History

In the summer of 1964, Alessandro Giuliani, an old and partially lame professor of aesthetics white hair and mustaches, white suit, cane is thrown off a trolley on the outskirts of Rome after he comes to the defense of a young and semi-literate factory worker who has irritated the driver. Alessandro and Nicol, the boy, decide to make the very long journey into the mountains, on foot, as a defiant pilgrimage away from those things --worthless and imposed--that people allow to take the place of real life. In their trying walk the towns of Italy glittering below them in the warm summer air, the sea polished by a weightless fume of silver light the old man is moved to tell the story of his life of a youthful paradise instantly shattered by the First World War, of how he lost one family, gained another, and lost it as well. The boy is enthralled by the war and its spectacular events, by Alessandros privations, heroism, and adventures, and by the extraordinary beauty of the story and in its telling. At the end of the long walk, however, he comes to understand its deeper import, that love is superior to and greater than all the glories of civilization, but that each is heightened by the understanding of the other, and that even in the face of death, life can be made worthwhile if these things are made to run together seamlessly, like a song.

The novel begins (and ends) in 1964, with white-haired Professor of Aesthetics Alessandro Giuliani having a chance meeting with a young man chasing a train in Rome. As they walk together, Alessandro (almost always referred to by his first name in the book) tells the boy his life storya truly remarkable life story.

What makes Helprin such an outstanding author is not just his well-conceived story lines but also, or maybe even mostly, his stunning turns of phrase, his weaving of a philosophy, whether about the meaning of life, the importance of religion, the role of beauty, into the tale with words that make you feel more like youre looking at a great painting than reading a book.

We learn of Alessandros life from his time as a boy in Rome, his father a moderately successful attorney, through his service in World War I (which takes up most of the novel), and to the time of the conversation in which hes recounting his remarkable history.

Beside Alessandro, the book contains some remarkable characters
A hunchbacked near-dwarf who goes from being a scribe for Alessandros father to (after being put of out business by the invention of the infernal typewriter) having enormous impact on Italys war effort  in a hilarious, dangerous, and truly insane way.

A half dozen soldiers, each with his own quirks and personality, one of whom is willing to cut off his own leg in an attempt to be able to return to his family after serving on the front lines for a couple of years. (In typical Halperin style, all does not work out well for the soldier despite his extreme sacrifice.)

A series of women Alessandro meets, including the love of his life, about whom I cant say more without ruining the story for you.

The war story itself is remarkable, brilliant, and brutal with moments of hilarity arriving at most unexpected times.

From a scene in which Alessandros unit is sent to Sicily to arrest (or kill) deserters
He went ahead to find the path that, before the war, tourists and naturalists had worn into the rim of the crater. No one walking over the mountain could avoid it. Though Alessandro climed straight for the rim, it took him longer than he expected to get there. Lakes of fire in the crater far below turned over and boiled and were covered in hideous red scales and flakes as if they were the dried skin of a mythical animal. Now and then a line of fire would leap into the air and fall back, leaving an impression temporarily upon the molten lake from which it had sprung. The air that flowed past the rim was sulfurous and unbreathable, and the malevolent lakes had been working through the night for many thousands of years, scouts in a war so great and so deep within the earth that the surface was held in contempt.

From a scene in which Alessandro is looking at a painting by Raphael
Unlike the new paintings, with their disheveled and hallucinatory colors, each and every one of Raphaels brush strokes, all of his shining planes, the rendering of air in light  whether bright or subdued, whether of morning sky or evening star  was disciplined with an iron hand. Here were no strategems or conceits, nothing centrifugal, nothing wild, nothing without the rich harmony that seemed to be the world itself as seen in heavenly recollection. The one weight that aligned all the elements, and reconciled every contradiction and variation, was the burden of mortality.

From a scene in which Alessandro has been sent to a marble quarry and is working on a snowy night
Blinded by patterns of light and sound that grew ever more confusing and intense, the soldiers worked themselves up to a feverish pitch to match the pace of falling snow and racking pistons, and, caught in a thousand rhythms, Alessandro seemed to float. Dozens of slabs rode the aerial trams, flashing in and out of the smoke, light, and snow, crossing and intersecting as hammers and saws rang out against the rock. The music of his own heart and breathing, the deverishes of snow that sometimes blinded and sometimes entertained, the mournful steam whistles, the clatter of engines moving across rickety tracksthe weave here was as tight as it could be, tight enough to elevate the bodiless spirits that labored in it until they floated like swimmers. It had a life of its own, but that life was suddenly shattered when lightning struck amid the snow, homing for the iron that had been laboriously driven into high points. For half an hour hundreds of speechless soldiers were shelled by thunder and light that illuminated every snowflake and blinded them as it scourged the marble cliffs with brightness. The thunder rattled the heavy engines and the lightning made the fires beneath them seem dark and cool.

And from a conversation with a supervisor when Alessandro is forced to work in an Austrian palace
I have the impression, Klodwig stated, that the King of Italy may be rather ordinary, or even deprived. He doesnt have these things, does he.No, Alessandro said, but he has a special rubber throne with electric balls and hats that can resurrect dead ostriches.Electric balls, Klodwig asked, inching closer.Hoheit, do you know why crows are blackNo, I never thought of it.They taste lousy, and theyre black as a sure sign to predators that theyre crows, who will taste lousy.Why arent they yellowThey live in cold climates, and black absorbs heat. They dont need camouflage, so they can take advantage of the way their color soaks up the sunlight.Why do you ask me these questions Klodwig demanded.To remind you, Hoheit, not to argue with nature.

Intertwined among the war story, the love story, and the thoughtful consideration of relationships among children and parents, Helprin weaves a constant discussion of beauty and aesthetics. Whether in a description of the sea, a mountain, a painting, or even a battle scene, A Soldier of the Great War makes you consider and reconsider what is beauty and what about beauty is important.

Make no mistake Dont look for a happy ending. This book is not light, airy, and cheerful. It is primarily a war story and, having served in the Israeli Army and Air Force as well as the British Merchant Navy, Helprin is not one to sugarcoat the trials, horrors, and occasional minor success  even if only meaning survival from an apparently hopeless situation  which war encompasses.
Im not the type to cry in movies or over books, but A Soldier of the Great War pushed me to the edge of tears. Its rare that one finishes a work of fiction and remains unable to stop thinking about it for days or weeks afterward, but Helprins majestic novel has exactly that power.

Proof Through the Night Music and the Great War
By Glenn Watkins. Berkeley University of California Press, 2003
Composers, soldiers, politicians, citizens, and musicians left ample proof through the night of their patriotism and fervor in the First World War. Glenn Watkins has provided the most detailed study of the subject from a musical perspective yet to appear, and he has not confined himself to purely musical issues, for he confidently deals with racial, social, political, and other matters, which will surely enrich scholarship of the First World War when that scholarships vision strays away from the recounting of battles and confronts the impact of war on society and culture.

That culture is not an elitist concept (or is not a rarefied thing at one or two removes from the general populace) is most powerfully conveyed by one of the many revealing illustrations that appear in Watkinss book. Few parts of the book are more shocking than the chapters devoted to America. The combination of self-righteousness, xenophobia, racism, and pure distilled hatred make some European responses to war seem almost meek in comparison. Bearing in mind that America only joined the Allies in April 1917, and its principal experience of the war had been the admittedly provocative activities of German submarines, there had to be a long and carefully sustained promotion of war as the only viable way forward. One example of this was H. R. Hoopss propaganda poster of 1916 entitled Destroy This Mad Brute. A hideous gorilla wearing a spiked boche helmet with its back to the ruined cathedral at Rheims (one assumes) and other scenes of devastation looks straight at the observer, mouth wide open, slaver oozing out. In its left arm it grasps a bare-breasted maiden who covers her face in distress (the film King Kong owed a great deal to this poster) and in its right hand it bears a club. The words at the bottom of the poster are straightforward America Enlist, but the writing on the club is arresting it bears the one word Kultur (fig. 29, p. 248). This was not simply a battle for territory but a confrontation of Germanys cultural dominance and the aspirations of other countries. European culture needed to renew itself and there were many artists, at least in the early part of the war, keen to justify war, including the Italian Futurists, who called war the worlds only hygiene, and Marcel Duchamp who declared, We need the great enema in Europe. And, if its gonna be war, then if we need war, we need war (p. 14).

Proof Through the Night does not pretend to be, neither should it be, a systematic study of the effect of war on music and musicians. It is more an exploration through diverse perspectives of the turmoil of war and the attempts of musicians of all kinds to discover in their art a suitable response. Its emphasis is towards the cultural activities of the Allies, but this does not preclude chapters devoted to Germany-Austria.

The book begins with a prologue that explores intercultural issues, focusing on the internationally inclined figure of Romain Rolland. It includes the amusing story of Rolland and Richard Strausss dealings during the conflict. Both men were less disposed to chauvinism than many of their compatriots, but even Rolland was taken aback when Strauss blithely wrote of the possibility of inviting Rolland to Garmisch to witness diverse impressions of our people in time of war (p. 25). Rolland was amazed at Strausss aloofness and naivetr he wrote in his journal How little these poor Germans suspect of the state of mind in Europe (p. 25).

The next five sections of the book deal with Great Britain, France, Italy, Germany-Austria, and the United States of America in turn. Watkinss range of reference is extraordinary. One is left with the most vivid impression of their responses to war from the most distinguished composers to the men in the trenches.

Among the most fortunate individuals at the start of the war, or so one might say with hindsight, were the four thousand or so Englishmen who found themselves in Germany at the start of the war. They were rounded up and incarcerated at the site of a racetrack near Berlin. In time, they formed orchestras and educational groups, and seem to have had a culturally enriching time. They played Richard Wagner and Ralph Vaughan Williams and explored early music. Ironically, many of these men had been in Germany to attend the Bayreuth Festival (p. 33). Their freedom found few parallels elsewhere. It became intensely difficult for the Allies to play Wagner. The French had rapidly to relinquish their infatuation with the composer (having only just enjoyed the first French performance of Parsifal) and rediscover the Frenchness of their own music. In America, the Metropolitan Opera cancelled its entire German season when the call to arms came and the house had to fill numerous now blank evenings (p. 309). Beethoven was problematic, for his music was so popular and universal in its appeal it was inconceivable that audiences would forgo such staple fare. One neat but preposterous solution was the claim, seriously made at the time, that Beethoven was in fact of Flemish descent. A more common view, however, was that there were acceptable German masters from the distant past who represented a universal humanity. So while Mozart and Beethoven were retained, Wagner and contemporary German music were not. The Germans reacted in a similar way. Edward Elgar had enjoyed great popularity there prior to the First World War, but during it and tot many decades after, his music disappeared from the repertoire (it has resurfaced in the last few years).
Singing our way to victory French cultural politics and music during the ...