All Quiet on the Western Front

War novel for the win. I thought I'd hate war novels. And war is bad. But these writers see into the truth. Erich Maria Remarque (who is not in fact a girl - Germans are odd) has a wonderful style that speaks plainly, though not unbeautifully, from the point of view of a German soldier during WWI. It is the style that drew me into Les Miserables as well. Perhaps it is the slight stilt translation gives any novel, but the plainness is apropos and starkly highlights the bleak, trench-sunken front. One moment, a simple smoke will captivate the scene and suddenly, the most beautiful prose is dedicated to the dying of horses. The transition isn't even noted, it seems so natural to speak so passionately of war.

Death is the first sign of war. Remarque tosses it off casually, the way war does. In the first several pages, a childhood friend dies. In a hollywood movie, this would have been the climax. The tears would have followed. But in the novel, after consolation in the form of joking reassurances, the childhood friend died and a fellow soldier took his boots. It's life. Remarque showed the brutality and coldness of war in the first few pages to break the reader to the reality. And many people died. That doesn't exactly follow that insensitivity ruled all. Though one by one the narrator's friends died, the last one to go was saved by the narrator and crushed in his arms after carrying him on a broken leg before someone pointed out that he was already dead. Loyalty existed, hidden under death. Remarque shows theme through actions, pointedly placed throughout the story.

Remarque is also a huge fan of repetition. How many times was an account of war, death, camaraderie, smoking, girls, and alcohol followed up by a reminder that every soldier was only 19 or 20 years old? The narrator himself was only 19, recruited by the schoolmaster in his village. 19. 19. So young. I suppose I'm only 19.

Though much is a patchwork of experiences, purposefully blurred to give the impression of sameness, oneness, and meaningless repetition, two scenes stand out.

The first is an example of the dryness in the face of war, especially among the comrades. All the men are standing around talking and smoking, and discussing war. Why? Why are they forced to fight and die? One man plays dumb while one tries to overexplain and jokingly shows the absurdity of war.

The second is a scene with the narrator and a French soldier trapped in a pit together. Out of self defense, the narrator stabs him and has to spend a night and a day with a dying soldier that he killed. He tries everything to fix the man. He swears to find the man's family and apologize, though he knows he'll never follow through. He finds that when it's hand to hand combat, killing is different. And war is cowardly in that way.

Please read it.

I almost cried at the end.