Alistair Maclean is author of some of the best war fiction in the world – notably the Guns of Navarone and Where Eagles Dare – but in this book he has surpassed the rest.
Seeing as I loathe spoilers in reviews, I shall keep them to a minimum! This book centres around the eponymous HMS Ulysses, a frigate in World War II. This ship is used on the arctic convoy runs to Murmansk, a vital part of the allied war effort sadly largley igonred by the Soviet government after the war. These convoy runs were the worst of the war, featuring not only the Kriegsmarine’s U-Boats, but also sub-zero temperatures, blizzards, and twenty-hour days. Combine all these and you have a good a picture of hell as it is possible to get. The men of the Ulysses think so too, and have mutinied. As the book starts, an Admiral is discussing the failed mutiny and what should be done with the Ulysses. It is decided that, to atone, she should escort one last convoy – FR77 – to Murmansk, then she will be sent to the Mediterranean theatre. The voyage that follows is truly appalling in every sense of the word. In particular, the pathos engendered by Maclean’s descriptions of men having to endure such agony is unspeakable. For me, the most poignant character is Ralston, the torpedo gunner. Without giving away too much, he does something no-one should have to do, and Vallery, the father-figure of the captain, suffers so much in making him do it and then realsiing what he has done to Ralston. It must be read to be fully experinced in all its emotional intensity.
The only comparable book to this is, in my opinion, All Quiet on the Western Front, though HMS Ulysses is far more bitter and gritty. There is a rawness exuded by the book, a sense of despair and loss permeating every line. However, the ending is surprisingly upbeat, yet so sad as to be beyond words. As I read the last two pages, I had tears running down my face, a testament to the power of Maclean’s writing. Maybe upbeat is the wrong word for the ending, yet I felt that there was a certain glory in it. All the suffering, all the pain, it’s all justified in the last chapter.
It’s not a long book, so those of you who are dispirited by hefty tombstone-size books have no excuse! But what it lacks in length, it more than makes up for in sheer force. Each page is littered with the anti-war message of the book. Like Saving Private Ryan, it is just not possible to come away with anything other than the idea that war is hell, and not something to be undertaken lightly.