It is really an
admirable epitome of the War as seen through one pair of eyes and one
particular temperament. I don't recall another War novel that is so
convincing. The almost incredible confusions of the early days of the
making of K.'s army; the gradual shaping of the great instrument; the
comradeship of fine spirits and the intrigues of meaner; leadership good
and less good; action with its energy, glory and horror; reaction (with
incidentally a most moving analysis of the agonies of shell-shock and
protracted neurasthenia) after the long strain of campaigning--all this is
brought before you in the most vivid manner. Mr. GILBERT FRANKAU writes
with a fierce sincerity and with perhaps the defects of that sincerity--a
bitterness against the non-combatant which was not usual in the fighting-
man, at least when he was fighting; or perhaps it was only that they were
too kind then to say so. Also as "one of us" he is a little overwhelmed by
the sterling qualities of the rank-and-file--qualities which ought, he
would be inclined to assume, to be the exclusive product of public-school
playing-fields.
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