"It [Undertones of War] is beautifully written and rich in literary references. More significantly, it is a lament for the destruction of the French and Belgian countryside, and by implication, the threat to natural peace and beauty everywhere by the savage, impersonal menace of war. As Paul Fussell has perceptively written, for Blunden the countryside was not merely beautiful; it was as magical and as precious to him as English literature: "For it to be brutally torn up by shells is a scandal close to murder". It is essentially in this poignant sense of natural destruction and needless waste (including the loss of animals and old buildings as well as people) that Blunden could be construed as "anti-war". He had little sense of political causation or strategic factors, seeing the conflict rather in terms of a natural disaster such as an earthquake or the effects of a drastic climate change."
Quote Details
Added by wikiquote-import-bot
Unverified quote
0 likes
Original Language: English
Available Languages (1)
Sources
Brian Bond, Survivors of a Kind: Memoirs of the Western Front (2008), pp. 35-36
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Edmund_Charles_Blunden
Revision History
No revisions have been submitted for this quote.
Categories
Edmund Charles Blunden
Edmund Charles Blunden (November 1, 1896 – January 20, 1974) was an English poet, author and critic. Although not one of the top trio of English World War I writers, his works exerted important influence.
20 quotes on TrueQuotesView all quotes by Edmund Charles Blunden →
Related Quotes
"I am for the woods against the world, But are the woods for me?"
"Australia once produced poets who were English poets a little out of touch; now she has her own; and O'Reilly with ba…"
"At Quincy's moat the squandering village ends, And there in the almshouse dwell the dearest friends Of all the villag…"
"And nigh this toppling reed, still as the dead The great pike lies, the murderous patriarch, Watching the waterpit sh…"
"Here they went with smock and crook, Toiled in the sun, lolled in the shade, Here they mudded out the brook And here …"
"Like the bee that now is blown Honey-heavy on my hand, From the toppling tansy-throne In the green tempestuous land,—…"
"Old farm-houses with their white faces Fly, and their ghosts have taken their places; Even the signposts like grim li…"
"Can she who shines so calm be fear? What poison pours she in slumber's ear?"
"Tired with dull grief, grown old before my day, I sit in solitude and only hear Long silent laughters, murmurings of …"
"The hop-poles stand in cones, The icy pond lurks under, The pole-tops steeple to the thrones Of stars, sound gulfs of…"