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The Missing of the Somme Paperback – 30 Jun. 2016
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- Print length224 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherCanongate Books
- Publication date30 Jun. 2016
- Dimensions12.9 x 1.5 x 19.81 cm
- ISBN-101782119264
- ISBN-13978-1782119265
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Review
"A penetrating meditation upon war and remembrance" (Daily Telegraph)
"Dyer is excellent on the different ambitions and effects of municipal memorials, and on photographs and paintings" (Sebastian Faulks Mail on Sunday) --Observer
"A gentle, patient, loving book. It is about mourning and memory, about how the Great War has been represented - and our sense of it shaped and defined - by different artistic media" (Guardian) --Guardian
"Articulates a response to the Great War which many feel, but no one has analysed so scrupulously" (Spectator) --Spectator
Book Description
Republished to mark the centenary of the battle of the Somme Geoff Dyer's classic book is 'the great Great War book of our time' (Observer)
About the Author
Product details
- Publisher : Canongate Books; Main edition (30 Jun. 2016)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 224 pages
- ISBN-10 : 1782119264
- ISBN-13 : 978-1782119265
- Dimensions : 12.9 x 1.5 x 19.81 cm
- Best Sellers Rank: 470,966 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- Customer reviews:
About the author

Geoff Dyer is the author of four novels and six other nonfiction books, including But Beautiful, which was awarded the Somerset Maugham Prize, and Out of Sheer Rage, which was a National Book Critics Circle Award finalist. The winner of a Lannan Literary Award, the International Centre of Photography's 2006 Infinity Award for writing on photography, and the American Academy of Arts and Letters' E. M. Forster Award, Dyer is a regular contributor to many publications in the US and UK. He lives in London. For more information visit Geoff Dyer's official website: www.geoffdyer.com
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That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England."
-- Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)
"What passing bells for these who die as cattle?"
-- Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)
Why is it that the Great War exerts such power over the European literary imagination, even as we approach the centenary of its outbreak, a power that the Second World War cannot remotely equal? Perhaps because of the sheer scale of the carnage. Perhaps because, in the popular mind, it remains a war without reason, whose causes only historians fully understand. Perhaps because, as novelist Geoff Dyer points out in this extended essay, it was a war that memorialized itself from its inception, to be fought and written about in the future perfect, with an eye to how future generations will see it. And it is a war that seems to have taken a 180-degree turn in public perception over the course of the century, without ever losing its enormity as a memorial to heroism or folly.
I have witnessed these changes for myself. At the age of ten, I was taught the structure of a sonnet, not from the works of Shakespeare or Keats, but from the poem by Rupert Brooke quoted above, then considered the epitome of English patriotic modesty. Remembrance Day in November, the red poppies in everyone's lapels, the two-minute silence observed nationwide, these were more than empty rituals. At chapel each day in my boarding school, I sat under the memorial to Rupert Brooke (an alumnus), whose complete sonnet was carved into the marble. Taking weekly communion in the Memorial Chapel, I was surrounded on three sides by the names of the fallen in the Great War (with only one wall for the later conflict). They were contemporaries, and in some cases the friends, of my father, who had gone to France as a lieutenant of eighteen, and returned a twice-decorated hero. But a scarred one, as I would later discover, unwilling to talk at all about his experiences, fleeing from almost every aspect of the England in which he had been raised. On his death, I would discover a letter written by his father in India on the occasion of his first posting, silently questioning the purpose of the War, but prevented from saying so by his position as a servant of Empire. Then, when I was at college, Benjamin Britten's WAR REQUIEM came out, setting the anti-heroic realism of Wilfred Owen against the Latin text. Owen was a poet entirely unknown to me, though I immediately bought his collected works with a college prize; Dyer refers to him now as "the poet everyone knows." Owen is remembered; Brooke is not. Somewhere around the middle of the century, the whole view of the War-once-called-Great had wheeled around almost completely.
Dyer writes a rather messy book, switching between personal narrative and objective analysis, between his own voice and numerous quotations from others, but it is full of magnificent insights. He too has a personal stake, trying to understand the lives of his two grandfathers, each of whom fought on the Somme. But his main focus is on how the War has been memorialized: in the poetry of Brooke, Owen, Blunden, and Sassoon; in the spate of memoirs that followed in the twenties; in official histories; in the sculpted memorials that sprang up all over Europe; in novels of the second and third generation, each trying to understand the inexplicable, to find some humanity in the inhumane, and standing on each others' shoulders to do so. Dyer himself draws heavily on Paul Fussell's THE GREAT WAR AND MODERN MEMORY , an influence he freely acknowledges. If nothing else, Dyer has written an invaluable reader's guide to war literature, singling out such remarkable books as Erich Maria Remarque's ALL QUIET ON THE WESTERN FRONT , Sebastian Faulks' BIRDSONG , and Pat Barker's REGENERATION (in which Owen and Sassoon are characters). But he goes further, exploring how the significance of any great subject resides as much in how it is written about as in the historical facts.
The black and white photographs, the personal journey that occupies the latter part of the book, and the deep reflection all foreshadow the work of WG Sebald, whose AUSTERLITZ would anatomize the aftermath of the later war. I wish he could have used the Sebald model to organize the entire book. It must be to deliberately jarring effect that he emphasizes the sophomoric quality of his first of his two trips, made with two rambunctious college friends in a ramshackle car they call the "tank" and viewing the rain-sodden landscape through the barely working windscreen wipers, which of course they call the Ypres. But when Dyer returns alone, his reactions are powerful, as here at the German cemetery at Langemark: "At the edge of the Kamaradengrab stand four mourning figures, silhouetted against the zinc sky. Up close these are poorly sculpted figures, but from a distance they impart a sense of utter desolation to the place. It is as if the minute's silence for which they have bowed their heads has been extended for the duration of eternity." He is equally evocative at the Canadian Memorial at Vimy Ridge, treated so memorably by Jane Urquhart in THE STONE CARVERS (though after Dyer's book, which was first published in 1994). And he is soberly anti-heroic in pointing out that the brooding mausoleum at Thiepval, built without any Christian symbolism, "is a memorial if not to the death, then certainly to the superfluousness of God." My own worship in the memorial chapel is a thing of the past.
Dyer has written a relatively short, but quite dense work. In terms of remembrance, he focuses on both the immaterial and the material. For the English, it is remembered most by the words of two poets, Wilfred Owen, who died in combat one week before the end of the war, and Siegfried Sassoon who lived to a relatively old age. And I knew the concluding lines: "At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we will remember them." But I didn't know that Laurence Binyon had written those words in September, 1914, in astonishing anticipation of memory, which is another of Dyer's themes. The author also discusses how the dead are commemorated in post-war ceremonies, with one of the most profoundly simply being the two minutes of silence, when all activity stopped, at the 11th hour of 11 November (later this commemoration was eventually changed to the nearest Sunday).
The author says that the war was the greatest stimulus for sculpture since the Renaissance, and notes that in such an expansion of "commissions" not all was first rate. Dyer's extended essay also contains numerous black and white photos, perhaps half are the resulting sculptures from those commissions. Of the others, two of the most moving are on pages 116 and 117; British Tommies walking on a boardwalk through an utter wasteland, and the ruins of Ypres cathedral.
"There is no one else here." Thus Dyer commences his description of his experience at the Thiepval memorial to "the missing of the Somme," which contains the names of over 73,000 British and French soldiers who died in the four month battle commencing in July, 1916, and who have no known grave. There were some mindless remarks in the guest registry, which included how they had really given it to "the Nazis," with the rebuttal mentioned in the first paragraph of the review. Throughout his work he had laid the groundwork for this visit, starting with how Robert Scott was made a national hero for dying, incompetently, but in adversity, after his return from the South Pole. And he provides a wonderful quote from D.H. Lawrence, who said: "They are all so brave to suffer, but none of them brave enough, to reject suffering." Dyer goes on to mention a few who did... who did revolt, and were shot for their efforts. I thought the author missed a wonderful opportunity to consider why the Russian and French armies did revolt in mass, but the British didn't.
I also thought there was a lack of focus on that inexpressible calamity that was the first day of July, when British soldiers "went over the top," to relieve the pressure on Verdun, and more than 20,000, in that single day, were killed. Cattle to the slaughter, as Wilfred Owens somewhat poetically put it ("...for those who die as cattle"). Even today, almost a hundred years after, there is much denial that it ever really happened, except, of course, in some fuzzy abstract way, that is not quantitative.
I've toured my share of battlefields, including those in northern France. Serendipity has taken me to Normandy and Verdun on several occasions, but never to the area of the Somme. I had to check on the sites to realize that Thiepval is in France, and Ypres is now called Leper, and is in Belgium, along with Passchendaele. Finally, another small index in the remembrance area is the number of reviews at Amazon. This work was published almost 20 years ago, and there are now 16 reviews at Amazon in America. I thought SURELY there would be more in the UK. It is now 8... as I add my 5-star review.
If I had been Geoff Dyer (please pardon the presumptuousness), "An Infinity of Waste" would have been the title of this book. Instead, the title, THE MISSING OF THE SOMME, is taken from the letters high on the Thiepval Memorial, on which are recorded the names of 73,077 men who lost their lives in the Battle of the Somme but whose remains were never identified. Thiepval and the site of the Battle of the Somme were the last places Dyer visited in his tours of the cemeteries of the Great War, as preparation for this book of meditations on the Great War, the ways it has come to be remembered, and its influence on Western humanity today.
Originally published in 1994 and recently re-issued, it is a superb book. It is not a history of World War I, but nonetheless it is a must for any serious student or scholar of WWI. Rather than history, it focuses on the ways the War has become history - the ways it is remembered.
Still, THE MISSING OF THE SOME contains plenty of historical factoids or anecdotes of note. For example, in the first months of the war "football [soccer] was used as an incentive to enlistment"; the recruiters advertised that the war offered men the chance to play "the greatest game of all" and by the end of 1914 half a million Englishmen had enlisted through sporting organizations such as football clubs. As matters developed, early in the war the British were completely unprepared for the massive number of corpses generated in this glorious game of War, and burial of the dead was haphazard and inefficient. "By the time of the great battles of attrition of 1916-17 mass graves were dug in advance of major offensives. Singing columns of soldiers fell grimly silent as they marched by these gaping pits en route to the front-line trenches."
Dyer is British (both his grandfathers fought in the Great War), so the book has a decided British orientation. And its geographic scope is limited to the Western Front (though, of course, that provides more than enough material for any meditation on the Great War). Much of the book deals with the cemeteries and memorials to the dead (of which there are a handful of photographs), or with the Great War in literature and poetry (including, of course, Wilfred Owen). This is territory previously explored by others, most notably Paul Fussell in "The Great War and Modern Memory", to which Dyer pays tribute. But Dyer adds much that is original, at least to me. And with a subject as rich and expansive as this one, even the occasional repetition is welcome.
If you have read any of Dyer's other books, you know that he can be willfully eccentric. THE MISSING OF THE SOMME is no exception. On occasion I found his idiosyncratic and mildly self-absorbed narrative annoying and/or flippant. Likewise, a few of the observations he offers are badly wayward. They, however, are offset several times over by the number of astute insights. It is a brief and intelligent book, well worth the several hours required to read it. I highly recommend it to anyone interested in the Great War, provided you are not looking to it as a conventional history.







