Lest We Forget--with help from our literary friends

“In Flanders Fields the poppies grow / between the crosses row on row / that mark our place…”

I remember hearing this poem, year after year on November 11^th, usually during a school assembly of some kind: but it never meant much to me. Naturally, English-major-me appreciated how lovely the words flowed line after line, but grade-school-me was totally oblivious to the tragedy and the history, having been lucky enough to live in a world where war was always somebody else’s problem.

But so many years later, the meaning is finally starting to resonate with me. Not because I have since lived through some terrible tragedy, but because of the increased exposure to the history of war that I owe to my education. And in true WTD fashion, the most effective way to yield an appreciation for those who fought, lived and died for their nation, is to read about it. I thought I would share a couple of the best World War One novels that I have read, which have pushed me a little further on the path of “getting it”.

 I feel as though I need to clarify: I indicated above World War One novels. Nowadays, Remembrance Day honours those who fought in both World Wars, and rightfully so. But there is something different about the First World War that I don’t think everybody realizes. This was not the technologically advanced, united-against-one-totalitarian-regime deal of 1939. The men in World War One fought in the trenches—literally—and the threat of death from war lived alongside the equal yet less immediate threat of dying from poor hygiene, sharing disease and the overall disgusting conditions of spending months in giant dirt pits. But better the mud holes than “no man’s land”: a no-holds-barred plain where only the quickest shot and fastest reflexes survived.

This brings me to my first recommendation: Generals Die in Bed by Charles Yale Harrison. Controversy surrounds the novel about whether or not Harrison is depicting his own experiences from the war, but I honestly don’t think the matter of fiction or non-fiction makes a difference when compared to the undeniable fact that while the book’s events may not have happened to Harrison himself, they happened to someone. Maybe my ancestor; maybe yours. But somebody underwent the horrors Harrison describes in his short but dense novel. Arguably the most captivating part of the work is the time dedicated to describing the conditions of trench warfare; Harrison includes meticulous details like the narrator’s inability to sleep on account of feeling fleas crawling up and down his skin, over and under his military garb. Not the most pleasant picture, but one that brings the reader into the trenches, feeling those creepy-crawlers in a realization of what “war” means that was never so apparent.  While I read this book over 2 years ago, I still recall vividly the most affective scene in the novel, where the narrator describes a young soldier, barely a man, trying to gather the strength to retrieve his bayonet from the stomach of an enemy. The youth is unable to do so with ease, and Harrison goes on for about a page about the various maneuvers attempted, all while the enemy soldier’s insides spill from him as he watches his opponent struggle, life slowly leaving him. The terrifying, but oh so real moments like these make Harrison’s novel a great tribute to WWI, one that opens the curtain to reveal the truth behind national propaganda.

I also sing the praises of Joseph Boyden’s first novel, Three Day Road, which tells the story of two Native American friends who enlist in the Canadian forces, and the traumas they undergo as they attempt to stay alive. While Boyden’s novel lacks the atmospheric detail of Generals, it delves into the soldier’s interior, and the psychological affect war can have on those closest to it. The main character, Xavier, watches as his longtime friend Elijah slowly loses his humanity in the thick of battle, becoming a savage killing machine who Xavier barely recognizes by the end of the book. Xavier himself undergoes an irreversible trauma—losing a limb—and the parts of the novel written through X’s perspective provide insight into the pain and struggle that continues for soldiers, even after the war has ended.

It is important to note that both of these novels are Canadian, about the experience of Canadians in World War One. Canada has never been credited with military strength, and we certainly never received the hero’s welcome that America did upon their entrance into WWII. But that doesn’t mean we never deserved it, and WWI was our military’s shining time, especially during battles like Vimy Ridge, where Canadian troops did “save the day”. On this November 11^th, remember that that World War One is called the Great War for a reason, and it is not to be overlooked.

Did you pause for a moment of silence today?

Bookin’ it,

JEM