I loved this book which was first published in 1922 and I downloaded it free from girlebooks. I’ve read quite a few books by Willa Cather and I’ve liked them all but I hadn’t even heard of this one so when I looked it up to see when it was published I was gobsmacked to see that she had won the Pulitzer prize for it.

It begins in Nebraska and I thought it was going to be one of her rural, pioneer type books which would’ve suited me fine but it goes on to be so much more.

Claude Wheeler is the middle son in the Wheeler family and his parents are quite well off, the farm is successful but Mr Wheeler is an awkward character and Claude doesn’t really fit in. He’s supposedly the brightest son and he’s dutiful and does as he’s told but in truth his father would like Claude more if he was more like his brothers who don’t toe the line and therefore are given more respect for having stronger characters.

Everything which Claude does is wrong and he even ends up marrying a dreadful, cold woman who is only interested in Christianity and prohibitionism. His parents can see history repeating itself as Claude’s father-in-law has had a miserable life with his wife.

Meanwhile the news from abroad is grim as the First World War is raging in Europe and the inhabitants of Nebraska are horrified at the newspaper reports from the old country. They are keen for their president to take them into the war but they have to wait quite a long time. When it does happen, Claude joins up immediately, wanting to escape his situation.

Eventually he gets to France as Lieutenant Wheeler and army life seems to suit him. For once he fits in.

As you can imagine, this is a sad tale, given the subject matter, but it’s something that I’ve always been interested in and I think this is the first novel about that war which I’ve read which has been written by an American. I’d be happy if anyone can recommend any others to me.

I love Cather’s descriptions so here’s a flavour from France.

When the survivors of Company B are old men and are telling of their good days they will say to each other, “Oh that week we spent at Beaufort!” They will close their eyes and see a little village on a low ridge, lost in the forest, overgrown with oak and chestnut and black walnut …. buried in autumn colour, the streets drifted in autumn leaves, great branches interlacing over the roofs of houses, wells of cool water that taste of moss and tree roots.