So long and thanks for all the fish...

I would just like to say so long and thank you for blogging to the whole group. I truly enjoyed our little dialectics, and I learned a lot from everyone. My paper would have suffered greatly without this project.
Thanks to all
Kristina

The Devilish Conclave

In this fashion began the orgy of bloodshed which is now looked upon as the second phase of the Battle of the Somme, three agonizing months during which divisions, 'fattened up' in back areas on quiet sectors, were brought up into the line to dissipate in one wild day the strength built up during the previous months.
[...]
Curzon worked with grim determination during those three months. There was always pressure to be applied to someone--transport officers who said that a thing could not be done, major-generals who flinched from exposing their divisions to some fresh ordeal, artillery colonels who pleaded that their men were on the point of exhaustion. He did his duty with all his nerve and all his strength, as was his way, while the higher command looked on him with growing approval; he was a man after their own heart, who allowed no consideration to impede him in the execution of his orders.
-p.196


Curzon is the kind of fear that we face in frank truth from the start. His monstrosities are carefully noted (see various intermittent blog points, the novel), the geography of his bad personhood without mystery. There is an implicit, greater fear dripping down the spine of the text: the higher command. They don't get much screen time, but the time they are there they spend smiling loving mafioso smiles on their protege, basking in the warm glow of their legacy, seeming to feed on if not having set motion to these events. The horrors Curzon performs, glazed with clinical euphemism (most notably, consideration...that is, the death of thousands), grim already because it is his life's purpose to perform them, are grimmer in having been ordained, more joyfully generated by that ominous circle of heads, the guys who are above him because they love it more than he does.
Forrester is a master of insinuation, having put in the spotlight the worst kind of English citizen, the kind of man who started the war...then gently having flicked a few rays on the peripheral certainty that it gets worse than this. That Curzon is not the nucleus of the horror, that there are forces such that he himself is merely workhorse for them.
That is fear.
That is the Combine.

Would Cecil F. have prefered to be Cecil B. ?

In a comment on a previous post, someone asked whether Forester would have prefered to be a director, or at the very least stayed in the medium of film, given his view about the tedious nature of writing. I honestly think the answere is no. If you want to read about his involvement with Hollywood, look here. I read an article in the archives of the Globe and Mail detailing his frustration over the casting of the movie version of Hornblower. From it, and other sources, I would guess the reasons why to be 1) He did not like the politics of Hollywood. 2) He had no interest in creating the visual/audio/ artistic part of film. 3) He saw Hollywood as a means to an end: allowed him the money to be able to live how he wanted and allowed him to participate in the war (Hollywood propaganda effort). Further proof is that he rarely did anything for Hollywood that was not an adaptation of something he had written as a novel or short story first. (P.S. : Olivier never played Hornblower. The movie wasn't made for 11 more years. Eventually, the honour went to Gregory Peck in 1951, while the year he was suppose to star in the Forester picture, Olivier starred instead in a film called "That Hamilton Woman". What was his character's name? Horatio. Photos are left: Olivier, right: Peck)
Here is the G&M bit:
"there's a neat bit of adroit skullduggery behind Warner's formal announcement that Laurence Olivier is to star in "Captain Horation Hornblower". C.S. Forester, author of the story, was hired by the studio to write the screen version. When Forester reported at the studio he was told that Errol Flynn Would be starred in the picture. Mr. Forester was not particularly happy about that, because, knowing the character of his brainchild inside out, he did not think Hornblower was the type that could be correctly portayed by Flynn. He even made such a suggestion to the studio executives, who listened with all deference due to an author pedigree and then quietly replied: "We understand how you feel, nevertheless..."
So Mr. Forester went back to his office and wen to work on a script for the film version. The script turned out to be one that wouldn't suit Flynn at all. Mr. Forester knew he was turning out a script that wouldn't fit Flynn-- and the studio knew it too-- because after they read it, they sent for Olivier. The Globe and Mail, April 30, 1940.

I Am The Very Model of an Antiquated General

Here is my epitaph for Curzon. Inspired by the title of the Times review from 1936, I rewrote the words to the wonderful tune "I am The Very Model of a Modern Major General" by G & S. I think this version better captures Curzon. Here is the link to the real lyrics.

I am the very model of an antiquated General
Tho’ I’ve information vegetable, animal, and mineral
I’ve never met his highness, but I know the fights historical
From Volksgate down to Ypr-es, in the order paradoxical

I’m very well acquainted, too, with matters veterinarian
I understand those ponies, and their diets vegetarian
About the proper bridal, I am teeming with a lot of news
(with many cheerful facts about the proper way to pick their shoes)rep 3

I’m very good at knowing all the differ-ences titular
I know the proper duties of a Gener-al Staff Officer
(But short in matters reasonable, tactical and practical
I am the very model of an antiquated General.) rep


I know the Stoic histor-y, from Horace to Aurelius
Tho’ in quotidian uses they can be a bit cantankerous
I quote the many Latin texts, particularly Regulus
Tho’ I’ll be damned if I can know just what those Romans want from us

I can tell undoubtedly a mammal from a mammary
Tho’ the duties of a husband do confound me more than husbandry
In matters of the cavl’ry, there is nil I have not seen before
(While in between the sheets, I have not yet secured a descent score) rep 3

Then, I will relay to one and all the details of my lineage
As long as no one asks to meet the vestige of my parentage
(But short in maters, reasonable, tactical and practical,
I am the very model of an antiquated General. ) rep

In fact, when I know what is meant by "suffering" and "empathy"
When I can tell at sight a trifling trauma from a tragedy
When such affairs as slaughters and demises I'm more wary at
And when I know precisely what is meant by "more compassionate"

When I have learnt what progress has been made in modern gunnery
When I know more of trenches than a novice in a nunnery
In short, when I've a smattering of un-Edwarj’in strategy
(You'll say, by gum, a better General has never sat a gee)rep 3

For my military knowledge, though I'm plucky and adventury
Has only been brought down to the beginning of the century
For still, in matters reasonable, tactical, and practical
I am the very model of an antiquated General.

The General in The Military Today (w/o Chapters 10 and 13)

Even though academics seemed determined to ignore this books, it seems the United States military is not. I found a course syllabus from last year: NATIONAL SECURITY DESCISION MAKING STUDY, from the United States Naval War college, which seems to be a course designed to instruct officers on exactly what the title suggests. What is the only fiction book on the reading list? Why it is "The General" by C.S. Forester.

This is what the syllabus had to say as to why the book was included:
The case study for this session describes a British Army officer’s rapid ascent from a relatively junior officer to one of the more senior leaders during World War I. The General by C.S. Forester is a work of fiction, but is based upon the author’s observations of actual British military leaders. In fact, the protagonist General Curzon is thought to represent a composite portrait of Generals French and Haig who were widely criticized well after the war by their contemporaries and historians for their unimaginative leadership in the trench warfare that characterized the Western Front in World War I. There are several themes that will be addressed in the seminar discussions of this case study. One is the changing nature of the protagonist’s responsibilities as he rose to a strategic leadership position. Another is the wisdom of the general’s instinctive reliance—even after he had arrived at the most senior levels—upon the same decision making and implementation skills that brought him success in the early stages of his military career.

However, being that it is the United States Military, the book could only be included with the following disclaimer:

Notes on The General: Curzon sometimes expresses racial stereotypes and uses terms that are offensive and clearly not endorsed by the Naval War College. Specifically, such terms are found in Chapter 10 and Chapter 13 in the edition of The General issued to students. Students may omit pages 95 and 130 from the required reading. Those who choose to do so will not find the value of the book or this session diminished.

Source:
http://66.102.7.104/search?q=cache:590zJAqM540J:www.nwc.navy.mil/nsdm/NSDM%2520CNC%26S%2520
Spring%252005%2520all.pdf+Curzon+AND+Forester&hl=en

Talk With C.S. Forester: (New York Times)

Share and share alike: here is a transcript of an interview with C.S. Forester that appeared in the New York Times. The highlights are his description of his writing process, as well as his definition of an adventure novel (see the last paragraph):
Talk With C.S. Forester
By Harvey Breit
New York Times, April 6, 1952, page BR16

Riding up the elevator to meet C.S. Forester, one might have had a reasonably high expectancy that he was about to say hello to a celebrant—of the secular variety of course. Mr. Forester had a brand-new Hornblower novel between boards, this time called “Captain Hornblower”. And the film, “The African Queen”, based quite scrupulously on Mr. Forester’s novel, was having a splendid life in the cinema houses. No celebrant, though, Mr. Forester. If anything, he looked glum and even forlorn.
He lit a cigarette, propped up a couple of pillows at the head of his bed and sprawled. It was discernible that the 52-year old Mr. Forester, though enveloped in a heavy bathrobe, was bony to a fineness.
“I have a funny, unprotected feeling,” he started right in, thereby justifying first impressions. Mr. Forester looked off for a long, soft moment, then looked at his visitor for a swift, scrutinizing one. “It’s the first time,” he then said, “I haven’t either a job or a book going in thirty years. It gives me a queer, unprotected feeling. I wonder about how my book is going to go. When you’re putting down 100 words every day, you don’t care too much about the notices and the sales.”
Why wasn’t there a job? “I came to New York because of a job. There has been a good deal of publicity about it—that I was going to write a Navy history for television. Well, this week we mutually decided not to go on with it, the network and myself. So I’m out a job before I had it.”
Why wasn’t there a book going? “I thought,” Mr. Forester explained, “I’d be working on the Navy history. But I’m leaving New York and I’ll start right in soon as I leave.”
Was it always 1,000 words? “One thousand words more or less is a fixed minimum. I find the actual writing a toilsome bore. The only way to get it done is to set your course for a given number of words every day. If tomorrow is just as good as today, then three weeks go by, and before you know it… You just have to go ahead each morning and get the miserable thing done.”
Mr. Forester was still a British subject? “My son’s are American,” he replied, “One of them is in the navy and I give you three guesses what his nickname is”. Was it Horatio? Mr. Forester looked a bit downcast. “Hornblower”, he muttered. “I must say he has got a sensible idea about it, and laughs at it. I don’t know why it is that writing a best seller makes you an object of contempt for the younger generation. My sons are all terribly superior to me. They write difficult verse.”
It wasn’t true, was it that Mr. Forester (along with his gifted collaborators, John Huston and James Agee), was going to do a sequel to “The African Queen”, called “The African King”? No, it wasn’t true. Was it all right to spike such a report? “Please do spike the rumor”, Mr. Forester said with a show of enthusiasm. “I never saw the phrase, I never heard the phrase, until I read it in some newspaper reports”. It wasn’t true was it, that Mr. Forester had written the African Queen without having been to Africa? No, it wasn’t true. “Though,” he added, “I’d never been near the Rain Forest. I wrote “The Queen” in 1934. I remember it so well. One morning in London I saw my agent, who is still my friend. He told me a big London Paper had got a new bee in its bonnet. It was going to run serials from Monday through Friday, in five episodes.”
Mr. Forester said episodes. “Had I any ideas?” he continued, “They were paying good money. No, I didn’t have any. I got on the back car of my train and before I’d reached the head car the whole story started forming and was completely in my mind. I didn’t bother to go home. If you’ve read the original script I dare say you may be able to detect the five climaxes. Later, I expanded it to the novel.”
How did Mr. Forester live? Or, rather where did he live? “In California. That’s my home permanent. I lead a very nice life. June in England, October in New York and the rest in California, which I think—I really do—is the ideal life.”
Had he found the movies a bad thing? “Oh no, no, no,” Mr. Forester exclaimed. “When I was a young man it provided the money that set me free to do what I wanted.”
A final question: What was an adventure novel? “I don’t like analyzing myself,” Mr. Forester said, “but recently I’ve come to an interesting conclusion. I rather fancy most authors think of a character and then they think of what he would do. While I think of something to be done and then think of the most interesting character who could do it.”
Perhaps that did define something?
“Yes, “Mr. Forester said with positiveness, “I think it defines the adventure novel.”

New York Times: A Review of The General

On March 1, 1936, a review of The General appeared in the New York Times on page BR3, by C.G. Poore. The Article was titled "For He Is the Very Model of a Modern-Major General", a play on a line from the Gilbert and Sullivan Opera The Pirates of Penzance. Here are some intersting bits from this review:
"The post-war world that long ago agreed to the proposition that "generals die in bed" will appreciate Mr. Forester's sardonic and unsparing portrait of a self-made Englishman of war."

"Curzon[...] fundamentally belongs to all countries. In fact, he probably belongs to the ages, and they can have him whether they like it or not"

"No one would suppose that Mr. Forester took so many telling details out of thin air, certainly. And if that is true, the man or men who unwittingly sat to Mr. Forester have plenty of reason for a touch of choler."

"The book is an expandid portait without the full, rounded presentation the novel [as a form] demands."

"An though Mr. Forester fully describes Curzon's unthawed love for this wife, you realize that he has shirked his duties as a novelist in never bringing on the scene the cheery young woman that had beguiled his past."

"It may be that more men than women will be interested in Mr. Forester's longish descriptions of the mechanics of slaughter."

"Other [writers] have made the effects of war on man more compellingly apparent. That is partly because Mr. Forester is first of all a satirical commentator on just one man's experience [...]. Curzon, he constantly shows, belongs to the past. But were there not Curzon's in Charlemagne's army and Hannibals? they may die in their beds. But they take a long time dying at all. They are fighters- and one of their fights is for survival. When last seen, for example, Curzon was serenely promenading at Bournmouth, for all the world as though he was on parade."

(I'm sorry I couldn't post a url, but this article is not available gratis online. )
I though it was interesting for several reasons. First, because it was writen just as the novel was published, and the opinion of the reviewer has not been coloured by WWII or by the infamous stories of Hitler's Christmas list. Secondly, because it is decidedly American in its tone, (the article makes several references to fact that this book will appeal to the countries lingering anti-British sentiment still lingering from the American Revolution). And finaly because it is not entirely positive. The reviewer seems to find the Curzon's lack of relatability, or 'everyman' quality, problematic to the novel, however the last few lines of the review do brilliantly capture what this novel is (see above). Above all, reading this reminded me of the difference between litcrit and journalism. The truth is that this is not the most pleasurable read. Unlike the Hornblower series, you can't just escape into the world of the novel, (because Curzon's character is so hard to penetrate). And it is the job of this reviewer to convey that to the public.

Forester's Popularity (New York Times)

I was particularly frustrated by the response a class fellow received about research on Forester from the librarian. The suggestion that Forester was not a popular author seemed weird. To me it seems the proof of Forester's popularity can be seen in combing the archives of the New York Times. What I found was hundreds of articles up until his death, and few after it. There were several interviews, reviews on every book he wrote, as well as articles on his activites (from his movements in the war to his wedding announcement). Most striking was the article on his death. It was considered front page news and spaned two pages. There seemed to be more on Forester in these archives than any other author from the course (although we do have take into account that he lived there). What was aw inspiring was the number of times his named appeared of the best sellers list for almost 4 decades. It seems that virtually everything he wrote became a best seller. Have academics ignored him? yes. Could anyone ever call him an unpopular writer? no.

More on the stuff I got from the NYT later...
P.S. the library has access to the late NYT archives(1980-present), but they have little relevant content. Unfortunately, accesing the old archives online is a PPV kind of situation.

Relevant Academic Journals!!! (Somewhat Dated)

Combing J-STOR (see library link: electronic references) I found two scholarly book reviews that are actually relevant to our studies (sounds of shock and amazement), even if they are half a century old. The first is a review of Forester's book Age of Fighting Sail, the second is a review of someone else's book by Forester himself. Those who have wanted to read The General as a "Guidebook" will find both of these short reviews interesting. The Questions I have after reading them:
1. Was the omission of references merely due to the publishers frugality?(Or was it purposefull on Forester's Part?)
2. Is it "horrid" to believe that "there is some superiority in sending a narrative into the world as naked as a new born babe" as Whitehill suggests? (What would be Forester's possible reaction to this statement?)
3. How much value does Forester place on narative skill (given the views expressed in his review)?
So here is the review of Forester:
The Age of Fighting Sail: The Story of the Naval War of 1812. By C.S. Forester. (Garden City, N.Y. : Doubleday and Company, Inc., 1956. Pp. 284. $5.00)
The spectacular frigate actions of the early stages of the War of 1812 have become so much a part of the American legend that they have obscured from the popular mind the defeats and disasters. Most children have heard of the Constitution and Guerriere, few adults know anything of the effective British blockade that silently disrupted New England commerce and, in the words of Theodore Roosevelt, “inflicted a direct material loss to the American people a hundredfold greater than the entire American navy was able to inflict on Great Britain from the beginning to the end of its gallant career in the war.” There is, therefore, usefulness in having a new popular account of that war that will, because of the distinction of its author, appeal to an audience that would hardly find its way to the works of Mahan and Henry Adams. Devotees of Horatio Hornblower—including sailors like the late Fleet Admiral King—have for years eagerly devoured each new piece of Mr. Forester’s fiction. They, and many others, will find his excursion into history absorbing, exciting, and instructive. Readers of this Quarterly cannot but regret that a narrative of this kind, which would inspire further investigation of the subject, should be published without a single note or reference. That this defect was due to the publisher’s economy rather than the author’s choice is suggested by the complete absence of illustrations. There is not a picture of a ship or a track of an action in the entire book. The only concessions to geography are a pair of end-paper maps, decorative enough but entirely inadequate for following the movements of ships and squadrons.
We all know that printing costs are high; that illustrations, notes and bibliographies cost money, and that publishers consequently try to get away with omitting as many of these valuable elements as they can. Messrs. Doubleday, in a jacket blurb, describe the Mainstream of America series, of which The Age of Fighting Sail is the sixth volume, as “a distinguished series of histories presented in terms of people and in the exciting form of a narrative.” These words contain, at least to this reviewer, the horrid plying that there is some superiority in sending a narrative into the world as naked as a newborn babe. Such masters of English prose as the late Sir James Frazer, Sir Winston Churchill, and Samuel Eliot Morison have conclusively proved that an exciting narrative never suffers from being adequately clothed in the useful and seemly garb of scholarly documentation. The reader is free to pay no attention to such notes and appendices if he chooses, but if he wishes to take full advantage of the author’s learning he will find them an extraordinary help.
Boston Athenaeum Walter Muir Whitehill

If you want to read Forester's review, log onto J-STOR through the library. Here are both citations:
The Age of Fighting Sail: The Story of the Naval War of 1812
C. S. Forester
Review author[s]: Walter Muir Whitehill
The William and Mary Quarterly, 3rd Ser., Vol. 14, No. 1. (Jan., 1957), pp. 106-107. Stable URL: http://links.jstor.org/sici?sici=0043-5597%28195701%293%3A14%3A1%3C106%3ATAOFST%3E2.0.CO%3B2-9

Battle Report-Pearl Harbor to Coral Sea.
Walter Karig
Review author[s]: C. S. Forester
Pacific Affairs, Vol. 18, No. 3. (Sep., 1945), pp. 288-291.
Stable URL: http://links.jstor.org/sici?sici=0030-851X%28194509%2918%3A3%3C288%3ABRHTCS%3E2.0.CO%3B2-S

A question for the group: Curzon's most intense feeling....

In her post, Maja contends that the most intense feeling Curzon has is the horror he feels at the prospect of the breakdown of the 91st divsion. I was wonder what everyone else feels is the passage that for them shows Curzon's most intense feeling. I think this would be an interesting exercise considering what seems to be the collective view on his capacity to feel.

As for me, I am going to have to go with my beloved page 260 and his "vivid flash of imagination". Why? Because, for me his is one of the only passages where the emotions seems to be authentically his. It is an awakening: "HE would return to England a defeated general, one of the men who let England down." One of the qualities that seperates man from beast is the ability to reflect upon themselves. For me, this paragraph represents Curzons most intense feelings because they are the only real feelings about himself that he ever expresses. Unlike other feelings of panic or frustration he has, these feelings do not seems to be clouded by axioms.To further see evidence of the intensity of these feelings, one only has to look at there impact: "It was a long time before he was sure enough of this solid world to put out his hand to her"(p263).

PS: please include page numbers if you can

Conceptual Curzon Continued

Following a tangent from Hanna's post:

There was a letter from Emily too--full of the shy half-declarations of love which were as far as Emily could be expected to write and as far as Curzon wished. Burning phrases in black and white would have made Curzon uncomfortable; he was well satisfied with Emily's saying that she missed him and hoped he would soon be back again with her, and with the timid 'dears', three in all, interpolated in the halting sentences.
...
Curzon wrote back the next day, bluffly as usual. The only dear he was able to put itno his letter was the one that came in 'my dear wife', and the only sentiment appeared in the bits addressed in reply to Emily's statement that she missed him.
...
He did not think the letter inadequate (nor did Emily when she received it) but it was a relief to turn aside from these barren literary labours and to plunge once more into the living business of the Army. The Division arrived, and Curzon rode over to join it with all the thrill and anticipation of a lover

First of all, he's uncomfortable with his wife saying that she loves him. What?!

The misprioritization of passion here is glaring. Time and time again, Curzon shows so little capacity for emotion towards human beings but charges up like a firecracker when axioms or institutions are at stake. The Army spoken of above, towards which he feels such love and anticipation, is not, despite being called "living business", the Army that is made up of its various members; it is not its human populace that Curzon cares for. In the passage below, there is a distinct detachment from the Army's human populace on his part:

So Brigadier-General Webb was unstuck and sent home, and lost his chance of ever commanding a division. The last Curzon saw of him was when he left Divisional Headquarters. There was actually a tear--a ridiculous tear--on one cheek just below his blue eye as he went away, but Curzon felt neither pity for him nor dislike.

No, he is in love with the notion of the Army, the axiomatic and unassailable greatness of the thing that is an Army, the Army that feeds its successes to the axiomatic and unassailable greatness of the thing that is Britain, also totally unrelated to its human populace. He is wedded to concept.



"'Perhaps', said Frobisher, 'it might be wise to quiet down for a bit, sir?'
'No, it's not good for the men,' replied Curzon.
'Casualties are getting a bit high,' said Frobisher.
'You can't make war without casualties,' said Curzon. He had been a casualty himself, once, and he had freely exposed himself to the chance of its occuring again.
'Wellington tried to keep 'em down, sir,' said Frobisher, suddenly bold.
'What on earth do you mean, boy?' asked Curzon.
'Wellington always discouraged sniping and outpost fighting and that sort of thing.'
'Good God!' said Curzon. 'Wellington lived a hundred years ago.'
'Human nature's the same now, though, sir.'
'Human nature? What in hell are you talking about?'"

The hilarity of this last statement comes in its seeming hyperbolic. However, it is the whole truth, the plainest summation of Curzon's appaling state of mind. He just cannot get his head around this 'people' and 'sympathy' and 'not dying' business. His consideration is reserved for the Army and its tenets, its cherished abstractions. To preserve the ethereal notion of Bringing Glory to the British Empire, there is no life on earth worth as much, his own included. Curzon is not a person, he's an animated ledger of Army commandments.



'Drafts have got to be found, all the same,' said Curzon. He thought of the effect it would have on his own attitude if he were warned that the supply of recruits was dwindling. It would mean caution; it would mean an encroachment upon his liberty to attack; it would mean thinking twice about every offensive movement, and an inevitable inclination towards a defensive attitude; it might concievably come to mean the breaking up of some of the units which had been built up with such care--the Ninety-first Division even.
He was filled with a genuine horror at such a prospect--a horror that made him almost voluble. He laid down as stiffly and as definitely as he possibly could the extreme urgency of a lavish supply of recruits. He thumped his knee with his hand to make himself quite clear on the subject.

This passage describes what is arguably the most intense feeling Curzon has in The General. It's not about his wife, child, in-laws, the searing blame of his extended family, his own life--but about the prospect of having an insufficient number of casualties to sacrifice in forthcoming battles. The successful flank attack sitting up in the ether that all of this is leading to cannot be sparsely manned. The possibility is anathemic to the careful stockpile of Glorious Plans occupying Curzon's emotional center--it horrifies him.

Conversely...

After all, it would be as bad taste to force these inevitable details of war upon the notice of these women and civilians as it would be to do the same with the details of digestive processes or any other natural occurence.

In his mind, the memory of a general trembling like a leaf as he's multiply bombarded and about to die, is a detail. It isn't so monstrous to want to shy from these topics in frail company, it is the trivialization of the thing, the discompassionate way he can merely remember, that marks his distinct separation from humanity. For a war which carried away from it millions of irreparably shaken, broken people, a man who remains stable throughout did not actually start at the same point in human development.

(more to come)

The Foreshadowing of Forester's Own "Bath Chair"

According to the Oxford Dictionary of National Biographies, Forester suffered heart problem that left him in a wheel chair/ Bath chair prior to his death. Although his physicasl ailments prevented him from ever being able to join the military and share in the experience of direct combact like Curzon, it is also his physical ailments that brought him to the same end as our General. It seems fitting that while only nature and the unavoidable failure of his own body brought Forester to his Bath Chair, it is Curzon's mental frailty/weakness that puts him in his. When at last he breaks out of his idealism in a "vivd flash of imagination, like lightning at night", and for an instant sees his future, he can't handle it and "dashes down the road on his horse"(260-261). Once he lets go, and abandones himself to riding with "no thought in his head", he is wounded permanently. While the bullet did the physical damage, I believe it was his moment of mental weakness that put him in his chair.

A Younger Forester

Here is a picture of our author at roughly the age he wrote this book... (appaently he was physically week even at this age)

Snaffles, Curbs, and Bits, Oh My!

"They use the snaffle and the curb all right; But where’s the bloody horse?" Roy Campbell

The above quotation is from the South African Authour, Roy Campbell, and is in refernce to other writers, but I think it is incredibly relevant to Curzon. Throughout the book, there are reference to tack. The first being in Chapter 3, when he says that he "would argue gladly about practical details such as [...] the pros and cons of a bit and snaffle"(24); the last being the refrence to the fact that "Curzon brought the brut back with a cruel use of the curb".
The curb and the snaffle are the metal piece in the horse's mouth attached to the reins. Snaffles look like little jointed bars and curbs look like medieval retainers. Snaffles are much gentler and work on the sides of the horses mouth, while the curb works on the roof and often inflicts a lot of pain. Militairy bridals often had two sets of reigns and incorporated both. Most riders who have the ability to use both hands use snaffles.
I think The pros of snaffles for Curzon would only have been evident in a type of war-making where the riders are often traveling without much danger. Although curbs can make your horse toss its head, and can be terrible if the rider is not proficient, it provides much more control when your in the middle of a battle trying to shoot people. The fact that Curzon begins with thoughts on the snaffle, and ends with reckless use of the curb speaks volumes about the changes in fighting styles that occur throughout the book.
As for Campbell's quotation, I think it applies to Curzon because it relfects his inability to look past the mechanics of something. Like with Stoicism, Curzon knows all the parts of the machine, and how they are to be employed, but he doesn't really understand the thing itself. He does not see the horse as a living creatures that feel pain, (and that has no real place in this war), but merely as a peice of equipment and status symbol. While I have no doubt that Curzon understands the snaffle and curb alright, I don't think he ever really understands the bloody horse. (Bad pun I know).

Pres. Recap/I Blame the System

Here are the conclusions about Curzon I made in my presentation on Monday. While I am glad everybody is having so much fun enumerating Curzon's inhuman and cold qualities, In my inquiries, I am far more interested in the why and how of the manner in which he got to be the way he is. My thesis is that it is a combination of a very specific experience of the English class system combined with a public school education that shaped Curzon into the man/mess that that he became. My conclusion is that he is not intellectually capable of understanding the true meaning of the stoic values that he has adopted. Like all essentialists, he cannot see the forest through the trees. In school he was taught that failure ment an immediate dissent into the dregs of society. Because he is so fearful of failure, he is too focused on obeying the tennants of his beliefs to the letter. It is his fear that prevents him from truly understanding the point of the values in the first place. This is why even when stoicism fails both England and himself, Curzon refuses to let it go. While I admit that he is flawed, I will not condemn him for this behaviour. I guess my conclusion is that I blame the system and not the man???

HOW PUBLIC SCHOOLS SHAPED THE OUTCOME OF THE FIRST WORLD WAR:

-IMPARTING TWO TYPES OF STOICISM
1. THE LETTER-> CURZON’S ESSENATIALIST STOICISM
2. THE SPIRIT-> TEITJIEN’S EXISTENTIAL STOICISM

THE PROBLEM IN ARNOLD’S ORDER: PRINCIPLES, CONDUCTS, THEN INTELECTS

THE CONTINUING PROBLEMATIC OF ESSENTIALIST STOICS… WHAT TO DO WITH THOSE WHO CANNOT BE TAUGHT (see Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner)

CONCLUSION: The problem is that Arnold and other Head-types never believed that men like Winton or Curzon, who begin life on the edge of the middle class, would ever make it to a post of extreme power. Because Teitjeins understands the spirit of British Stoicism, he is able to abandon it when he realizes that his actions are no longer informed by that spirit. However, because, like Winton, Curzon is not of a mind that is able to grasp these subtalties, his loyalty to these principles will be unfaltering. Perhaps if Arnold had placed intellect first, and not third, in his list of priorities, so many lives might not have been lost.

Conceptual Curzon

Curzon's problematic behaviour stems from his fundamental incapacity to understand humans. He does not understand and does not care. Notions are the only thing he gets, the firmer established in tradition the better. He throws innumerable lives to death in the most matter-of-fact fashion: "You can't win a war without casualties, can you?"
The abstraction of What War Is (that is to say, something in which people die) and preserving it as such completely supersedes the physical event of a human exploding in front of him, and the perception of such an explosion as bad. He'll have no nonsense about keeping down the death toll because it is incongruous to What War Is, and thus incongruous to his whole being.
This prioritization of ideas over reality can be categorized variously throughout the text.

Example 1:
Zero regard for own family members
"He thanked God fervently that he was an orphan, that he was an only child, and that his father was an only child, and that his mother had had only one sister.
...
In a moment of shuddering self-revelation he realized that in other circumstances it might have been just possible that he should have breathed naturally in the air of Brixton" (18-19).
Curzon pursues family allegiances according to the class that is suitable for such of his career to mingle with. In him, this idea totally trounces the natural familial instinct a normal human has. His flesh and blood are an irritating buzz that is the further, the better.

Example 2:
Misplacement of Emotion
Things that get a rise out of Curzon:
"There was a feather-brained subaltern in Curzon's regiment
...
He actually had the infernal impudence to suggest to the senior major of his regiment, a man with ribbons on his breast, who had seen real fighting, and who had won the battle of Volkslaagte by a cavalry charge, that the time was at hand when aeroplane reconaissance would usurp the last useful function which could be performed by cavalry. When Major Curzon, simply boiling with fury at this treachery, fell back on the sole argument which occured to him at the moment, and accused him of assailing the honour of the regiment with all its glorious traditions..." (23-24).

Things that do not get a rise out of Curzon:
"Curzon held the flame to the cigar with steady fingers, drawing slowly until the cigar was lit as well as a good cigar deserverd to be lit. As the tobacco flared a hundred and twenty thousand Englishmen were rising up from the shelter of their trenches and exposing their bodies to the lash of the German machine-guns hastily dragged from the dug-outs; but that was no reason for an English general to show un-English emotion" (190-191).

(More to come)

Now, I know that some of you have different, perhaps less sweeping analyses of Curzon's psychology. Thus I implore everybody to reply with their own ideas.

Intertextual Stoicism

By an effort of rigid self-control Emily kept her upper lip from trembling.
...
'Bertie,' she said, and she wanted to add: 'be kind to me.'
...
Miss Cissie Barnes had much to answer for. The memory of joyous unrepressed evenings with her influenced Curzon profoundly. He could not dream of treating his wife in the same way as he had once treated Cissie Barnes, with the unfortunate result that he made love to Emily with a stern aloofness that could raise no response in her virginal body. As Emily never expected anything else, however, not so much harm was done as might have been the case. Emily went through that part of the business as her necessary duty, like opening Girl Guides' displays or going to church.

As we've already discussed, Curzon and his ilk stand for the old guard of the English way of life, Edwardian heroes and all that. Their values dissolve toward the end of the century, ushering in a new set. And yet, in reading Vile Bodies, the chronicle of said new set (pointedly disparate from the staunch Edwardians), I found a strikingly similar bedroom scene (text to come once I retrieve my sadly lost book). Adam Symes and fiancee Nina Blount after a lengthy soiree of attempting to omit mention of the impending fact, stumble into the bedroom and out again. Nina's feelings prior to the event are just that of Emily Willoughby-Winter, and the same lukewarm sentiments remain after.
Truly, the Stoic legacy carries on beyond countless social barriers.
As Alan Quartermain says to Captain Nemo in Alan Moore's League of the Extraordinary Gentlemen*, "Pretending everything's tickety-boo is the great English pastime."



*the comic, not the film

Why did Hitler like The General?

When I was small, I always picked the doll that looked most like me in the toy store. Perhaps the dust jacket of the first edition might give us some insight into Hitler's initial attraction to the novel... (I get that this might not have been the jacket Hitler had, but still...)

(More interesting info: a nice copy of this edition w/ jacket will set you back at least 800$ US, while The African Queen 1srt ed. similar condition can cost as much as a brand new car)

An insight into a young Curzon...

This is a link to the chapter, Regulus, from Kipling's book Stalky and Co. .
I would like to posit that the character Winton in this chapter is very much the model of an early Curzon. Like Curzon, Winton's "people aren't very well off" compared to the other boys at the school(177). Like Curzon, he is on the cusp of the class barrier: he is "First-class of the second class", and therefore is also extremely desperate to live up to the stoic model in order to keep from slipping back down the social ladder (178). The story is also makes a very strong statement about the value of classical training-- portraying and undenyable distain for the "modern side" of the school. Beyond a love of the traditional, both Winton and Curzon are "serious" men. This story revolves arround a pratical joke that is described as "the only known jest of [Winton's] serious life". The effects of this incident are described as being akin to the way "a sober-sided man's one love colours and dislocates all his after days"(166). In this description, I cannot help but see Curzon and the effects of his relationship with lady Emily.

While I do not think that Curzon's childhood could excuse his actions and the actions of other's like him in the Great War (and the horrific consequences that followed), I do think it helps explain why such men would not have been capable of making any other choices. Some in our group have expressed interest in looking at Curzon's mental state. I think this chapter does a wonderful job of illustrating the mental exhaustion that can result from following the British stoic model, and might explain why Curzon has similar moments of hazy confusion.

Bournemouth

I did a little digging, and found out some very interesting things about the place that Forester chose as the setting that both opens and closes this story. Bournemouth is a large tourist destination on the water in the South (in Dorset sort of). Its exponential growth seemed to take off when a retired army man, "Lewis Tregonwell" moved there with his wife. It became a destination for invalids and wounded army men in the time of our novel. It has a very impressive war memorial with two lions-- one asleep and one awake. The Pier was at first at small rickety affair that was destroyed by the elements. Prior to the war, it was rebuilt at great cost and became a place for military concerts. Three years after the publication of this novel, it was demolished in 1940 by the British Army because they were affraid the Germans would attack it. It was rebuilt six years later. (read a short concise article on Bournemouth here)
(the authour of Frankenstein, Mary Shelley, is also burried in the church in Bournemouth)

I think Forester would have been pleased with the symbolic significance of the destruction of the Pier. For me, the Pier represents men like Tregonwell and Curzon who grew up in 'Kipling's Army'-- men who were molded by British Stoicism and saw war as a means of obtaining honour, duty and fame. If WWI was the catylist for the crumbling of these ideals, WWII has to be seen as their official burrial. By destroying the Pier in 1940, the army was making a statement: not only does this symbol of past military glory and attitudes have no place in this war, but it is a danger to the countries very survival. This is how I think Forester feels about Curzon. While he admires and respects Curzon for being so completely loyal to his ideals, ("He was the soul of hnour, he could be guilty of no meanness"(26)), men like him have no place in the modern style of warfare :
"It might have been- though it would be a bold man to say so- more advantageous for England if the British Army had not been quite so full of men of high rank who were so ready for responsibility, so unflinchingly devoted to their duty, so unmoved in the face of difficulties, of such unfaltering courage."(27)
Curzon is like the lions at the memorial (seen above): one side of him is awake while the other is asleep. While his stoic commitment to his duty has made him excellent at details and mechanics of war, it has also made him asleep to compassion and the value of human life. When this side is finally awakened, "when a sudden flash of colour penetrated into his consciousness", he realizes that his perception of the world was false. He realizes that that world no longer existed, and "it was a long time before he was sure enough of this this solid world again"(262-263).
Anyone care to comment?

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