In the Labyrinth

Michael Monsoor: Congressional Medal of Honor

 

 

 

 Navy SEAL Michael Monsoor received the Congressional Medal of Honor for Military Valor posthumously today. I wanted to extend my deepest condolences to his family and fellow SEALS, especially those brothers-in-arms whose lives he saved while sacrificing his own. Read more about this remarkable young man, including the President's moving tribute.

Fair winds and following seas. Never forgotten. **A Post Script here in 2023. It has been many years since this young man died in combat, and still, I cry every time I see his picture. We became a military family in the same year he died, and he has remained for me the figure for every young man in the SEALs lost in battle. Ever since his death, there have been too many whom I have had cause to mourn, but this one, this loss wrecks my Mother's heart every time. 

Foreign Lander and the Life of the Sailor/Soldier

I recently came across this beautiful folk song -- sung here by Tim O'Brien, whose mournful fiddle is as haunting as the song. It is an odd combination of of martial spirit, the soldier's success in battle, pride in his accomplishments at having served with brave commanders and an unanswered longing for a woman whose "beauty has conquered me." We are I think, more aware of the female lament song, the soldier gone to war leaving her to wait (or not) seven years, the rake who abandons her with a baby, the lover murdered by her brothers. Such a list of catastrophes that separate a couple. 

 

But this one is strangely as modern as it is historical -- sung at least two hundred years ago by British singers, and then reformed in slightly altered versions in Appalachia, that second home for British folk songs remade in the language of the hill country folk. One can read the sentiments in the Civil War and WWI and WWII letters of soldiers who have fought many wars, finally ready to put away the sword and return home to a waiting wife and children. For those who remained unmarried during their service, it is to hope to find love and settle down, far from the where "the wild beasts howl." 

We are a military family, and so I know many of those modern-day fighters for whom this song would resonate. The more specialized the warriors, such as those in special forces, the more likely marriages fall apart due to the long deployments and the stress of being alone. Often, those warriors remarry successfully, but only after they have resigned their commission. Late families still bring children and joy. And there are those warriors, like the Foreign Lander, who wait until they are ready to leave, until they feel their work is finally done, until they step down from doing the task for which they are uniquely suited, and for when they can at last transfer their undying loyalty for brothers on the battlefield for a life at home, and a woman "whose beauty has conquered" him.  

And simply because I love this song and the mandolin which I am still endeavoring to play adequately, here is a lovely version by Sarah Jarosz with notes that ripple like water. 

 

 Here are the lyrics:

I've been a foreign lander for seven years or more.

Among the brave commanders where wild beasts howl and roar.
I've conquered all my enemies on land and on the sea, but you, my dearest jewel, 'tis you have conquered me.

I cannot build a ship of love without the wood of trees.
The ship would burst asunder should I prove false to thee.
If ever I prove false, love, the elements would moan.
The fire would turn to ice, love, the seas would rage and burn.

Have you heard the mourning dove?
She's flying from pine to pine.
She's mourning for her own love the way I mourn for mine.
I lie awake out in the night.
I see the shining stars.
I wonder if you see them too wherever you are.

 

 

 

And thanks to Mike, posting in the comments and bringing to my attention a Carter Family version on the theme of parting couples and going off to war. I did find this amazing version of it from No Strings Attached Band -- a group from India, which demonstrates again the migration of song and culture around the world. From their you-tube page: "The band comprises of Diptanshu Roy (mandolin) Nabanita Sarkar (vocals) Koustav Dey (guitar) Sujoy Chakravarty (songwriting/guitar)."

 

Last Lines and Cool Captains

Near the end of the novel The Pirates of the Levant by Arturo Perez-Reverte, Captain Alatriste finds himself the highest ranking survivor of one of three ships that are battling for their lives against the Turks, who out-gun, out-cannon, and just sheer outnumber the Spaniards. There is a hasty meeting of the remaining "commanders" from the three ships to determine whether they should surrender or fight to an honorable death. One of the commanders is an aristocrat, and he wants to surrender -- mostly because he knows he will be well treated and held for a high ransom. The rest -- will be slaughtered or suffer life as a galley slave, chained to an oarlock. But the decision must be unanimous in order for all three to equally maintain their honor. Captain Alatriste knows full well the horrors that would await them if they surrendered and makes the only decision a seasoned soldier could make: fight to the end and die with honor. For the aristocrat, such a display of grit is new. So we get this brief, sardonic moment:

"He was from the same caste of Spanish aristocrats, although this highly inelegant situation had tempered his arrogance--it's always best to talk to noblemen, Alatriste thought, when they've just been punched in the face..."

Honor & Loyalty in Arturo Pérez-Reverte's The Pirates of the Levant.

There is a passage in Arturo Pérez-Reverte's The Pirates of the Levant that struck me as true. We are a military family and for over ten years it has been my pleasure (mingled with a mother's worry and sometimes grief at the violent deaths) of being in the company of remarkable men who have served or are still serving. I have met them at my local bar on occasion when they arrive in groups to attend jump school to sharpen their parachuting skills. And, with the slight cache of being a mother to one of them (even if he's not there), I am treated with affection and respect. They drink — lord how they drink — and gathered together in that small bar, they are both aware and oblivious of their alpha status, that other men not of their company stare at them with a mixture of resentment and awe. So, I was struck by the way Pérez-Reverte has captured so much of the uniqueness of a soldier's life in his novels; Captain Alatriste, with his cool green eyes, his slow to anger and quick to kill if challenged; his rules of honor that maintain a semblance of order and control in a world that is constantly engaged in war in the service of a conflicted royalty. Never paid what they are worth, these elite soldiers are yet keenly aware of their own self worth, their loyalty to each other, and their finely honed skills on which they survive.

 

The Captain Alatriste novels are a combination of storytelling and memoir; the first person narrator, Iñigo Balboa recounts his life when, after the death of his father, he became the ward of Captain Alatriste, and later his education as a young boy into soldier, trying to emulate the life of his fallen father and earn the respect of his mentor and benefactor. At the same time Iñigo recalls his life with Alatriste, he creates a second narrative in third person of the Captain's life, his adventures, the women who loved him and he they, and those of his fellow soldiers and enemies. It is a wonderful conceit for the reader gets a dual narrative — even though it's hard to know if we should entirely trust Iñigo's version of Alatriste's life, colored as it is by his love and admiration for the Captain, whom he considers the epitome of a consummate and honorable solider.

So, here is the passage that rang in my head — having heard such a sentiment expressed among all those young men I know in that life now. Reflecting on the fates of his own father and other elderly soldiers, broken by old wounds and poverty, Ingio still believed at 17 years of age and having already served in two wars, that this is the only life for him.

"I was old enough and intelligent enough to recognize the ghost of my father in that remnant of a man, and sooner or later, in that of Captain Alatriste, Copons, and myself. None of this changed my intentions. I still wanted to be a soldier, but the fact that, after Oran, I wondered if it would not be wiser to think of military life as a means rather than as an end, as a useful way of confronting — sustained by the rigor of a discipline, a rule — a hostile world I did not yet know well, but which I sensed would require everything that the exercise of arms or its results could teach me. And by Christ, I was right. When it came to facing the hard times that came later, both for poor, unfortunate Spain, and for me, as regards to loves, absences, losses, and griefs, I was glad to be able to draw on it all of that experience. And even now, on this side of the frontier of time and life, having been certain things and ceased to be many more, I am proud to sum up my existence, and those of the loyal and valiant men I knew, in the word "solider." Even though, in time, I came to command a company and made my fortune and was appointed lieutenant and later captain of the King's guard — not a bad career, by God, for a Basque orphan from Onate — I nevertheless always signed any papers with the words Ensign Balboa — my humble rank on the nineteenth of May in sixteen hundred and forty-three, when, on the plains of the Rocroi, along with Captain Alatriste and what remained of the last company of Spanish infantry, I held aloft our old and tattered flag. "

All the photos are from the Spanish film "Captain Alatriste" with, yes, Viggo Mortenson as the Captain, giving his performance in Spanish. You can see quite a few clips on Youtube — including the harrowing final battle at the plains of Rocroi.

The Art of the Long Sentence: Arturo Pérez-Reverte

In the midst of reading The King's Gold, Arturo Pérez-Reverte's fourth volume in his swashbuckling series "The Adventures of Captain Alatriste," I came across one of those brilliant, long, elegant, artfully constructed sentences that takes up almost the entire paragraph. I've read it over several times and just can't get over how gorgeous it is. My editors would kill me if I attempted so ambitious a sentence -- mostly because I am completely comma dysfunctional, though I try very hard. The novel, set in 1626 Cadiz, Spain opens to the return of soldiers who have fought and survived the bloody seige of Breda, in Holland. It is a bustling port scene, with disembarked soldiers doing what they love best when finding themselves home and alive:

"When we said our goodbyes, Curro Garrote was already back on dry land, crouched beside a gaming table that guaranteed more tricks and surprises than spring itself, and playing cards as if his life depended on it, his doublet open and his one good hand resting, just in case, on the pommel of his dagger, while his other hand traveled back and forth between his mug of wine and his cards, which came and went accompanied by curses, oaths, and blasphemies, as he saw half the contents of his purse disappearing into someone else's."

There is so much happening here, and like the eye of a camera in an opening scene, it visually moves the reader from moment to moment in such a smooth, unbreakable line, so that we see both the details and the entire scene all together.;

And again, this time in The Pirates of the Levant, the latest novel of Captain Alatriste,  Pérez-Reverte's narrator Iñigo Balboa provides an observation on the harsh life aboard a galley sailing to battle that mid-way draws the reader in with the switch in viewpoint -- from the "sailors" to  "you" so that the reader must share personally in the discomfort. 

"Years before, he had found it difficult to adjust to the harsh galley life: the lack of space and privacy, the worm-and-mouse-eaten, hard-as-iron ship's biscuits, the muddy brackish water, the cries of the sailors and the smell of the galley men, the itch and discomfort of clothes washed in salt water, the restles sleep on a hard board with a shield as pillow, your body always exposed to the sun, the heat, the rain, and the damp, cold nights at sea, which could leave you either with congestion or deafness."

 Pérez-Reverte also marries such remarkable descriptive and gritty sentences with small inserts of poetry -- written by some of the most famous poets of the age, viseral commentators on the excesses of their age, especially the seemingly never-ending wars. At the end of this detailed descriptive passage on military galleys, we are to be reminded by the 17th century poet Francisco de Quevedo of those who have it worst on the ships, the galley slaves who live chained to their oars.

"I'm a scholar in a sardine school,
And good for nothing but to row;
From prison I did graduate,
That university most low."

And here is a short clip from the film on Youtube with some subtitles -- a meeting of the poet and swordsman in a tavern.

*Kudos should also got to Margret Jull Costa, the translator, who has enabled us to smoothly read such densely-packed sentences.

Reviews of the Captain Alatriste Series by Arturo Perez-Reverte

**As I have been reading the last two novels in the Captain Alatriste Series by Arturo Pérez-Reverte and really want to write more about them -- I thought it worthwhile to revisit two earlier posts (one from 2008 -- almost ten years ago! ) that provide both reviews of the earlier books and details on why I admire them so much. Here is the first:  

 

 

 

 

It seems right on Veterans Day to review the swashbuckling and harrowing novels of the 17th-century Spanish swordsman, veteran of the Thirty Years War, and sometime royal assassin, Captain Alatriste, written by Arturo Pérez-Reverte. Pérez-Reverte deftly combines the heroic tale of a charismatic swordsman, a wry social history of a corrupt Spanish Empire, and a coming-of-age story for the novel's narrator, Iñgio Balboa, the orphaned son of a fallen soldier now an apprentice to Alatriste as a page.

And what a figure Captain Alatriste cuts throughout these novels: tall and slim, wrapped in his cape, with a sword and long dagger at his side, his face shadowed by the broad brim of a felt hat, an aquiline nose, huge mustache, and blazing eyes. "He was not the most honest or pious of men, but he was courageous...It was one of Diego Alatriste's virtues that he could make friends in Hell," Iñgio tells us in the introduction. His title of Captain, more complimentary than official, was bestowed on him by the men who fought at his side one winter in Holland. His legendary skills with the sword have attracted the attention of the king, his scheming advisers, the Inquisition, and an Italian assassin with a score to settle.

Each novel centers on a different facet of Spain's history, offering in broad brush strokes a glimpse into the contradictions of the Glorious Empire. Captain Alatriste introduces us to the world of court intrigues, plots and counter-plots, disguised kings, and the ability of a swordsman to make powerful enemies for following his code of honor. Purity of Blood pits Alatriste and Iñgio against the combined forces of the Inquisition and the royal advisers seeking to acquire the wealth and lands of prominent families.

The Sun Over Breda finds Alatriste and Iñgio returned to the battlefields of Holland, where they survive the brutal siege at Breda, and Iñgio comes of age in the bloody fields of Holland. It is the most military of the three novels -- and certainly, the bloodiest. But it also reveals why the Spanish soldiers were the most feared across Europe -- even when they were half starved and abandoned by a King who took them for granted. The King's Gold returns them to Spain, veterans without work. Captain Alatriste is called upon to secretly steal a shipment of gold for the King that is being smuggled into Spain by corrupt officials to the Crown. Perhaps one of the most interesting scenes of this novel takes place in Seville's prison -- where Alatriste spends a night celebrating the life of an infamous ruffian on the eve of his execution.

The novels also ground their stories in Spain's rich literary and artistic culture -- famous dueling poets of the time, such as Don Francisco de Quevedo, drink and fight alongside Alatriste, composing poems even as they are fighting. (An appendix at the end of the novels provides us with more poems from these well-known authors of the time.) Iñgio is reading Cervantes' Don Quixote as he is marching through the battlefields of Holland, and later, he will try to advise the court painter Diego Velázquez, whose enormous painting "The Surrender at Breda" depicts more myth than fact.

Iñgio Balboa, the narrator, is a terrific voice in the novels. An old man, he is recounting his youth and apprenticeship with Alatriste, seasoned with witty, sarcastic, and poignant observations of the decline of his once powerful nation. When he relates the battles of Breda, he does so as a soldier in visceral, vivid language that is at once robust, filled with pride but tinged with melancholy at the enormity of the sacrifice: "And nine years later, in Madrid, standing before Diego Velázquez's panorama, it seemed I could hear the drum again and that I was watching, amid the forts and smoking trenches in the distance, near Breda, the slow advance of the old, implacable squads, the pikes and standards of what was the last and best infantry in the world: despised, cruel, arrogant Spaniards discipline only when under fire, who suffered everything in any assault but would allow no man to raise his voice to them."

**A side note. In the original post, I was asked in the comments why I called the painting "The Surrender at Breda" a myth -- so here is my answer: 

It's actually the way it is presented in the novel -- the narrator, as an eye witness to the Surrender at Breda, is there to advise Velazquez on the integrity of his painting. But the artist, at a certain point, takes artistic license to create a dramatic image regardless of the truth (according to the narrator) of the event. Thus, it's one of those moments in the novel where Perez Reverte is commenting on the distance between those in the battle and those who memorialize it as a more romantic event. Most of that novel leading up to the battle is anything but romantic -- so at the end we have this odd flourish of art as the brutality of the event is contained with the painting. And because the painting becomes the last word for the public, so to speak -- it creates a mythic image of the event.

Emile On Leave: Two More

Ok..so here are two more photos of my father Emile with his cousins on leave after the liberation of Paris (a follow up to the post below). I am almost certain the man is his cousin Yves Jouffa and the woman Yves sister Roselyne-- but I am waiting for the family in France to confirm this. I find these old photographs so endearing, their faces so open and vulnerable to the camera. They want to remember themselves like this, happy to be alive, to be reunited again after such horrible times. It is odd for me as my father's child to find myself now so much older and relating to these photos of him the age of my children now with a nostalgic affection and amusement. I feel protective of that younger Emile -- and charmed by those oh so expressive eyebrows of his and that boyish smile (never-mind the pipe!).