Book of the Week: Johnny Got His Gun by Dalton Trumbo

At the end of Johnny Got His Gun there is a fantastic line uttered by the protagonist that sums up the entire experience of reading the novel:

“That would be a great thing to concentrate war in one stump of a body and to show it to people so they could see the difference between a war that’s in newspaper headlines and liberty loan drives and a war that is fought lonesomely in the mud somewhere a war between a man and a high explosive shell.”

Dalton Trumbo’s greatest triumph with Johnny Got His Gun was boiling the entire anti-war argument of the novel into that single horror: an armless, legless, faceless, eyeless, voiceless casualty screaming at you for mercy. If you favor military action in any form, can you justify the victories in the loss of life and limbs?

Needless to say, Johnny Got His Gun still resonates so effectively today as it did when it was first published in 1939. Look at any photographs of Iraq war veterans with severed limbs and the same question still confronts you: is the war worth the cost? It is that focus that keeps the novel from drifting into long-winded speeches or diatribes. Because we never see the world outside of Joe’s mind, we are trapped in the argument of “Why? Was it all worth this?” Therefore, the novel never feels preachy. Nor does the anti-war argument grow dated -– because it is not rooted in World War I (where the action takes place), or World War II (which the novel was released just prior to), but in the moral argument against war itself.

Trumbo also does a superb job of making Johnny Got His Gun a “small novel.” It is not trying to encompass all the horrors of war, but just this one soul-wrenching example. You cannot help but cringe along with Joe when he feels a rat gnawing at the side of his body as he lies helpless on the hospital bed, unable to swat it away. As the reader, you share Joe’s isolation and helplessness.

And yet, from this horror, Trumbo is even able to bring forth great humor. Take the scene of Christ playing cards with the soon-to-be-dead soldiers. He performs a minor miracle by making full whiskey glasses appear beneath each player (a sort of mock of the water-into-wine trick), but then winds up losing a hand of blackjack (“I never could hit a twelve he said in a complaining voice”).

Throughout it all, Trumbo never lets you off the hook. You must look at Joe and see his fate. To look away (or stop reading in this case) is to deny the realities of war and its ultimate cost.

Without giving away the ending, the book outdoes the movie (which Trumbo himself directed) in that it doesn’t over-argue the point. The sad resolution is not discussed as a great moral quandary, but rather a matter of regulations. Ultimately, the army’s regulations turn a blind eye to the truth that lies before them.

If you use any of the book sharing sites, here a links to the novel for each:
Good Reads | Library Thing | Shelfari