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Rating: 
Summary: A Crusader Adrift In Britain's Finest Hour
Review: Exile Guy Crouchback returns home to the United Kingdom on the eve of World War II, fully expecting a glorious self-immolation in the cause of all that is right and noble. Instead he is plunked into the middle of a farcical parade where tired gray men do the best they can to lose a war against a dangerous, devouring adversary while underlings move like spastic marionettes beneath bony fingers.The result is no happy marriage for Guy, though happy marriages have not been his lot. He was married once, to a scheming heartbreaker named Virginia who divorced him for a career as a serial bride. Guy's strict Catholicism forbids him from marrying again, though as the last in his aristocratic line, such a situation means dereliction of duty in the posterity department. Stuck in every sense of the word, like Miniver Cheevy living mostly in the past, he views the onset of war as a means of redemption against the atheistic hordes of Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia, aligned at the war's outset in the partition of Poland. After a struggle, Guy finds himself enlisted in an army brigade where the golden mean is one of bare competence, and bureaucratic "banf" trumps all. France falls, and Norway, and the future is decidedly bleak. Whether Britain can ever rally is a point very much in doubt at book's end, though it doesn't seem likely Guy will help much. That said, the first of Evelyn Waugh's "Sword Of Honor" is actually a pretty funny read most of the way through. The dialogue is crisp and clever; the plot twists ingenuously lurid. Author Evelyn Waugh has obvious fun recalling his own second youth (he enlisted in his mid-30s) and overseeing the zany exploits of his off-kilter comrades. While Guy spends a lot of time in the shadows, his emergence to be the subject of the later books, "Men At Arms" focuses on characters he meets who shed light on the various all-too-human traits of His Majesty's armed forces. For example, brigade commander Ritchie-Hook is a one-eyed loon obsessed with attack and "biffing" the enemy. "There are no Sundays in the firing-line," he declaims. At one point, angered by his troops' inability at the shooting range, he runs over to the trench beneath the target butts, pokes his head up, and promises a reward to anyone who can nail him. They don't, maybe because they really try. The book actually belongs to another character, Apthorpe, a strange, "rather rum" fellow who befriends Guy and in time enlists his aid on a mission to keep Ritchie-Hook from making use of Apthorpe's private "thunderbox," a.k.a. port-o-potty. This gets rather involved, with hushed nighttime conferences between Guy and Apthorpe that wind up somehow getting reported to British Intelligence, before the two conspirators' plot stumbles its way to a charged and highly entertaining conclusion. If "Men At Arms" had ended there, it would be seen as an engagingly comic though perhaps shallow look at military service during the first and least nasty days of World War II, what would be called "The Phoney War." But Waugh, deeply scarred from his own wartime experiences, keeps the story moving into more penetrating territory. The comedy pulls up a bit, though not abruptly, and never completely. Sometimes, when comedies turn serious, readers can be put off by the sharp change of tone. Yet here, even as laughs fall fainter, the reader's attachment increases, probably because Waugh subtly manipulates audience expectations (for example, by making Apthorpe less and less likeable, and the machinations of Guy's superiors more and more opaque) before messing with the storyline. Also, Waugh's deeper involvement with all he presents here really shines through. This identification will only grow with the next two volumes, "Officers And Gentlemen" and "Unconditional Surrender," books that draw deeper focus on some real horrors of war only hinted at with "Men At Arms," while enriching characters first illustrated here with broader and less subtle strokes. Talking about this book being an uproarious military comedy makes one think of something like "Stripes" or "M*A*S*H," which "Men At Arms" isn't by any stretch. It's no laugh riot, but neither is it a dull bore. Actually, it's very bright and invigorating. Like another Anglo-Catholic trilogy written at around the same time, "Sword Of Honour" is intimately concerned with the question of worldly goodness and overcoming the awesome threat posed by evil and doubt. No one is ever going to do with this trilogy what they did with the other and make gigillions with a three-part screen adaptation featuring hobbits and orcs. Yet "Sword Of Honour" with its real-world focus makes for an interesting counterpart to thoughtful readers who wonder what J.R.R. Tolkien drew upon when writing "Lord Of The Rings," or how people living through World War II viewed the conflict before the result was achieved and the mythology took over. "Men At Arms" makes for an inviting opening act. By the way, a good way for reading this is in the company of David Cliffe's excellent trilogy companion, found at his Evelyn Waugh website at http://www.abbotshill.freeserve.co.uk/home2.htm.
Rating: 
Summary: lost aristocrat
Review: i've just finished all three novels in the 'sword of honor' trilogy: men at arms, officers and gentlemen and the end of the battle. not being a fan of satire, i've come late to waugh. to call him simply a writer of satire, as many persons do, is a serious literary mistake. these novels have comic and satiric flavors, but actually are quite serious, poignant, painful, and powerful. his technical style is understated and, thus deceptive in its weight. the main character in all three novels, guy crouchback, is forced onto his privileged knees, and made to crawl to insight into the human condition, primarily to learn that war is only an occasionally more deadly mirror of peace, and that an absence of empathy is the start of it all. danger does not justify privilege for a man or a nation. these are very sad, funny, wise, and deeply well written novels and i would highly recommend them.
Rating:
Summary: Good one for a reading
Review: Men at Arms keeps on surprising the reader with funny anecdotes throughout its reading.
Rating:
Summary: Carry on Soldiering
Review: This is fifth book I have read by Evelyn Waugh. I have come to appreciate his style of writing and his style of humor. Both of those reasons would justify, in my opinion, reading any and all of his novels. However, for those expecting a lot more, the author doesn't always deliver. That is the case of "Men at Arms". I came away wondering what the point of the book was meant to be. I also came away wondering where all of the emotion behind the advent and early days of WWII were. Maybe the author, who lived through that time, gave us a better view of reality than the Winston Churchill "Finest Hour" image that we all hold. Then again, I don't want to criticize this book, or any book, for not being what it never intended to be. What we do get is a humorous look at a collection of individuals coming together to become British officers from scratch. The various ways they act, react, and interact is what makes the book enjoyable. The main character, Guy Crouchback, comes from a somewhat fallen aristocratic family and feels the need to make something of himself as war seems imminent. Being in his early 30's makes it difficult for him to find his spot until he meets up with an old associate who gets him into a newly forming brigade. To try and explain any more of the plot might make it seem dull. In fact, it moves along well; not because of action but because of the interaction. Guy Crouchback is like all of Waugh's main characters that I have come across so far; they have a certain detachment from what's happening around them. That aspect gives for a keener insight but can tend to leave the reader a bit detached as well. If you've read Waugh before then you know what you're getting in. If not, this may not be the book to start with. I'd suggest "A Handful of Dust" instead.
Rating:
Summary: A lighthearted look at British military life
Review: This is the first in the 'Sword of Honor' trilogy of novels by Waugh, describing one man's experience in the British military establishment. At the onset of WWII, divorced thirty-something Guy Crouchback anxiously longs to serve his country in its time of need, but can't find a branch of service that wants him. By the end of this book, his training completed, he begins to wonder if his country (represented by its armed forces) really knows what's good for it. This book is a fairly realistic and often rather lighthearted look at the training received by an officer of the Halberdiers during the early days of WWII, before the true terrors and horrors of that conflict had become apparent. This volume contains some fine portraits and vignettes from British army life, after which an officer's death and the questions of responsibility it raises cause Crouchback to doubt the wisdom of his beloved leaders. Some of the more humorous moments include the incidents involving Apthorpe's port-a-john (not as disgusting as you might fear), Crouchback's attempted reconciliation with his wife, and the ego-driven absurdities that lead to the Brigadier's reconnaissance mission, but the humor is of the dry British
sort, with few of the belly laughs that make books like Catch 22 so unforgettable. Rather more to the point is the mildly biting satire exposing how ill prepared for war Britain really was at the time, particularly in light of the high price Europe paid for that negligence. While this reviewer certainly enjoyed the book, its target audience is probably not as broad today as it would have been forty years ago. Veterans of the armed forces who are interested in a nostalgic look back at this era will probably get the most out of it, followed by admirers of the gentle art
of British humor, while on the other hand, women looking for romantic adventure will find very little femininity in the book, and Gen-Xers hoping to read another 'Catch 22' or 'MASH', will likely find the story dry and insipid. So don't go into this book looking for a comedy - it stands better as a fictionalized portrayal of a particular time and place in history.
Rating: 
Summary: Dull and disappointing
Review: Very insular and without context. I wonder if this is how post-modern lit will seem in 50 years.
Rating:
Summary: A Subtle, Understated Satire
Review: Waugh had a sure grasp of the language, which makes this novel a pleasure to read. He was a natural writer, and a natural stylist. This particular novel is a satire, although a subtle, understated one. Even though Waugh never really comes out and says it, he thinks WWII might have been an unnecessary war. Parts of this book are obviously autobiographical. Some parts are hilarious, especially the "thunder-box" and all the machinations surrounding it, and the fierce and terrifying Ritchie-Hooks, who's missing an eye and some fingers, and who has a penchant for shrunken heads. Don't expect any big yucks. But if you like quiet satire, take a look at it.
Rating:
Summary: frankness makes it special
Review: When Waugh wrote this trilogy, between 1951 and 1964, people loved the acerbity of his writing. But
they found Crouchback and his views perverse. In those days, the thought that the Second World War might
have been an error which left the world worse than it found it was almost unthinkable. There had been frightful blunders such as Singapore, admitted the reader in the National Health spectacles.
But to see it all as a mistake, you would have to be...well, either a fascist or a believer in something perfectly
weird. For instance, a devout member of the old English Roman Catholic aristocracy. Down the narrow
perspective of that particular telescope, through which the welfare of the Vatican mattered more than cutting
Axis communications in the Balkans, things might well look different. They did to fictional Guy Crouchback. -The Crouchback tendency (Neal Ascherson, January 7, 2001, The Observer) Like many of Evelyn Waugh's books, this one--the first in the Sword of Honour trilogy--is at least semi-autobiographical. But, whereas other
life experiences gave him the fodder to savagely satirize such things as adultery/divorce, journalism, Africa, and Hollywood, his treatment of his
checkered military career, probably tempered by a natural patriotism, comes in more for gentle ribbing. So there are plenty of amusing characters
and absurd situations, beginning with the nature of the enlistee, Guy Crouchback, himself: 'We don't want cannon-fodder this time'--from the Services--'we learned our lesson in 1914 when we threw away the pick of the
nation. That's what we've suffered from ever since. 'But I'm not the pick of the nation,' said Guy. 'I'm natural fodder. I've no dependants. I've no special skill in anything. What's more I'm
getting old. I'm ready for immediate consumption. You should take the 35s now and give the young men time to get sons.' 'I'm afraid that's not the official view. I'll put you on our list and see you're notified as soon as anything turns up.' But Mr. Waugh's heart, understandably, doesn't seem to be invested in really letting loose on the British armed services. This combines with the
subject of the story--the painfully slow build-up to war--to render a novel that's somewhat less spirited than many of his others. However, it does have one feature that more than redeems it and makes it not only one of his most invaluable works, but one of the most important
novels of WWII: its ferocious criticism of the British decision to accept the Soviet Union as an ally, rather than treat her as an enemy just as
dangerous as Nazi Germany. Guy's initial fervor for war comes as a result of the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact: Just seven days earlier he had opened his morning newspaper on the headlines announcing the Russian-German alliance. News that
shook the politicians and young poets of a dozen capital cities brought deep peace to one English heart. [...] He lived too close to Fascism
in Italy to share the opposing enthusiasms of his countrymen. He saw it neither as a calamity nor as a rebirth; as a rough improvisation
merely. He disliked the men who were edging themselves into power around him, but English denunciations sounded fatuous and
dishonest and for the past three years he had given up his English newspapers. The German Nazis he knew to be mad and bad. Their
participation dishonoured the cause of Spain, but the troubles of Bohemia, the year before, left him quite indifferent. When Prague fell,
he knew that war was inevitable. He expected his country to go to war in a panic, for the wrong reasons or for no reason at all, with the
wrong allies, in pitiful weakness. But now, splendidly, everything had become clear. The enemy at last was plain in view, huge and
hateful, all disguise cast off. It was the Modern Age in arms. Whatever the outcome there was a place for him in that battle. But he despairs when, Hitler having betrayed Stalin, the Soviets are thereupon blithely accepted as comrades: Russia invaded Poland. Guy found no sympathy among these old soldiers for his own hot indignation. 'My dear fellow, we've quite enough on our hands as it is. We can't go to war with the whole world.' 'Then why go to war at all? If all we want is prosperity, the hardest bargain Hitler made would be preferable to victory. If we are
concerned with justice the Russians are as guilty as the Germans.' 'Justice?' said the old soldiers. 'Justice?' 'Besides,' said Box-Bender when Guy spoke to him of the matter which seemed in no one's mind but his, 'the country would never stand
for it. The socialists have been crying blue murder against the Nazis for five years but they are still pacifists at heart. So far as they have
any feeling of patriotism it's for Russia. You'd have a general strike and the whole country in collapse if you set up to be just.' 'Then what are we fighting for?' 'Oh we had to do that, you know. The socialists always thought we were pro-Hitler. God knows why. It was quite a job keeping neutral
over Spain. [...] It was quite ticklish, I assure you. If we sat tight now there'd be chaos. What we have to do now is to limit and localize
the war, not extend it.' And so the comic misadventures that Guy undergoes in preparing for war are no longer even in furtherance of an ideal one can be proud of, but are
instead the minmum required of a patriot. Rare indeed is the book--fiction or non--that's this brutally honest about the ultimate futility of WWII
and that frankness makes it special...Grade: (A-)
Rating:
Summary: frankness makes it special
Review: When Waugh wrote this trilogy, between 1951 and 1964, people loved the acerbity of his writing. But
they found Crouchback and his views perverse. In those days, the thought that the Second World War might
have been an error which left the world worse than it found it was almost unthinkable. There had been frightful blunders such as Singapore, admitted the reader in the National Health spectacles.
But to see it all as a mistake, you would have to be...well, either a fascist or a believer in something perfectly
weird. For instance, a devout member of the old English Roman Catholic aristocracy. Down the narrow
perspective of that particular telescope, through which the welfare of the Vatican mattered more than cutting
Axis communications in the Balkans, things might well look different. They did to fictional Guy Crouchback. -The Crouchback tendency (Neal Ascherson, January 7, 2001, The Observer) Like many of Evelyn Waugh's books, this one--the first in the Sword of Honour trilogy--is at least semi-autobiographical. But, whereas other
life experiences gave him the fodder to savagely satirize such things as adultery/divorce, journalism, Africa, and Hollywood, his treatment of his
checkered military career, probably tempered by a natural patriotism, comes in more for gentle ribbing. So there are plenty of amusing characters
and absurd situations, beginning with the nature of the enlistee, Guy Crouchback, himself: 'We don't want cannon-fodder this time'--from the Services--'we learned our lesson in 1914 when we threw away the pick of the
nation. That's what we've suffered from ever since. 'But I'm not the pick of the nation,' said Guy. 'I'm natural fodder. I've no dependants. I've no special skill in anything. What's more I'm
getting old. I'm ready for immediate consumption. You should take the 35s now and give the young men time to get sons.' 'I'm afraid that's not the official view. I'll put you on our list and see you're notified as soon as anything turns up.' But Mr. Waugh's heart, understandably, doesn't seem to be invested in really letting loose on the British armed services. This combines with the
subject of the story--the painfully slow build-up to war--to render a novel that's somewhat less spirited than many of his others. However, it does have one feature that more than redeems it and makes it not only one of his most invaluable works, but one of the most important
novels of WWII: its ferocious criticism of the British decision to accept the Soviet Union as an ally, rather than treat her as an enemy just as
dangerous as Nazi Germany. Guy's initial fervor for war comes as a result of the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact: Just seven days earlier he had opened his morning newspaper on the headlines announcing the Russian-German alliance. News that
shook the politicians and young poets of a dozen capital cities brought deep peace to one English heart. [...] He lived too close to Fascism
in Italy to share the opposing enthusiasms of his countrymen. He saw it neither as a calamity nor as a rebirth; as a rough improvisation
merely. He disliked the men who were edging themselves into power around him, but English denunciations sounded fatuous and
dishonest and for the past three years he had given up his English newspapers. The German Nazis he knew to be mad and bad. Their
participation dishonoured the cause of Spain, but the troubles of Bohemia, the year before, left him quite indifferent. When Prague fell,
he knew that war was inevitable. He expected his country to go to war in a panic, for the wrong reasons or for no reason at all, with the
wrong allies, in pitiful weakness. But now, splendidly, everything had become clear. The enemy at last was plain in view, huge and
hateful, all disguise cast off. It was the Modern Age in arms. Whatever the outcome there was a place for him in that battle. But he despairs when, Hitler having betrayed Stalin, the Soviets are thereupon blithely accepted as comrades: Russia invaded Poland. Guy found no sympathy among these old soldiers for his own hot indignation. 'My dear fellow, we've quite enough on our hands as it is. We can't go to war with the whole world.' 'Then why go to war at all? If all we want is prosperity, the hardest bargain Hitler made would be preferable to victory. If we are
concerned with justice the Russians are as guilty as the Germans.' 'Justice?' said the old soldiers. 'Justice?' 'Besides,' said Box-Bender when Guy spoke to him of the matter which seemed in no one's mind but his, 'the country would never stand
for it. The socialists have been crying blue murder against the Nazis for five years but they are still pacifists at heart. So far as they have
any feeling of patriotism it's for Russia. You'd have a general strike and the whole country in collapse if you set up to be just.' 'Then what are we fighting for?' 'Oh we had to do that, you know. The socialists always thought we were pro-Hitler. God knows why. It was quite a job keeping neutral
over Spain. [...] It was quite ticklish, I assure you. If we sat tight now there'd be chaos. What we have to do now is to limit and localize
the war, not extend it.' And so the comic misadventures that Guy undergoes in preparing for war are no longer even in furtherance of an ideal one can be proud of, but are
instead the minmum required of a patriot. Rare indeed is the book--fiction or non--that's this brutally honest about the ultimate futility of WWII
and that frankness makes it special...Grade: (A-)
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