August 1914

August 1914  Alexander Solzhenitsyn (Michael Glenny Tr.)  714 pp.

Alexander Solzhenitsyn’s novel, August 1914, sounds his tremendous cry against the futility of war. Over the course of the book’s seven hundred pages, he takes us through the earliest month of Russia’s involvement in World War 1.

I must admit that August 1914 feels its length at times, and the structure does not help with these issues. The action around Tannenberg forms the core of the novel, as we chase Colonel Vorotsyntsev around the battlefield. Bookending this story Solzhenitsyn presents us with two narratives, one in Moscow, one in Rostov-on-Don. August 1914 is the first book in The Red Wheel cycle, and it seems that the segments outside of Tannenberg are threads Solzhenitsyn will pick up on later in the series. As they don’t weigh on the plot of this book very heavily, I will refrain from discussing them.

Solzhenitsyn’s treatment of the Russian serfs is marvelously executed. No one but the intellectual caste of the officer corps is concerned about the larger geopolitical consequences of the war. The men in in the trenches are solely concerned about fighting for the Tsar, doing their duty for Russia, and most of all, coming home again safely. This disconnect creates a bizarre situation late in the book when, under heavy shelling, the conscripted serfs hold in their trenches, stalwartly waiting for the rain of death to end, while the officers begin to turn and run.

This could, very easily, have turned into a trite sermon on the virtues of the proletariat, fighting more bravely than the intelligentsia in a war waged without any thought of benefit for the common man. Solzhenitsyn quickly deconstructs this possibility through Alexander Lenartovich. The communist’s opportunistic sermonizing provides a none-to-subtle thread of irony throughout the book. Early in the novel, he says to a doctor, as they are sitting on the outskirts of the battle, that the worse this war is for Russia, the better it will be for the upcoming revolution. Later, once he has his first taste of battle, Lenartovich does not recant his philosophy of “the worse, the better,” but suddenly wants it not to include him. As he flees the battle, he quickly finds himself working with Vorotyntsev and several other loyal soldiers to get their report to central command.

That segment of bringing the report out of the battle leads to Solzhenitsyn’s greatest charge of ineptitude against the Russian army in the war. Immediately before Vortyntsev makes his escape from the disaster at Tannenberg, we see the first reports of the battle making their way to central command. Most interestingly of all, the forward command staff’s escape is described as “read[ing] like a boy’s adventure novel.” This claim drives home two points, first the nature of the Russian mode of war during the battle- confused and disorganized, over-sure of its own capabilities, and desperate to prove itself to others; much like the typical boy in an young adult adventure novel. Second, a theme of that genre which I hope to see explored in future volumes.

In the typical boy’s adventure novel, after overcoming his struggles, the protagonist will find himself accepted into the ranks of manhood, his capabilities exercised. If we read August 1914 as the opening acts of such a novel, then I cannot help looking forward to Russia beginning to exercise its newfound capabilities later in the series. 

Solzhenitsyn’s creation of the area around Tannenberg as place comes across a little sparse. Normally I would find this off-putting, but in this instance it worked wonderfully. Much like The Red Badge of Courage, the characters’ ignorance of the fine-grained detail of the landscape is as much a player in the book as the germans themselves. Thus, Solzhenitsyn skillfully leaves us with a landscape of precipitous drops, blanketed in mist covering the thunder of death ringing out from across the shrouded folds of a largely unknown landscape.

Would I recommend August 1914?

Without a doubt, yes.

Score: 4.7/5

Would I keep this on my bookshelf? Yes.

-Mr. Cheddar