documentary.

It’s a complex narrative, told through three tightly plaited story lines. First, and most importantly, it’s a war story, set in German East Africa at the start of the First World War. Next, it’s an adventure that keeps you on the edge of your seat, no matter how often you’ve seen it. Lastly, it’s a love story, of the “unlikely romance” genre that’s built on a deeper development of character which implies that this is a meaningful relationship that will last.

The screenplay has such engaging, fast-paced writing that one forgets that without the war story line, there would be no plausible rationale for the adventure or the romance. Furthermore, the war story is built around the declared mission of a woman, Rose Sayer (who, until her brother’s untimely death, served as his missionary companion): to commit an act of war against a vessel of the Imperial German Navy. No such event occurred during the war, but the viewer comes away from the film feeling that it could have happened.

World War I in East Africa, map by Mehmet Berker


The novel delves into a little more character psychology than one would expect for so short a book (I re-read it in about 8 hours), and it presents a lot more back-story than feels necessary: it’s as if the author felt a need to justify why Rose “goes native,” so to speak, in her relationship with Charlie Allnutt.

Given the times and her upbringing, we cannot doubt that after her grand adventure, Rose would happily settle down in a cottage surrounded with hollyhocks, there to bear Charlie’s children and make blancmanges for the rest of her life. But we can also tell that without her, Charlie the drifter would have been happy to keep a low profile and float out the war in the backwaters of Africa. Rose makes a hero out of Charlie, not on the flimsy premise that he “rescued“ her from the hazards of a war-torn African colony, but by inspiring him to buck up and brave the leech-infested waters of the river, to help her achieve her grand design.

The African Queen thus becomes a tribute to the hundreds of thousands of women of Rose’s generation who served and inspired in wartime roles of amazing diversity: from traditional sock-knitting and bandage-rolling, and becoming nurses or voluntary aides, to munition workers, ambulance drivers, and innovative lifesavers, such as Madame Marie Curie with her mobile x-ray units, which she personally outfitted and personally delivered to hospitals and casualty clearing stations near the Western Front, and who trained doctors in their use.

Apparently the book’s first publisher didn’t like the way the story ended, and prevailed upon Forester to permit it to be changed, but he changed it back to the way he’d originally written it in the 1940 edition. Normally I don’t think much of publishers who want to become co-writers, and because I haven’t read the first edition, I don’t know exactly how the end differed (other than by the removal of the last two chapters), but in the case of The African Queen, I agree with the first publisher’s decision: Forester’s choice of ending is lame.

Read the book by C. S. Forester, or not, as you like. But be sure to dial up the movie, or dig out your copy of it, and enjoy it for everything it can mean to you, in your understanding of the wars of history and your approach to the battles you face in your own life. Highly recommended.

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Review: The Beauty and the Sorrow (Englund)


The Beauty and the Sorrow: An Intimate History of the First World War.

A sprawling account that ambitiously attempts to encompass the whole of the Great War experience, both on and off the battlefield. Its Dramatis Personae include the Canadian wife of a Polish aristocrat, a German schoolgirl, a Scotswoman aid worker, a German sailor, a Hungarian cavalryman, a Russian army engineer, a Dane in the German army, a French civil servant, an Australian army engineer, a French army infantryman, a Venezuelan cavalryman in the Turkish army, an American army field surgeon, a Belgian air force fighter pilot, an Australian driver serving with the Serbs, an American infantryman in the Italian army, a New Zealand artilleryman, a trooper in an Alpine regiment of the Italian army, and two British army infantrymen: all “more or less forgotten,” according to the author.

One of the subjects is of the “less forgotten” variety: Sarah Macnaughtan, whose story I first encountered in Wounded, which covers only her service in the soup kitchen she set up at Furnes Railway Station. Englund recounts more of her adventures on both fronts of the European theatre of war. Not all of them were successful, ultimately because of the worsening illness that eventually took her life (it was not until the 1920s that it was discovered that Macnaughtan’s anemia can only be successfully treated – although not cured – with vitamin B-12 injections).

This was a difficult read, because of how the stories are organized: broken up into vignettes that are presented subordinate to the chronology of the war. It would have been a more enjoyable account if each person’s story had been presented intact, the way that the biographies in Wounded are written. I had to resort to flipping through the book to find and read all of the parts of each story, to maintain continuity.

Each section of the book begins with a timeline for the year that’s covered therein. There are two large, glossy sections of unique photographs, featuring portraits of the subjects and views of the areas in which they lived or served. The book ends with brief wrapping-up summaries for each person, and an extended quote from Mein Kampf. Documentation includes a respectably-sized bibliography, a list of illustrations, and an index.

The Great War researcher who can cope with the piecemeal presentation of the biographies will find a great deal of helpful detail about the everyday lives of combatants and noncombatants. Recommended, but with reservations.


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