As I
continue to research the complex issue of Sir Thomas Malory’s sources I’ve also
been spelling myself with some contemporary fiction, in particular the new
novel Youngblood by Matt
Gallagher. For once the manifold good
reviews are accurate. It’s an
extraordinary book, even better than most of the critics are crediting.
The setting
is Iraq, primarily Ashuriyah, just before the end of the American
occupation. The narrator is an army
lieutenant and a platoon leader. It is
war fiction, and like the greatest works of that kind, from War and Peace to A Farewell to Arms to The
Things They Carried, it is suis-generis in spite of the conventional linear
structure of the narrative. Initially, story
is propelled by a mystery, indeed that’s
what it first appears to be, in spite of its surprising setting, and though
Gallaher’s canvas is edged with multiple modernist and post-modernist
conventions, they are properly seen as
much a part of the temporal setting as the desert and burning sun are part of
the physical setting. Gallagher has
deeper, more interesting concerns: the
struggle to lead others in a context fraught with ambiguity and moral conflict,
the interaction of disparate cultures and the nature of character itself. They are some of the best and most important
subjects for fiction and of course are timeless.
And he has a
gift for creating memorable, engaging characters. There are many and yet all are well
differentiated and believable. His
narrator, in particular, is self-effacing, contemporary and interestingly
self-conscious and perspicacious. In
that regard, he is reminiscent of Patrick Kenzie in Denis Lehane’s
Kenzie/Gennaro mysteries. Gallaher also
has a fine sense of scene. I never find
myself asking why a scene exists or if it has gone on too long. Writers with such skill are sometimes called
a writer’s writer and the epithet is well deserved in this case. Here’s a favorite paragraph which shows just
how good Gallagher’s writing is:
I
wanted to agree with him. I wanted us to
absolve ourselves of blame, deflect the accountability elsewhere. I wanted to chalk up the ruin we’d wrought to
something unknowable, like providence, or chance, or bureaucracy. But something inside implored me not to. That’s too easy, it said. Be stubborn.
Fight for understanding.
Boy, I wish
I’d written that last sentence. Anyone
who has ever led others with good will has felt that way.
Of course,
because of my immediate concerns I can’t help but find myself juxtaposing and
contrasting it to Le Morte d’Arthur
but also Lermentov. Gallagher’s Jack
Porter’s situation has much in common with Pechorin’s, and they face similar
dramatic issues and tensions in spite of their significant differences in
character, particularly their moral values.
Indeed, the two make for a fine comparison of the way alienation
expresses itself in occupying forces living within an alien Islamic
culture. There’s a very interesting and
enjoyable critical essay there.
However,
Malory, and other concerns call. Suffice
it to say, it may well be one of the very best novels to come out of the
conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan and, given the recent competition, that is
saying a lot. The final words of Patton’s
war horse of a poem come to mind,
So as through a glass, and darkly
The age long strife I see
Where I fought in many guises,
Many names, but always me.
And I see not in my blindness
What the objects were I wrought,
But as God rules o'er our bickerings
It was through His will I fought.
So forever in the future,
Shall I battle as of yore,
Dying to be born a fighter,
But to die again, once more.
I should
mention that I came to Youngblood
via “The Hawaii Project” (www.thehawaiiproject.com)
which not only recommended the book to me one morning but pointed me to a
diverse set of reviews that convinced me I needed to read it. It really is an exceptional way to find
exceptional books. I also feel a deep
sense of appreciation for Mr. Gallagher for writing such an extraordinarily
good book.
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