Steven Pressfield The Virtues of War
Doubleday, c2004, ISBN 0-385-50099-8 (hardback)
mainstream /
memoir
What kind of fiction do you
like to read? That critical question is a good place to begin a
review of this book, since it bears strongly on whether or not The
Virtues of War will appeal to any given reader -- questions of
historical accuracy aside.
Pressfield has written a
memoir. A fictional one, but a memoir, and it's not going to
appeal to every reader. The general feeling is a collection of
loosely connected narratives (often in short chapters) combined with
observation and commentary on war, command, kingship, methods of
employing combat units, etc. Readers looking for a more
organized, plot-based narrative will be frustrated, as will those
interested in characterization via interaction and relationships.
This is neither a novel nor an
action-adventure story in any traditional sense. One might think
a memoir (however fictional) from (arguably) the world's greatest
general would be intrinsically interesting,
yet Pressfield
kept such a wall of formality between Alexander and the reader that it
failed to appeal, emotionally. This story struck me as
nothing so much as an excuse for Pressfield to reconstruct Alexander's
battles and sieges, and offer his observations and opinions on warfare
and command. As such, those interested in military history may
well enjoy it, but I fear the average reader will be bored. It's dull, quite simply.
The general premise is that
Alexander,
in his latter years, narrated his memoirs to Itanes, the younger
brother of Roxane (his first, Sogdian, wife). Itanes is, in fact,
an historical figure (Arr. 7.6.5, although Arrian doesn't specify
whether he's older or younger), but he's little more than a name and
footnote on Alexander's career. The novel, however, does not move
forward from this point in time, somewhere in Baktria or India, but
moves backwards to Alexander's youth when Philip was still alive.
The first major battle described is that of Chaironeia. Yet even
from this vantage, events are not linear, but interrupted by isolated
descriptions of people and topics. Thus, there are at least three
different "time" levels present in the book -- the time of Alexander's
narrative to Itanes, the time of events that he's narrating, and
occasional non-time-specific topical commentaries. This can be
confusing, but it is in keeping with the general presentation of the
book as a memoir, and Pressfield handles it well enough that I was not
confused as to 'when' I was.
What I found more off-putting was the
overall tone fo the work. It's both formal and didactic, and I
think that lends a feeling of distance that makes it all less
compelling than it might have been. I believe Pressfield was
making a deliberate attempt to sound classical, but to be honest, I
found St. Augustine's Confessions
more compelling and
intimate. So while I understand the choice he made, I'm not sure
it worked.
There are some passages, however,
that I thought to be particularly insightful about Alexander's
personality (insofar as anyone can know it). I believe that
Pressfield is right on target, for instance, with his analysis of
Alexander and doubt (p. 67). Pressfield proposes that doubt in
his abilities is the one 'sin' that Alexander cannot forgive, and I
believe that true. Likewise, Pressfield clearly understands that
Alexander's great gift was to grasp the psychology of his opponents, their
weaknesses and fear. So in some respects, I did feel that
Pressfield had a good grip on aspects of Alexander's personality, but
in other ways, this book was a disappointment. Pressfield's
Alexander comes across as uber-rational, at points, and such matters as
his religiosity are swept over or de-emphasized and cast in ways that
would appeal to post-Enlightenment readers. There is an overall
tone of apologia that annoys, although to be fair, the novel is in
first person and I would have a difficult time believing a memoir by
Alexander that was full of self-doubt and angsty brooding!
Nonetheless, Alexander is a bit too chivalrous, too "Christianized,"
and not Macedonian enough. The tone is formal, sometimes arrogant
and pompous (which
isn't necessarily inaccurate, mind), but -- most of all -- subtly
distant.
I found myself putting the book down
again and again, and having to force myself to come back to it --
despite my fundamental interest in the subject and despite the fact I
like military history. Neither of those is a good sign.
(And, I must confess, that while I read through Gates of Fire fairly
easily, Tides of War also
bored me, and when an ancient historian is
bored by a book about Alcibiades, of all people, that's bad.)
Something about Pressfield's narrative style puts me
off. It may not put off other readers, however, and I wish to be
upfront about that. Taste is as much a part of our evaluations as
anything, and I do attempt to recognize the difference between
structural or historical problems and simple dislike of an author's
narrative take.
What, then of the history?
Despite having made a name for himself in writing novels set in ancient
Greece, Pressfield still lacks a certain level of cultural
comprehension. He's guilty of over-modernizing and not letting
the past properly be the
past, at points. Many of my complaints
involve areas where he simply assumed and didn't bother to
double-check. The research for his novels is spotty, and
sometimes surprising details are wrong while other details are quite
correct.
On the positive side, his grasp of
how a phalanx works, and how cavalry works (and how horses react), is
quite good. He obviously did his homework there and should be
commended. He's able to explain the movements of armies in a way
that makes sense and grips the reader. I mostly enjoyed his
reconstructions of battles, even while I might have questioned
occasional details. The military side of things is where
Pressfield is strongest.
But there were strange errors mixed
in with the richness of detail. For some quick examples ...
The horses Pressfield
describes are enormous.
Greek horses were quite small, and even
the Persian/Median horses weren't large by modern standards.
Pressfield mentions several horses of 17 hands! In fact,
Bucephalas was probably only 14-15 -- the size of an Arab or
Andalusian, not a Thoroughbred or draft horse. Furthermore, he
arms his poor horses in iron breastplates -- which sounds far more like
medieval knights than anything the Greeks knew. And while this
is, indeed, a nitpick, in a novel about a cavalry commander, one would
think he'd have done a little checking into the horses they used.
Picking up even one of the Osprey books on Alexander's army (by Nick
Secunda, John Warry or, now, Waldemar Heckel) would have prevented some
of the mistakes he makes in armament details. (The strange thing
is that, in his author's note at the end, he names a number of military
historians, including Warry, Heckel, Hanson and Fuller.)
There are similar problems with the
overabundance of iron. While Alexander did, indeed, have an iron
helmet, that was extremely rare. In fact, to my knowledge, only
one iron helmet of Greek design has been recovered archaeologically,
and it came out of Tomb II at Vergina -- and is (if E.N. Borza is
correct) Alexander's. While Greek spear- and arrowtips were iron,
their armor was bronze (or in the case of the linen cuirass, reinforced
cloth). Iron was heavy.
This is something Pressfield really
ought to know, so the references to iron helmets, iron breastplates on
horses, etc., puzzled me.
Other errors owe to his tendency to
modernize Greek armies a little too much. This temptation to
assume that the way things are done now is the way they must have been
done then is an easy one to fall into, and certainly, some familiarity
with
modern military practice can help one to understand Greek and Roman
armies. But that can be a dangerous
assumption, too, if carried
too far, and Pressfield carries it too far in places, without thinking
to check. For instance, the naming ("Pigstickers," p. 51) and
"colors" of units (p. 46) is pure invention. The ancients did not
nickname their units that way, but used city, tribe, commander, etc. as
designations, and the use of colors tended to be personal.
'Uniforms' in a modern sense didn't really exist. Armament was
purchased by soldiers and even in cases where there was some
regularization, such as the famous Lambda shields of the Spartans or
the semi-regularization of the armament in the Macedonian rank and
file, there was still a good deal of individual variation. This
was one reason for fighting next to one's relatives, neighbors, and
friends -- one would recognize their armor in the madness and dust of a
battle, and not accidentally kill them. We are told of banners
and such, but again, these are personal, not regimental. Thus,
Hephaistion's personal banner continued to be carried before the First
Hipparchy of the Companions even after his death, but it was not the
Hipparchy's banner. It was Hephaistion's.
The distinction
is important, as it helps to underscore the highly individual nature of
Greek
society where personal aretê
(excellence) and timê
(public
honor/fame) were more compelling motivations than esprit de
corps. Failure to recognize that element represents a very
fundamental misunderstanding of Greek society.
Some of my other issues are
interpretive. When will someone write a novel about Alexander
that does not portray Olympias as mad, jealous, foolish (or all
three)? Novelist (and film makers, for that matter) seem entirely
too willing to accept Plutarch's misogynistic portrait
uncritically. Elizabeth Carney's Women and Monarchy in Macedonia
should have been consulted, or at least one of her (several) excellent
articles on Olympias. Pressfield's Olympias is annoying. In
fact, his overall approach to women seems to paint them as bitches or
madonnas. To some degree, this does reflect an ancient
perception, but to be honest, I had a hard time telling where the
characters' opinions ended and Pressfield began, on this point. A
good novelist of first person is able to indicate when the
point-of-view of the narrator is not to be trusted. Compare to
John Irving's masterful use of first in novels such as A Prayer for
Owen Meany or David James Duncan's The River Why? First person
narrative is notoriously difficult to control, even while being
potentially very intimate. One of my complaints about this novel
is that I often wondered who was talking -- Pressfield or
Alexander? I don't think that conflation is particularly good.
One must also point out Pressfield's
fairly obvious issues with Greek homoeroticism. (I won't go so
far as to call it outright homophobia, but it does look and quack like
that particular duck.) However one chooses to interpret
Alexander's own sexual proclivities, Pressfield's refusal to deal with
Greek homoeroticism in relation to other -- far better attested --
characters and units is notable. He might argue that Alexander
had no
interest in men, but to completely disregard that critical aspect (the
male/male pairing) inherent in the development of Thebes' Sacred Band
is to dismiss the ancient evidence to the point it involves twisting it
out of recognition. This evident problem with Greek homoerotism
is rather sad, really, and further evidence of his inability to slide
into
the ancient mindset. In the end, it says more about Pressfield
and the modern
world than about the Greeks and Macedonians, I'm afraid.
So this is not a book I can
recommend, even while it has some rather good insights in places and
several stellar battle descriptions. There are too many other
problems and distortions (and modernizing), despite the archaic tone of
the narrative. In order to separate what's accurate from what
isn't, one must already know something about Greek military history and
Alexander (and Macedonian) history, in particular. It's good
enough to be deceptive for the uncareful reader.
Steven Pressfield