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Sto caricando le informazioni... Ginger, You're Barmydi David Lodge
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A funny, shocking novel about the trials and traumas of British post-war National Service When it isn't prison, it's hell.Or at least that's the heartfelt belief of conscripts Jonathan Browne and Mike 'Ginger' Brady. For this is the British Army in the days of National Service, a grimy deposit of post-war gloom. An endless round of kit layout, square-bashing, shepherd's pie 'made with real shepherds' and drills are relieved only by the occasional lecture on firearms or V.D. The reckless, impulsive Mike and the more pragmatic Jonathan adopt radically different attitudes to survive this two-year confiscation of their freedom, with dramatic consequences Non sono state trovate descrizioni di biblioteche |
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Google Books — Sto caricando le informazioni... GeneriSistema Decimale Melvil (DDC)813Literature English (North America) American fictionClassificazione LCVotoMedia:
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The army is predictably awful, with a basic training programme at Catterick that focuses on breaking the spirit of the conscripts and occupying them with mindless and pointless tasks, mainly involving cleaning and polishing their equipment. The classic example are the boots, supplied by the manufacturer with a matt, waterproof finish that has presumably been specified for practical reasons by the army itself, but which have to be polished to a high-gloss finish to pass kit inspections. Naturally, the polishing process requires the soldiers to maltreat the leather in ways that destroy the waterproofing and ruin the boots for actual use. There is only the most minimal attention to actual military training, and everything takes at least three times as long as it needs to.
Graduates or school-leavers going on to university (for some reason, those going to Oxford and Cambridge do their military service beforehand, others go to university first) are automatically flagged as "potential officers", which means going into a selection process where they have to compete to show "leadership" Whatever this mysterious quality might be, I was fairly certain that I did not possess it. At Wozbee it was apparently assessed by one’s ability to handle a knife and fork and to cross a seven-foot ditch with two three-foot planks. I did not see myself excelling in either of these tests. Mike and Jonathan make a minor gesture of rebellion by asking not to be considered for this process. For Mike this is the first of a series of acts that will get him into more and more trouble with the authorities and eventually mess up his life completely; for Jonathan it marks the start of his recognition that army life is something one can survive, if one searches out the most comfortable path through it: All human activity was useless, but some kinds were more pleasant than others. The Army had taught me that much philosophy.
The book seems to be largely a response to the politician quoted in the last chapter extolling the virtues of National Service just as it is being wound down "National Service has done much to teach the younger generation independence, initiative, responsibility,—qualities which have stood this country in good stead in two World Wars." For Lodge, as for most of his contemporaries who actually did National Service in peacetime, what the army taught them was how to look busy while avoiding actual work as far as possible, and how to keep their heads down and stay out of trouble. If they came from an upper-class background, it taught them that arrogant self-assurance will get you everywhere; if they did not, it taught them that most people in positions of in authority were arrogant, brainless incompetents. And that you were free to think what you liked of them, as long as you saluted and said "Yes, sir!"
A book that is tilting against a long-dead institution, and with a certain period quaintness (in his afterword, Lodge is visibly amused at the way the publishers of this 1980s reissue have "restored" the pre-Chatterley bowdlerising of swearwords of the first edition — "fugg" and "c—t", etc. — which the 1970s edition had happily turned back into the real swearwords they were meant for). But very interesting. ( )