I just finished my umpteenth reading of one of my favorite books, Soldier of the Great War by Mark Helprin. The book is a fictitious autobiography of Alessandro Giuliani a WWI Italian soldier, as it is told to a young man, in the course of a multi-day hike in the hills around Rome. The book takes place in the summer of 1964, when Giuliani, now a retired professor of aesthetics, is taking the last trolley before the weekend to visit his granddaughter, who lives 70 km away. During his ride, Giuliani sees the trolley driver intentionally avoid picking up a young man seeking a ride. Be claiming to want to disembark, he forces the driver to stop the trolley long enough for the young man to catch up. When the young man catches up and enters the trolley, Giuliani “changes his mind” and sits back down. This of course enrages the driver, who throws both of them off of his trolley. Faced with returning to Rome or walking the 70 kilometers to the house of his granddaughter, Giuliani convinces the young man (a 17 year old illiterate named Nicolo) to make the walk. Over the course of their trek, Giuliani tells Nicolo the story of his life, his loves and his participation in the Great War.
While this is in itself an interesting premise, the real value of the book lies in Helprin’s writing. Helprin is a “magical realist” writer in the same vein as Garcia-Marquez and he has an enormous mastery of English, particularly the use of imagery and metaphor. The writing is very dense, at times bordering in florid, but rewards the patient reader with images that haunt them for the rest of their life. For instance, at one point Giuliani, as punishment for desertion, is sent to a marble quarry and set at hard labor. Helprin waxes lyrical about the labor of the men, and the quarry, which had historically furnished the material for legendary renaissance statues but was now being used to create headstones for Italy’s million war dead. I don’t want to give too much away, but I can only say that this book has much to say on life, love and war. The lessons Giuliani learned, and attempts to impart to Nicolo resonate deeply with me.
I recommend this book very, very, highly but with the qualification that prospective readers should try at least the first couple of chapters of it, Helprin’s dense imagery and magical realism aren’t for anyone. If you aren’t grabbed by the first 30 pages, put it down because it doesn’t get any better.
50 for the year.