4 STARS
It was a kiss like a broken blade slipping in right under the armpit or going straight through the visor and into the eye.
To give up a part of you, the best part of you and still find reason to live. People are so glib, of course, life goes on. But really, when you covet a piece, something that is the cornerstone of yourself how do you continue?
--Cochem Castle, Mosel, Germany
The setting is Ahlensteig, an officers' POW camp, which I'm sure one can imagine easily was certainly better than an enlisted camp. Combined with the nearly anachronistic Wehrmacht Kommandant gives an idealized atmosphere. One of the last few examples of noblesse oblige, modernity is harsher and crueler than Armin Truchsess von Kardenberg. Having seen it first hand, he executes his duty as he waits for the inevitable.
Mark Driscoll has seen war and been changed like all men, but he still has the drive to live when so many around him have been lost to the unrelenting death. He has his ghosts, but he still sees a future. Even if it's only one day at a time. He still wants.
Second chances were too expensive to squander. Even if there was no future, even if it was all truly hopeless.
There is this understanding between the two men of their duty. Neither expects the other to compromise their ethics. But there is a space between rabid hostility and complacency, and here is where Armin and Mark intersect. Shared history provides them with a basis for understanding and compassion. The personalities of war and soldiers is actually quite interesting, the range represented through various characters illustrates the complexity of warfare and human nature far beyond cookie cutter good and evil.
As the winter of '44 drags on the days turn darker as the SS arrive at Ahlensteig, and days of yore seem idyllic, or as idyllic as being imprisoned can be. In the last moments of war, when there's nothing left to lose either the futility is realized and things just stop or they go very, very badly. The SS weren't the sort to use reason.
Fencing is a romanticized sport for me. My father did epee and saber as martial training in a time now lost. Though hand to hand combat is still critical and being on the wrong end of a bayonet will absolve one of any thoughts to the contrary. So part of me loved this story just for the handful of matches and the athleticism.
Warily, I marched to the end-- seriously, I stopped a couple times and said to myself that I could be happy with it ending here because I so freaking terrified I'd get my heart ripped out rather heroically or nobly or god no, stupidly-- and was rewarded for my perseverance.
Overall, the softer side of WWII with fewer labels and more compassion.
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