The Wars

“Many men have died like Robert Ross, obscured by violence.” 

One of the defining characteristics of the book is the frequent changes in narrative mode. The perspective changes from first to second to third person perspective on a regular basis, as well as changing tense depending on the section of the novel. This switch from third person perspective to second person perspective directly involves the audience. The novel addresses them—referring to “you” (14) and brings them into the historical fold. The novel is structured as though the audience (the “you” of the second person perspective) is a historian, slowly piecing together Robert Ross’s life through interviews, archives, and photographs. By switching to a second person perspective, the novel drags the audience into the mysteries of Robert’s life and forces them to ask questions: What about Robert made so many people so angry? Why do they say that he is dead? After the stoic tone of the prologue, this sense of direct dialogue with the audience helps to foster a mystery around the protagonist and provides the audience themselves with a sense of agency, telling them that they are helping to uncover the truth about Robert’s life. 

“The war that was meant to end by Christmas might not end till summer. Maybe even fall.” 

Given that the novel was published in 1977, there is strong dramatic irony at play in the above quote. The quote deals with the slowly-dawning truth that the war will not actually finish in time for Christmas. While the quote holds out hope for the war ending in summer (and—at the most extreme—ending by fall), the audience is aware that this is only the first year of a five-year conflict. Even though the hope has begun to diminish, no one can comprehend the possibility that the war will last another five years. Thus, the sheer scale of the war is becoming obvious to the characters and the audience. It is clearly unmanageable; the early militarism and togetherness is steadily giving way to cynicism, bleakness, and the terrible nature of reality. The thousands of dead in Ypres are only the beginning. The characters develop the realization that this war is not the same and that war has changed forever (as has society). But still, they are not ready for the true terror that lies ahead. 

“It was for her that he learned to run.” 

One of the central dynamics in the book is that between Robert and Rowena. Though she is alive for only a small portion of the book, the relationship shared between the brother and sister goes on to form much of Robert’s world view and helps to explain his actions throughout. Rowena has been confined to a wheelchair for her entire life, but through Robert, she has a chance to feel normal. He helps her ride horses, for example, and constructs the hutch where she keeps her rabbits. Robert dotes on Rowena; he protects her and tries to ensure that she leads the most fulfilling life possible. He goes beyond what is expected from him to help his sister; as evidenced in the above quote, “it was for her that he learned to run” (17). This alludes to Robert’s determination to help those less fortunate than himself. He has a strong moral code and, like Rowena, he values innocence and virtue above all. This is shown in their shared love for nature. Just as Robert helps Rowena achieve physical feats that should not have been possible (i.e., she runs vicariously through him), she helps to imbue him with a strong sense of morality. This sense of morality will be tested by the coming war.  

“THIS WAS FOREVER. Now the rabbits had to be killed.” 

The coming war will destroy the humanity in many of the people Robert meets. Before he even leaves Canada, however, there are events which foreshadow the eventual brutality. The slaughter of Rowena’s rabbits is one such event. After Rowena’s death, Mrs. Ross announces that the rabbits must be killed. Not only that, but she announces that Robert should be the one to carry out this violent task. To Robert, the rabbits are one of the final vestiges of Rowena’s innocence that he has left. The rabbits represent his sister’s humanity; the way she cared for the rabbits and played with them reminded him of the positive nature of humanity. To kill the rabbits would be to kill this vestigial memory of his sister’s innocence. The bluntness of the second sentence in the above quote reflect the forcefulness of the incident. Robert is dealt a blow by being told that he must kill the rabbits and his life is never the same again. To kill the rabbits would be to kill Rowena and he cannot bring himself to do so. 

“Robert closed his eyes. He hated the way she used his childhood—everyone’s childhood as a weapon.” 

After the conflict over what must happen to the rabbits, Robert’s relationship with his mother is brought to the forefront of the novel. The relationship between the two is strained: it suffers from her heavy drinking and his closed emotional state. After the death of Rowena, both Robert and his mother are negatively affected and take out their negativity on one another. Mrs. Ross's alcoholism is an open secret; the family is aware that she drinks too much, but no one has the temerity to confront her about it. Not only is she an alcoholic, but the drink brings forth her worst qualities. As is mentioned in the above quote, she weaponizes her children’s youth and uses memories from their childhoods to influence and control them. She is an emotional manipulator, switching back and forth between rage, pity, and compassion for Robert. She feigns sympathy for her son, who has been beaten up trying to protect the rabbits that she ordered killed. The looming threat of Robert running away to the war is becoming clearer to her and she tries to drag him back under her control. The effort is doomed, however. The death of Rowena shatters their relationship. 

“His name, however, was credential enough.” 

The role of Eugene Taffler in the novel is complicated. Not only is he a famous war hero with a tremendous amount of athletic ability, his story is among the most tragic. At the point when he is introduced to the text, Taffler has already been injured once. But rather than disabling him and preventing him from returning to the European theatre, this injury acts as a kind of credential. It adds to the myth and the legend of Eugene Taffler. This is an illustration of the difference between the early and the later stages of the war. At first, the myth and the legend—the idea of an honorable war—were still alive. Robert himself buys into the notion, using Taffler as a model for his own military experiences, a hero against which he can compare and contrast his own actions. After just a few months, Taffler did enough to be considered a hero. This was before people realized the length and the nature of the conflict at hand. Taffler’s mythology will become complicated by his sexuality and the loss of his arms; by establishing Taffler as the model soldier so early in the text, his eventual demise and his sexual complications will become even more pertinent. 

“Yes; Robert thought. And no. He had sort of a problem he couldn’t discuss.” 

Robert’s sexuality remains a subtext throughout the novel. In this scene, an encounter with a prostitute forces him to confront his sexual nature for the first time. Thus far in his life, he has been mildly disinterested in the women who surrounded him. The only real relationships he experiences with women (namely, Rowena) have been platonic and familial. When he is led into the bedroom, the tough and stoic exterior begins to fall apart. Robert becomes nervous and indecisive, thinking “yes” and “no” (42) in the same moment, slowly becoming aware of the “problem” (42) that happened on his journey up the stairs. Robert is caught between what he wants, what is expected of him, and the grim reality of what has already begun to occur. Just as will happen at the front, he must navigate this internal conflict and try to find a solution which satisfies him. His natural inclination to satisfy his base urges comes up against Ella’s overt sexuality, which is then complicated further by the reveal that Taffler is next door, engaged in a homosexual situation. Robert’s own self-image conflicts with his expectations of other people. His inability to discuss and navigate this conflict will form part of the reason why his career as a soldier ends so tragically. 

“Thousands were dying in battles over yards of mud.”

Though the text has already evidenced a strong anti-war sentiment, this becomes explicitly clear in the above quote. The futility of the First World War is made clear, in that the death and suffering experienced by the characters is all for a few “yards of mud” (46). The trade-off, the novel makes clear, is not worth it. As Robert spends more time on the front, the novel (and his worldview) takes a dimmer and increasingly nihilistic view of the world. The fighting is futile, but so is the concept of existing in a society which dedicates so much time, energy, and life to such a pursuit. Robert and his friends have been training to fight in a war in which they will die over nothing, all while the Generals bicker and argue over the correct way in which to command their poorly-executed battles. Contrast this with the hero-worship of men like Taffler and it becomes clear that the opinion of the war is beginning to evolve. When the true nature of life in the trenches becomes clear, any lingering romanticism over the war is gone. 

“Everything was in motion and the giant arms of the pistons drove the ship to a grinding tune that never ceased.” 

As the soldiers are shipped across the ocean to the front, the vessel on which they travel becomes a clattering, hellish metaphor for the war itself, as well as the wider society which has allowed the war to happen. The cramped, claustrophobic ship throws together men from all over the country, regardless of background or rank. Though the officers have better conditions, even they must share a room and wade through the piles of horse feces as they cross the Atlantic. The men are unhappy and can barely exist, but they are compelled to remain calm by a latent sense of duty or obligation. The “giant arms of the pistons drove the ship” (55) just as the machinations of geopolitics drive the war into increasingly nightmarish realms. The inevitable slide into war and the deaths of millions of men is accompanied by the “grinding tune that never ceased” (55). The ship is a note in that tune, while war itself is the overall song. The ship might seem like hell to the men at the moment, but it is only a taster for what it to come when they reach Europe. 

“Now it was a shallow sea of stinking grey from end to end. And this is where you fought the war.” 

There are many points throughout the novel where the descriptions of the battlefield are akin to descriptions of hell. This is one of the most literary examples. The alliteration of “shallow sea of stinking grey” (70) seems to hiss at the audience, hinting at the gas attacks and the smoking craters which litter the broken earth of the front. The mud is a constant theme in these scenes, as much an enemy as the Germans. The stinking of the mud is the stench of chlorine which has the power to poison the soldiers and blind their eyes. The ground itself is rebelling against their presence and has been infected with the evilness of the war. The seeping, sucking, clogging infestation which has turned the world into poisonous mud has the power to drown men and give them diseases. This contrasts with any ideas of glory that the men might have had back in Canada. The vicious reality of live amid the mud of Ypres and the surrounding battlefields is a crushing blow to the ambitions of even the most optimistic soldier. As the quote suggests, “This is where you fought the war” (70); an ugly, hellish war is fought on an ugly, hellish site. 

“We can thank our lucky stars that the Germans must be just as badly off as our poor chaps—or worse, if they’re deserting.” 

While at the front, Robert quickly begins to realize that the enemy are not some evil, malevolent force out to destroy him. Rather, the members of the opposing army are equally as prone to suffering and the harshness of the conditions. The Germans trenches, he believes, must be equally as bad as those of the Allies, simply because nothing good can exist on these battlefields. Given that the Germans are deserting their army, he reasons, the conditions might even be worse. The steady and gradual dehumanization of the enemy—an enemy which had previously existed on the other side of the ocean, thousands of miles away from Robert’s home—is not to be believed. The Germans, those shapeless enemies who were behind a thick, cloying fog, are human after all. This realization process is important and changes the dynamic of the war in Robert’s mind. It is no longer a fight against evil, but it is the story of soldiers on both sides who have been used by their countries and corrupted by war. This will be important when Robert is stuck in the crater following a gas attack. This ability to feel empathy for the enemy runs contrary to the expectations of the soldiers at the time and will ensure that Robert is not fit to fight on the front. 

“The dates are obscure here—but it must have been mid-January, 1916 since Robert’s tour of duty began on the 24th of that month.” 

There are points when the novel reads like a conventional text, taking a third person perspective and narrating events in a chronological order. But on occasion, the text steps back and reminds the reader of the overall structure of the novel. Quotes like the one above help to draw attention to the narrative structure, reminding the reader that they are playing the role of the historian who is slowly piecing together the life of Robert Ross. This is done by reviewing old photographs, documents, and other pieces of archival material. The problem with this approach is that large swathes of the details are projected onto the historical account. In matters of objectivity—such as dates, ranks, and locations—this is not an issue. When those objective details are not available, however, the novel reminds the reader of the unreliable nature of the narrative. The “dates are obscure” (89), though reasonable guesses can be made. This is true of every detail in the book and quotes such as the one listed above force the reader to confront an important issue: can they trust in the veracity of any parts of the story? More importantly, does the truth matter? By drawing attention to the flawed historicity of the novel, the text succeeds in prioritizing the emotional and thematic premises of the story over the veracity of minor details. The exact dates do not matter as much as the overall anti-war message. 

“When they’d gone Robert could feel the man in the bandages ‘screaming’ and the sensation of this silent agony at the other end of the room was finally so strong that Robert had to go and get one of the nurses. When she came and had administered some morphine she thanked him for his quick response.” 

The existence of Villiers is an ominous foreshadowing of what will happen to Robert later in the novel. Like Villiers, Robert will return to the continent and stay at the d’Orseys’ hospital to recover from the terrible burns which have afflicted his entire body. Like Villiers, he will be treated coldly by Barbara despite their earlier relationship and she will struggle to impart any humanity onto his condition. While this is unknown to the audience at this stage of the novel, the manner in which Robert empathizes with Villiers is important. He can recognize the extreme pain which Villiers is experiencing; with his imagination, he pieces together the emotional turmoil of trying to scream but not having a mouth which can vocalize the agony. At this stage, Villiers functions as a mirror image of Robert’s inability to vocalize his emotions, as well as a warning of what will happen to Robert if he continues along this path. 

“These are the circles—all drawing inward to the thing that Robert did.” 

Once again, the importance of the novel’s structure becomes apparent. Due to the wide variety of narrative modes employed by the author, the audience might begin to wonder the reasoning behind every decision, including the use of transcripts and photographs. The above quote reiterates the importance of every tiny detail. These overlapping stories are all “circles” (97); they are interconnected shapes and stories which come together to form the complete narrative of Robert’s time in the military. Like the circles, the different narrative modes are “all drawing inward to the thing that Robert did” (97), each one adding a new subtext or layer of sophistication to the event which will eventually come to define him. Even though the “thing” (97) is shrouded in mystery (despite being hinted at during the prologue), the audience’s understanding of Robert’s actions is becoming more and more informed, enlightened by the different perspectives provided by the different narrative modes. 

“In the meantime Robert and the others had to press forward. That was the rule. No one went back—even for a dying comrade.” 

Increasingly, the wretched hell of life on the front is revealed to the audience through Robert’s eyes. Every strand of the individual soldiers’ humanity is taken away from them. Not only are they not able to turn back and help a fallen comrade, but it is a commonly accepted rule translated into official doctrine. Army policy now dictates that injured men must be left, as there is no way in which they can further the war effort in their condition. This quote follows the detailed description of those who have been brutally murdered by life on the front line. Robert must lead his men closer and closer to the danger, ignoring all the obvious warning signs. He is institutionally forbidden from enacting his human tendencies. Thus, those they pass are condemned, becoming a vision of the living men’s futures. The rule of not being able to help fallen comrades speaks to how the brutality of the war has infected the command structure of the Allies on an institutional level and the callous way in which life is considered by those in charge. There is no room for even the thinnest shred of humanity on the front line of the war. 

“The fact of being loved was difficult: almost intolerable. Being loved was letting others feed from your resources—all you had of life was put in jeopardy.” 

Taking a break from the horrors of the trenches, the novel briefly switches back to life in Canada and finds the conditions of the Ross family to be equally wretched. At the center of this is Mrs. Ross, whose unaddressed dependency on alcohol has combined with the onset of dementia, accelerated by her grief at losing Robert to the war. Mrs. Ross begins to seek out storms and drinks heavily, surrounded by what is left of her family. The above quote provides some insight into why she was so cold and distant with her children. Mrs. Ross is afraid of being hurt, afraid of the weaknesses in her which will be exposed if she dares to love anyone. She is cruel to Robert and Rowena because she cannot risk opening herself up too much to their love, as she fears that this will make her weak. This fear of being hurt manifests as a desire to hurt others, especially those she loves. While this might not necessarily make her a more sympathetic character, it does help to explain the way in which she deals with her children and how they can come to resent her emotional manipulation.  

“There is an aspect of this interview which, alas, cannot survive transition onto paper—and that is the sound of Lady Juliet’s voice.” 

The interview with Lady Juliet is one of the more interesting variations in the narrative mode because it is imbued with so much subjectivity. As a transcript of an interview, the sections in which she discusses Robert’s life are not just viewed from her perspective, but they are injected with her character. At these points, the search for an objective truth falls away completely. Rather than trying to find an authentic and verified version of events as they occurred, the narrative depends on the diaries of a child, viewing events from her perspective, as well as the memories of that same person, now at the end of their life. Because of this, the text draws attention to the fact that it is impossible to capture every element of a subjective recollection. The sound of Lady Juliet’s voice, as pointed out in the above quote, forms part of the manner in which she recounts the story. The sound of her voice is an influence, a signifier which dictates how Robert’s life is remembered. In text form, this voice can only be hinted toward, rather than exactly detailed. The novel is demonstrating that its own form is unreliable and not able to present the full range of details. But, once again, these details are not important when compared to overall tenor and ideology of the text. 

“So far, you have read the deaths of 557,017 people—one of whom was killed by a streetcar, one of whom died of bronchitis and one of whom died in a barn with her rabbits.” 

The novel has focused on the life of Robert Ross and how the horrors of the First World War have affected him on a personal level. From this experience, the novel extrapolates an anti-war theme and suggests to the audience that the First World War as a hellish and dehumanizing experience. While these have been based on individual stories and anecdotes, the nature of the narrative allows the text to step back from the main story to remind the reader of the horrific scale of the destruction detailed in the novel. In the above quote, for example, exact figures are given for the number of people who have died during the course of the events described in the book. More than half a million lives have been lost. This combination of the individual and societal loss helps to reinforce the overall anti-war theme of the text. However, there is another element to the quote which folds into the central theme. The exact number of the dead does not only include those who have died on the battlefield. It also includes those who have died back in Canada, people such as Rowena who “died in a barn with her rabbits” (147). The equivocation of these deaths with those on the battlefield suggests that the war is not just limited to the frontlines but is the symptom of a wider societal illness which has led to this moment in time. Those who died in Canada are victims of the same war, even if they were not fighting on the same fronts. 

“He did not really know where he was.” 

The displacement of Robert Ross is one of the core themes of the text. He is lost in both a physical and a metaphysical sense. After the death of Rowena, he signed up to the military in the hope that this would teach him about his true self. After leaving behind Barbara, he wanders through the French countryside with no idea of where he is heading. He pushes the thoughts of his mother from his mind, desperate to be unanchored to a self-identity which he loathes. Robert knows who he does not want to be, even if he does not know who he wants to be. Likewise, Robert knows where he does not want to be, but this lack of direction has only brought him into worse and worse places. Not wanting to be in Canada, for example, has brought him to one of the worst places on Earth. Robert is perpetually lost. He is disoriented and filled with dread. Even though the countryside around him is peaceful, making it seem strange that such a hellish war could be happening in the same place, this is juxtaposed against Robert’s inner turmoil. He has lost his kitbag, one of the few remaining links to a functioning identity. It carries his socks and underwear (the clothes he owns which do not have military signifiers) and his gun (bought for him by his father). Robert is far, far removed from his comfort zone and is lost in every way. His life is directionless, and he is unable to recognize even the most reliable signposts of his existence. 

“He seemed like a fugitive.” 

After such a long time travelling around the hinterlands of France, searching for his purpose, Robert has lost every frame of reference he once possessed. He no longer feels human enough to venture down to the lobby of the hotel and interact with his fellow guests. It is not just his unshaven face and his lack of clean undergarments; the war has changed him completely and robbed him of the civil qualities he once believed himself to possess. Standing in front of the mirror in his hotel room, naked and freed from his military clothes, Robert scrutinizes himself. After a close inspection of his body, he decides that he feels like a “fugitive” (151). He likens himself to a man on the run, a criminal who has committed terrible deeds. After his experiences in the trenches, this is now how he self-conceptualizes; he considers himself the perpetrator of some unnamed crime, someone who must be punished. This is a realization of the guilt that he has internalized; Robert has almost reached the nadir of his self-loathing and blames himself for what has happened, not just to Rowena, but to the world as a whole. 

“His assailants, who he’d thought were crazies, had been his fellow soldiers. Maybe even his brother officers. He’d never know. He never saw their faces.” 

After being raped in the baths, Robert comes to the realization that the men who have attacked him are not the clinically insane inmates of the asylum. Rather, they are his fellow soldiers. They dress and speak just like him, they have lived the same experiences. The incident then demands that the reader ask the question: What is the difference between the soldiers and the insane? These men may have been rapists before the war, or they may have been driven mad by the situation in which the world has suddenly found itself. Are these men products of their environment or is this environment a product of these men? Robert is forced to come to terms with his sexual assault, a violation of his being that mirrors what Juliet saw when she barged in on Robert having sex with Barbara. The rape is a vicious, quick, and punishing display of directionless brutality coupled with the futility of life. In a moment, Robert is transformed; he is relaxed and becoming acquainted with his own humanity and, in a brief flash, this serenity is obliterated. He has no chance to fight back. The situation was impossible, unfair, and unjustified. It is just a sudden burst of random violence which forever alters his life. In that respect, the rape becomes an extension of the violence found elsewhere on the front. It is random, vicious, and life-changing. There is nothing that can be done to fight back. All hope is gone and all that remains is nihilism.  

“Not yet.” 

As is purposefully alluded to within the text, this phrase functions as a summation of Robert’s character. Robert is offered an overdose of morphine—the chance for to escape the unbearable amount of pain that he has endured after being caught in the burning barn. Like Villiers, Robert can barely talk. He struggles to vocalize and cannot reveal to those around him exactly how extreme the agony has become. When he is offered the morphine, he summons up the strength to response. He tells the nurse “not yet” (175), which is neither acceptance nor refusal of the offer. The two words are loaded with characterization: there is the tacit acceptance of the offer, which is an acknowledgement of the necessity of the act; there is the sense of duty which is indicated, the hint that there is something more than Robert must accomplish before he can relinquish his grip on life; and there is the acceptance of mortality, Robert’s awareness that he will inevitably die and that he is only delaying that moment slightly longer. Though Robert did not succeed in saving the animals, there are relationships in his life which can be repaired. He can attempt, at least, to speak to Barbara or his mother. That Barbara loses interest in him and that his mother has succumb to dementia are not relevant at this moment in time. Even in his state of extreme pain, Robert believes he has a responsibility to the world, and he cannot give up until he has at least attempted to satisfy this urge. 

“The spaces between the perceiver and the thing perceived can … be closed with a shout of recognition. One form of a shout is a shot. Nothing so completely verifies our perception of a thing as our killing of it.” 

In a novel which has been so beholden to the perspectives of other people, the epilogue closing with a quote from an external character seems apt. The quote functions as a summation of the novel, not just in terms of the meaning of its words, but in its literary function. In explicit terms, the audience’s perception of Robert is verified at the moment of his death: he was an innocent man and he met his end trying to save horses and mules from the horrors inflicted on them by man. The wounds he sustained in doing so end his functional life as well as his military career. Our perception of Robert’s innocence is verified by his wounds; our perception of Robert’s military career is verified by his court martial. In this sense, the quote carries a weight of meaning which is appropriate to the text. However, in a metaphorical sense, the quote carries additional meaning. After a series of different perspectives which have allowed the audience to grasp the complicated nature of Robert’s character, it is only through one final perspective that the audience is able to neatly tie everything together. It is an additional reminder of the inevitability of subjectivity and the impossible nature of the objective perspective.