Gertz, Bill:Enemies: How America's Foes Steal Our Vital Secrets--and How We Let It Happen
- Livres de poche 2014, ISBN: 9780307338051
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Plume. Good. 5.37 x 0.66 x 8.07 inches. Paperback. 1993. 251 pages. Cover worn.<br>The trilogy is trying to tell something about the parts of war that don't get into the offici… Plus…
Plume. Good. 5.37 x 0.66 x 8.07 inches. Paperback. 1993. 251 pages. Cover worn.<br>The trilogy is trying to tell something about the parts of war that don't get into the official accounts ?Pat Barker The first book of the Regeneration Trilogy and a Bo oker Prize nominee In 1917 Siegfried Sasson, noted poet and deco rated war hero, publicly refused to continue serving as a British officer in World War I. His reason: the war was a senseless slau ghter. He was officially classified mentally unsound and sent to Craiglockhart War Hospital. There a brilliant psychiatrist, Dr. W illiam Rivers, set about restoring Sassoon's sanity and sending h im back to the trenches. This novel tells what happened as only a novel can. It is a war saga in which not a shot is fired. It is a story of a battle for a man's mind in which only the reader can decide who is the victor, who the vanquished, and who the victim . One of the most amazing feats of fiction of our time, Regnerat ion has been hailed by critics across the globe. As August 2014 m arks the 100-year anniversary of World War I, this book is as tim ely and relevant as ever. Editorial Reviews Review R egeneration, one in Pat Barker's series of novels confronting the psychological effects of World War I, focuses on treatment metho ds during the war and the story of a decorated English officer se nt to a military hospital after publicly declaring he will no lon ger fight. Yet the novel is much more. Written in sparse prose th at is shockingly clear -- the descriptions of electronic treatmen ts are particularly harrowing -- it combines real-life characters and events with fictional ones in a work that examines the insan ity of war like no other. Barker also weaves in issues of class a nd politics in this compactly powerful book. Other books in the s eries include The Eye in the Door and the Booker Award winner The Ghost Road. Review Centers on military psychiatrist Dr. William Rivers, whose mission is to restore shell-shocked soldiers to sa nity so that they may return to the insanity of World War I trenc h warfare. -- Forbes, Malcom S. Forbes Jr. About the Author PAT BARKER has earned a place in the first rank of contemporary Briti sh writers with such novels as Union Street, Regeneration (shortl isted for Britain's prestigious Booker Prize and chosen by the Ne w York Times as one of the four best novels of 1992), The Eye in the Door (winner of the 1993 Guardian fiction prize), and The Gho st Road (winner of the 1995 Booker Prize). The latter three novel s are available in Dutton hardcover and Plume paperback editions. Pat Barker lives in Durham, England. Excerpt. ® Reprinted by pe rmission. All rights reserved. Part 1 1 Finished with the War A Soldier's Declaration I am making this statement as an act of w ilful defiance of military authority, because I believe the war i s being deliberately prolonged by those who have the power to end it. I am a soldier, convinced that I am acting on behalf of sold iers. I believe that this war, upon which I entered as a war of d efence and liberation, has now become a war of aggression and con quest. I believe that the purposes for which I and my fellow sold iers entered upon this war should have been so clearly stated as to have made it impossible to change them, and that, had this bee n done, the objects which actuated us would now be attainable by negotiation. I have seen and endured the suffering of the troops, and I can no longer be a party to prolong these sufferings for e nds which I believe to be evil and unjust. I am not protesting ag ainst the conduct of the war, but against the political errors an d insincerities for which the fighting men are being sacrificed. On behalf of those who are suffering now I make this protest agai nst the deception which is being practised on them; also I believ e that I may help to destroy the callous complacence with which t he majority of those at home regard the continuance of agonies wh ich they do not share, and which they have not sufficient imagina tion to realize. S. Sassoon July 1917 Bryce waited for Rivers t o finish reading before he spoke again. ?The S stands for Siegfri ed. Apparently, he thought that was better left out.' ?And I'm su re he was right.' Rivers folded the paper and ran his fingertips along the edge. ?So they're sending him here?' Bryce smiled. ?Oh, I think it's rather more specific than that. They're sending him to you.' Rivers got up and walked across to the window. It was a fine day, and many of the patients were in the hospital grounds, watching a game of tennis. He heard the pok-pok of rackets, and a cry of frustration as a ball smashed into the net. ?I suppose h e is - shell-shocked?' ?According to the Board, yes.' ?It just oc curs to me that a diagnosis of neurasthenia might not be inconven ient confronted with this.' He held up the Declaration. ?Colonel Langdon chaired the Board. He certainly seems to think he is.' ?L angdon doesn't believe in shell-shock.' Bryce shrugged. ?Perhaps Sassoon was gibbering all over the floor.' ?Funk, old boy. I know Langdon.' Rivers came back to his chair and sat down. ?He doesn' t sound as if he's gibbering, does he?' Bryce said carefully, ?Do es it matter what his mental state is? Surely it's better for him to be here than in prison?' ?Better for him, perhaps. What about the hospital? Can you imagine what our dear Director of Medical Services is going to say, when he finds out we're sheltering conc hies as well as cowards, shirkers, scrimshankers and degenerates? We'll just have to hope there's no publicity.' ?There's going to be, I'm afraid. The Declaration's going to be read out in the Ho use of Commons next week.' ?By?' ?Lees-Smith.' Rivers made a dism issive gesture. ?Yes, well, I know. But it still means the press. ' ?And the minister will say that no disciplinary action has been taken, because Mr Sassoon is suffering from a severe mental brea kdown, and therefore not responsible for his actions. I'm not sur e I'd prefer that to prison.' ?I don't suppose he was offered the choice. Will you take him?' ?You mean I am being offered a choic e?' ?In view of your case load, yes.' Rivers took off his glasses and swept his hand down across his eyes. ?I suppose they have re membered to send the file?' Sassoon leant out of the carriage wi ndow, still half-expecting to see Graves come pounding along the platform, looking even more dishevelled than usual. But further d own the train, doors had already begun to slam, and the platform remained empty. The whistle blew. Immediately, he saw lines of me n with grey muttering faces clambering up the ladders to face the guns. He blinked them away. The train began to move. Too late fo r Robert now. Prisoner arrives without escort, Sassoon thought, s liding open the carriage door. By arriving an hour early he'd man aged to get a window seat. He began picking his way across to it through the tangle of feet. An elderly vicar, two middle-aged men , both looking as if they'd done rather well out of the war, a yo ung girl and an older woman, obviously travelling together. The t rain bumped over a point. Everybody rocked and swayed, and Sassoo n, stumbling, almost fell into the vicar's lap. He mumbled an apo logy and sat down. Admiring glances, and not only from the women. Sassoon turned to look out of the window, hunching his shoulder against them all. After a while he stopped pretending to look at the smoking chimneys of Liverpool's back streets and closed his e yes. He needed to sleep, but instead Robert's face floated in fro nt of him, white and twitching as it had been last Sunday, almost a week ago now, in the lounge of the Exchange Hotel. For a mome nt, looking up to find that khaki-clad figure standing just insid e the door, he thought he was hallucinating again. ?Robert, what on earth are you doing here?' He jumped up and ran across the lou nge. ?Thank God you've come.' ?I got myself passed fit.' ?Robert, no.' ?What else could I do? After getting this.' Graves dug into his tunic pocket and produced a crumpled piece of paper. ?A cove ring letter would have been nice.' ?I wrote.' ?No, you didn't, Sa ss. You just sent me this. Couldn't you at least have talked abou t it first?' ?I thought I'd written.' They sat down, facing each other across a small table. Cold northern light streamed in throu gh the high windows, draining Graves's face of the little colour it had. ?Sass, you've got to give this up.' ?Give it up? You don' t think I've come this far, do you, just to give in now?' ?Look, you've made your protest. For what it's worth, I agree with every word of it. But you've had your say. There's no point making a m artyr of yourself.' ?The only way I can get publicity is to make them court-martial me.' ?They won't do it.' ?Oh, yes, they will. It's just a matter of hanging on.' ?You're in no state to stand a court-martial.' Graves clasped his clenched fist. ?If I had Russ ell here now, I'd shoot him.' ?It was my idea.' ?Oh, pull the oth er one. And even if it was, do you think anybody's going to under stand it? They'll just say you've got cold feet.' ?Look, Robert, you think exactly as I do about the war, and you do ... nothing. All right, that's your choice. But don't come here lecturing me a bout cold feet. This is the hardest thing I've ever done.' Now, on the train going to Craiglockhart, it still seemed the hardest thing. He shifted in his seat and sighed, looking out over fields of wheat bending to the wind. He remembered the silvery sound of shaken wheat, the shimmer of light on the stalks. He'd have give n anything to be out there, away from the stuffiness of the carri age, the itch and constriction of his uniform. On that Sunday th ey'd taken the train to Formby and spent the afternoon wandering aimlessly along the beach. A dull, wintry-looking sun cast their shadows far behind them, so that every gesture either of them mad e was mimicked and magnified. ?They won't let you make a martyr o f yourself, Sass. You should have accepted the Board.' The discus sion had become repetitive. For perhaps the fourth time, Sassoon said, ?If I hold out long enough, there's nothing else they can d o.' ?There's a lot they can do.' Graves seemed to come to a decis ion. ?As a matter of fact, I've been pulling a few strings on you r behalf.' Sassoon smiled to hide his anger. ?Good. If you've bee n exercising your usual tact, that ought to get me at least two y ears.' ?They won't court-martial you.' In spite of himself, Sasso on began to feel afraid. ?What, then?' ?Shut you up in a lunatic asylum for the rest of the war.' ?And that's the result of your s tring-pulling, is it? Thanks.' ?No, the result of my string-pulli ng is to get you another Board. You must take it this time.' ?You can't put people in lunatic asylums just like that. You have to have reasons.' ?They've got reasons.' ?Yes, the Declaration. Well , that doesn't prove me insane.' ?And the hallucinations? The cor pses in Piccadilly?' A long silence. ?I had rather hoped my lette rs to you were private.' ?I had to persuade them to give you anot her Board.' ?They won't court-martial me?' ?No. Not in any circum stances. And if you go on refusing to be boarded, they will put y ou away.' ?You know, Robert, I wouldn't believe this from anybody else. Will you swear it's true?' ?Yes.' ?On the Bible?' Graves h eld up an imaginary Bible and raised his right hand. ?I swear.' T heir shadows stretched out behind them, black on the white sand. For a moment Sassoon still hesitated. Then, with an odd little ga sp, he said, ?All right then, I'll give way.' In the taxi, going to Craiglockhart, Sassoon began to feel frightened. He looked ou t of the window at the crowded pavements of Princes Street, think ing he was seeing them for the first and last time. He couldn't i magine what awaited him at Craiglockhart, but he didn't for a mom ent suppose the inmates were let out. He glanced up and found the taxi-driver watching him in the mirror. All the local people mus t know the name of the hospital, and what it was for. Sassoon's h and went up to his chest and began pulling at a loose thread wher e his MC ribbon had been. For conspicuous gallantry during a rai d on the enemy's trenches. He remained for 1 hours under rifle an d bomb fire collecting and bringing in our wounded. Owing to his courage and determination, all the killed and wounded were brough t in. Reading the citation, it seemed to Rivers more extraordinar y than ever that Sassoon should have thrown the medal away. Even the most extreme pacifist could hardly be ashamed of a medal awar ded for saving life. He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. He'd been working on the file for over an hour, but, although he was now confident he knew all the facts, he was no closer to an understanding of Sassoon's state of mind. If anything, Graves's e vidence to the Board - with its emphasis on hallucinations - seem ed to suggest a full-blown psychosis rather than neurasthenia. An d yet there was no other evidence for that. Misguided the Declara tion might well be, but it was not deluded, illogical or incohere nt. Only the throwing away of the medal still struck him as odd. That surely had been the action of a man at the end of his tether . Well, we've all been there, he thought. The trouble was, he was finding it difficult to examine the evidence impartially. He wan ted Sassoon to be ill. Admitting this made him pause. He got up a nd began pacing the floor of his room, from door to window and ba ck again. He'd only ever encountered one similar case, a man who' d refused to go on fighting on religious grounds. Atrocities took place on both sides, he'd said. There was nothing to choose betw een the British and the Germans. The case had given rise to heate d discussions in the MO's common room - about the freedom of the individual conscience in wartime, and the role of the army psychi atrist in ?treating' a man who refused to fight. Rivers, listenin g to those arguments, had been left in no doubt of the depth and seriousness of the divisions. The controversy had died down only when the patient proved to be psychotic. That was the crux of the matter. A man like Sassoon would always be trouble, but he'd be a lot l, Plume, 1993, 2.5, Crown Forum. Used - Very Good. Very Good condition. Very Good dust jacket. A copy that may have a few cosmetic defects. May also contain a few markings such as an owners name, short gifters inscription or light stamp., Crown Forum, 3<