prendrelemick
09-14-2012, 05:22 PM
The seven pillars of wisdom.
Set during the First World War, this is the story of Lawrence of Arabia in his own words. For two years he fought with Arab irregulars against Turkish and German forces in the desert between Mecca and Damascus. The book is full of episodes of blowing up bridges and machine gunning trains. He also gives the big picture – the strategic planning of Nations and Kings, and the intimate consequences for himself and his camel drivers.
It is also a travelogue, discribing in great detail the desert in all its moods and seasons – Wadi Rumm, the Oases of Wadi Sirhan, the ruins of Azrak .
While he spoke we scoured along the dazzling plain, now nearly bare of trees and turning slowly softer under foot. At first it had been grey shingle, packed like gravel. Then the sand increased and the stones grew rarer, till we could distinguish the colors of the separate flakes, porphyry, green schist, basalt. At last it was nearly pure white sand, under which lay a harder stratum. Such going was like a pile-carpet for our camels’ running. The particles of sand were clean and polished, and caught the blaze of the sun like diamonds in a reflection so fierce, that after a while I could not endure it.
He also discribes the people of the tribes who live there, the characters he meets from famous desert warriors, to lowly camel boys. His admiration for the Arab tribesman is obvious and catching.
However all that is background, his own inner journey is at the heart of the book. The vastness of the Desert and the smallness of his Me in it, the role he is playing, the conflict of duty verses morality, gives rise to some serious introspection.
Slaves might be free, if they could, in intention. But the soldier assigned his owner the twenty-four hours’ use of his body; and sole conduct of his mind and passions. A convict had license to hate the rule which confined him, and all humanity outside, if he were greedy in hate: but the sulking soldier was a bad soldier; indeed, no soldier. His affections must be hired pieces on the chess-board of the king.
He is an intellegent thinking man, a scholar and philosopher, he cannot turn these aspects of himself off. He can never ignore the basic dishonesty of his role, encourageing the Arab revolt to further British ends and that loyalty to his country may end in the betrayal of his friends. Unyet he must carry on and can only find comfort in self loathing.
“As time went by our need to fight for the ideal increased to an unquestioning possession, riding with spur and rein over our doubts. Willy nilly it became a faith. We had sold ourselves into its slavery, manacled ourselves together in its chain-gang, bowed ourselves to serve its holiness with all our good and ill content. T
he mentality of ordinary human slaves is terrible - they have lost the world - and we had surrendered, not body alone, but soul to the overmastering greed of victory. By our own act we were drained of morality, of volition, of responsibility, like dead leaves in the wind.”
I enjoyed most aspects of this book, though the passages of discriptive prose were a bit long and geological in detail. The story telling was good, parts were a bit self-indulgent. I enjoyed the historical aspects and once again noticed how such a work inadvertantly tells of the time it was written in. I especially enjoyed meeting the mind of a figure like Lawrence, complicated and intellegent, confident in his judgement but unsure of the morality of his role. The juxtaposition of what he should've been by birth, race and position - and what he was through his independent and enlightened mind.
1.
Set during the First World War, this is the story of Lawrence of Arabia in his own words. For two years he fought with Arab irregulars against Turkish and German forces in the desert between Mecca and Damascus. The book is full of episodes of blowing up bridges and machine gunning trains. He also gives the big picture – the strategic planning of Nations and Kings, and the intimate consequences for himself and his camel drivers.
It is also a travelogue, discribing in great detail the desert in all its moods and seasons – Wadi Rumm, the Oases of Wadi Sirhan, the ruins of Azrak .
While he spoke we scoured along the dazzling plain, now nearly bare of trees and turning slowly softer under foot. At first it had been grey shingle, packed like gravel. Then the sand increased and the stones grew rarer, till we could distinguish the colors of the separate flakes, porphyry, green schist, basalt. At last it was nearly pure white sand, under which lay a harder stratum. Such going was like a pile-carpet for our camels’ running. The particles of sand were clean and polished, and caught the blaze of the sun like diamonds in a reflection so fierce, that after a while I could not endure it.
He also discribes the people of the tribes who live there, the characters he meets from famous desert warriors, to lowly camel boys. His admiration for the Arab tribesman is obvious and catching.
However all that is background, his own inner journey is at the heart of the book. The vastness of the Desert and the smallness of his Me in it, the role he is playing, the conflict of duty verses morality, gives rise to some serious introspection.
Slaves might be free, if they could, in intention. But the soldier assigned his owner the twenty-four hours’ use of his body; and sole conduct of his mind and passions. A convict had license to hate the rule which confined him, and all humanity outside, if he were greedy in hate: but the sulking soldier was a bad soldier; indeed, no soldier. His affections must be hired pieces on the chess-board of the king.
He is an intellegent thinking man, a scholar and philosopher, he cannot turn these aspects of himself off. He can never ignore the basic dishonesty of his role, encourageing the Arab revolt to further British ends and that loyalty to his country may end in the betrayal of his friends. Unyet he must carry on and can only find comfort in self loathing.
“As time went by our need to fight for the ideal increased to an unquestioning possession, riding with spur and rein over our doubts. Willy nilly it became a faith. We had sold ourselves into its slavery, manacled ourselves together in its chain-gang, bowed ourselves to serve its holiness with all our good and ill content. T
he mentality of ordinary human slaves is terrible - they have lost the world - and we had surrendered, not body alone, but soul to the overmastering greed of victory. By our own act we were drained of morality, of volition, of responsibility, like dead leaves in the wind.”
I enjoyed most aspects of this book, though the passages of discriptive prose were a bit long and geological in detail. The story telling was good, parts were a bit self-indulgent. I enjoyed the historical aspects and once again noticed how such a work inadvertantly tells of the time it was written in. I especially enjoyed meeting the mind of a figure like Lawrence, complicated and intellegent, confident in his judgement but unsure of the morality of his role. The juxtaposition of what he should've been by birth, race and position - and what he was through his independent and enlightened mind.
1.