The war in eastern Europe eBook John Reed
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The war in eastern Europe. 458 Pages.
The war in eastern Europe eBook John Reed
First, a word about the text. This "torn cover" edition is a digitally remastered facsimile of a copy of the 1916 version published by Charles Scribner's Sons and owned by the Widener Library of Harvard College. Aside from preserving the original pagination, typeface, and placement of the illustrations, it is decidedly inferior to the version published by Phoenix in 1994 (reissued 1999), which has the same content but weighs less, takes up fewer pages (177 v. 329 pp), features an index and better maps (the only one here is of Greece), and much better quality reproductions of Boardman Robinson's sketches. Unless you need a photocopy of the 1916 edition for some reason, the Phoenix edition is to be preferred. That one deserves five stars, this one only four.Now for the content. Though the events John Reed describes in this book may lack the drama of those in "Ten Days the Shook the World," his powers of description are equally acute. Here he concentrates on a nearly forgotten front, at least in the West, where it seems almost all the attention remains absorbed by the numbing repetition of trench warfare in France and Belgium. Reed's canvas, by contrast, stretches from northern Serbia to Petrograd, then down to Bucharest and Constantinople. He focuses neither on grand strategy nor the war aims of the belligerents, but on the conflict's human, personal side.
In 1915, the only creatures doing well in this struggle without much heroism seem to have been the lice – and the occasional American businessman. "Battle-fields, villages, and roads stank with the lightly buried dead, and the streams were polluted with the bodies of men and horses" (pg. 4). Reed characterizes Serbia as "this country of the dead" (pg. 8), with miserable people picking vermin off each other, where the stench of rotting flesh and corpses filled one's nostrils. Soldiers at the front were "the colour of mud, like animals" (pg. 35). Civilians had only contaminated water to drink and wore rags which they did not change for years.
There were, to be sure, occasional bright spots amid the gloom – for example, the Serbian women in their highly colored skirts and headdresses. But the squalor was never far off. "To see the British minister sail majestically past the pigsty and mount the club stairs as if it were Piccadilly was a thing worth coming miles for" (pg. 16).
If there were any heroes, they were to be found among the medical staff. The fatality rate of doctors in the Serbian army reached 50% – a figure of which they were perversely boastful. When British doctors ordered disinfection measures and vaccinations, this only earned them the contempt of the Serbs, who in their "gloomy pride" thought them cowards (pg. 5).
What a war this was. Long before its end, students at Belgrade University were already dreaming about which German libraries and laboratories they should demand as reparations. "We have not yet decided whether to ask for Heidelberg or Bonn…" (pg. 31). The only maps of Bukovina and Galicia that the Russian generals had were ones they captured from the Austrians. Serbian soldiers marched to the front with giant wooden spoons tucked into their boot tops, yet only a third of them were supplied with rifles. POWs from the Austrian Empire were observed avoiding conversation with each other. The reason Reed offers may be somewhat surprising: They were so heterogeneous in background that they lacked any common language.
He and his Canadian sketch artist Boardman Robinson were regarded as potential spies, and kept under observation in Serbia – a situation they would encounter repeatedly in the other countries they visited. More than one cunning official tried to catch them out with trick questions. In Tarnopol, for instance, a guard asked them if they were Germans. "Americans," they replied. Suspicious, the guard came back with: "What language do Americans speak?" When they answered, "English," everyone standing around turned expectantly to see the guard's reaction. Once he nodded his approval, Reed and Robinson were admitted to staff HQ. There, among the multitude of minor officials dressed like field marshals, it took some time to find anyone who spoke English.
It should come as little surprise that Reed proves especially perceptive about one country in particular, on subjects ranging from railroads to the art of conversation. "In Russia every one talks about his soul. Almost any conversation might have been taken from the pages of a Dostoievsky novel. The Russians get drunk on their talk." I myself have had occasion, in the interest of research, to test the hypothesis that one may drink a great deal without getting drunk, provided one rigorously avoids talking. John Reed proves the obverse: "In Petrograd, I have seen a crowded café at two o'clock in the morning – of course no liquor was to be had – shouting and singing and pounding on the tables, quite intoxicated with ideas" (pp. 100-01).
Though written a century ago, some of his observations have lost none of their aptness. "Russians are not patriotic like other races, I think. The Tsar to them is not the head of the government; he is a divinity. The government itself – the bureaucracy – commands no loyalty from the masses; it is like a separate nation imposed upon the Russian people" (pg. 101). Probably he would not object to being called a Russophile. "Russian ideas are the most exhilarating, Russian thought the freest, Russian art the most exuberant; Russian food and drink are to me the best, and Russians themselves are, perhaps, the most interesting human beings that exist" (pg. 103).
Among Russian cities, Petrograd attracted him more than any other. Apparently blessed with little need for sleep, he was enchanted by the White Nights, the "interminable twilight" that replaces night every June. As in "Ten Days That Shook the World," written just a few years later, Reed made a brief excursion to Moscow, where he experienced a premonition, sensing in the air "a feeling of recklessness and gloom, as if anything might happen…" (pg. 114).
The final chapters return to the Balkans. Rather than narrate the latest political ins and outs of Istanbul, he provides us with impressions of the proud shabbiness of the place, what it looked and smelled like. Germany was of course an ally of Turkey during this war, but the Germans were not much liked – they violated too many cultural norms. Whereas an Englishman or American would go to a stall in the bazaar and accept the offer of coffee and cigarettes, and "talk of indifferent subjects, as is proper," the Germans marched in, saluted, and refused the coffee. They simply wanted to "buy and be gone, without friendship" (pg. 135). For his own part, Reed also managed to step on a few toes. First he wanted to go to Gallipoli (refused), then sought out so many contacts with Armenians that before long he was asked to leave.
From there he traveled to Bucharest. The Romanian capital, whose name means "City of Joy," was at that time only three decades removed from consisting of "a wretched village, some old churches, and an older monastery which was the seat of a princely family… A surface coating of French frivolity covers everything – without meaning and without charm" (pg. 144-45). He devotes a half page to Bessarabia, which even today attracts few visitors.
He expresses some relief upon reaching Bulgaria, where his ears were again filled with "the crackling vitality of Slavic speech" (pg. 153). Without using the term, he describes the ethnic cleansing of Macedonia by Greeks and Serbs, and cheerfully indulges in national stereotyping: "The Rumanians are gay and graceful; the Bulgars honest and friendly; the Serbs witty, brave, and charming; after these the Greeks seem a stunted, unfriendly people without any flavor." Some of what he says about Greece rings true even a century later: "Athens itself is a hotbed of lies and bribery" (pp. 171-72).
A "Publisher's Note," dated 1916, informs us that this version is an abridgement. The passages left out included "the arrest of Mr Reed and Mr Robinson in Poland, their experiences with the Cossacks, and their entanglement in diplomatic red tape at Petrograd" (pg. ix), among other chapters. The unabridged version, published by Weidenfeld & Nicolson, rather confusingly shares the same picture on its cover. It weighs in at some 362 pages, roughly twice as long as this one.
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The war in eastern Europe eBook John Reed Reviews
Though the events John Reed describes in "The War in Eastern Europe" may lack the drama of those in "Ten Days that Shook the World," his powers of description are no less acute. Here he concentrates on a nearly forgotten corner of the war, at least in the West, where it seems almost all the attention remains absorbed by the numbing repetition of trench warfare in France and Belgium. Reed's canvas, by contrast, stretches from northern Serbia all the way to Petrograd, then down to Bucharest and Constantinople. He focuses neither on grand strategy nor the war aims of the belligerents, but on the human, personal side of conflict.
The only creatures doing well in this struggle without much heroism seem to have been the lice – and the occasional American businessman. "Battle-fields, villages, and roads stank with the lightly buried dead, and the streams were polluted with the bodies of men and horses." (pg. 4) Reed characterizes Serbia as "this country of the dead" (pg. 8), with miserable people picking vermin off each other, where the stench of rotting flesh and corpses filled one's nostrils. Soldiers at the front were "the colour of mud, like animals." (pg. 35) Civilians had only contaminated water to drink and wore rags which they did not change for years.
There were, to be sure, occasional bright spots amid the gloom – for example, the Serbian women in their highly colored skirts and headdresses. But the squalor was never far off. "To see the British minister sail majestically past the pigsty and mount the club stairs as if it were Piccadilly was a thing worth coming miles for." (pg. 16)
If there were any heroes, they were to be found among the medical staff. The fatality rate of doctors in the Serbian army reached 50% – a figure of which they were perversely boastful. When British doctors ordered disinfection measures and vaccinations, this only earned them the contempt of the Serbs, who in their "gloomy pride" thought them cowards. (pg. 5)
What a war this was. Long before its end, students at Belgrade University were already dreaming about what German libraries and laboratories they should demand as reparations. "We have not yet decided whether to ask for Heidelberg or Bonn…" (pg. 31) The only maps of Bukovina and Galicia that the Russian generals had were ones they captured from the Austrians. Serbian soldiers marched to the front with giant wooden spoons tucked into their boot tops, yet only a third of them were supplied with rifles. POWs from the Austrian Empire were observed avoiding conversation with each other. The reason Reed offers may be somewhat surprising They were so heterogeneous in background that they had no language in common.
He and his Canadian sketch artist Boardman Robinson were regarded as potential spies, and kept under observation in Serbia – a situation they would encounter repeatedly in the other countries they visited. More than one cunning official tried to catch them out with trick questions. In Tarnopol, for instance, a suspicious guard asked them if they were Germans. "Americans," they replied. The guard came back with "What language do Americans speak?" When they answered, "English," everyone standing around turned expectantly to the guard to see his reaction. Once he nodded his approval, Reed and Robinson were admitted to staff HQ. There, among the multitude of minor officials dressed like field marshals, it took some time to find anyone who spoke English.
It should come as little surprise that Reed proves especially perceptive about one country in particular, on subjects ranging from railroads to the art of conversation. "In Russia every one talks about his soul. Almost any conversation might have been taken from the pages of a Dostoievsky novel. The Russians get drunk on their talk." Personally I have had occasion, in the interest of research, to test the thesis that one may drink a great deal without getting drunk, provided one rigorously avoids talking. John Reed proves the obverse "In Petrograd, I have seen a crowded café at two o'clock in the morning – of course no liquor was to be had – shouting and singing and pounding on the tables, quite intoxicated with ideas." (pp. 100-01)
Though written a century ago, some of his observations seem to have lost none of their aptness. "Russians are not patriotic like other races, I think. The Tsar to them is not the head of the government; he is a divinity. The government itself – the bureaucracy – commands no loyalty from the masses; it is like a separate nation imposed upon the Russian people." (pg. 101) It is no exaggeration to call him a Russophile. "Russian ideas are the most exhilarating, Russian thought the freest, Russian art the most exuberant; Russian food and drink are to me the best, and Russians themselves are, perhaps, the most interesting human beings that exist." (pg. 103)
Among Russian cities, Petrograd attracted him more than any other. Apparently blessed with little need for sleep, he was enchanted by the White Nights, the "interminable twilight" that replaces night every June. As in "Ten Days That Shook the World," written just a few years later, Reed made a brief excursion to Moscow, where he experienced a premonition, sensing in the air "a feeling of recklessness and gloom, as if anything might happen…" (pg. 114)
The final chapters return to the Balkans. Rather than narrate the latest political ins and outs of Istanbul, he provides us with a feel of the proud shabbiness of the place, what it looked and smelled like. Germany was of course an ally of Turkey during this war, but the Germans were not much liked – they violated too many cultural norms. Whereas an Englishman or American would go to a stall in the bazaar and accept the offer of coffee and cigarettes, and "talk of indifferent subjects, as is proper," the Germans marched in, saluted, and refused the coffee. They simply wanted to "buy and be gone, without friendship." (pg. 135) For his own part, Reed also managed to step on a few toes. First he wanted to head to Gallipoli (refused), then sought out so many contacts with Armenians that before long he was asked to leave.
From there he traveled to Bucharest. The Romanian capital, whose name means "City of Joy," was at that time only three decades removed from consisting of "a wretched village, some old churches, and an older monastery which was the seat of a princely family… A surface coating of French frivolity covers everything – without meaning and without charm." (pg. 144-45) He provides a half page on Bessarabia, which even today attracts few visitors.
He expresses some relief at the opportunity to visit Bulgaria, where his ears were again filled with "the crackling vitality of Slavic speech." (pg. 153) Without using the term, he describes the ethnic cleansing of Macedonia at the hands of Greeks and Serbs, and cheerfully indulges in national stereotyping "The Rumanians are gay and graceful; the Bulgars honest and friendly; the Serbs witty, brave, and charming; after these the Greeks seem a stunted, unfriendly people without any flavor." Some of what he says about Greece rings true today "Athens itself is a hotbed of lies and bribery." (pp. 171-72)
A "Publisher's Note," dated 1916, informs us that this version is an abridgement. The passages left out included "the arrest of Mr Reed and Mr Robinson in Poland, their experiences with the Cossacks, and their entanglement in diplomatic red tape at Petrograd," among other chapters. (pg. ix) It seems the unabridged version, at some 362 pages, is roughly twice as long as this one.
For more reviews, see hamiltonbeck dot wordpress dot com
The book material itself is excellent, but the "book" I was sold was not as advertised. There are no maps, no illustrations, nothing. It is simply a copy of a book with the font condensed into four small columns per page (4 columns/page) which make it an eyesore to read, and I am only 42years-old with perfect vision. Definitely false advertising! Buy this book, but from a different source, otherwise you will not enjoy it fully.
Picaresque story telling.
Reed was a sympathizer and propagandist who I don't admire but the small book gets down on the ground level in the Balkans where is powder key was lite
First, a word about the text. This "torn cover" edition is a digitally remastered facsimile of a copy of the 1916 version published by Charles Scribner's Sons and owned by the Widener Library of Harvard College. Aside from preserving the original pagination, typeface, and placement of the illustrations, it is decidedly inferior to the version published by Phoenix in 1994 (reissued 1999), which has the same content but weighs less, takes up fewer pages (177 v. 329 pp), features an index and better maps (the only one here is of Greece), and much better quality reproductions of Boardman Robinson's sketches. Unless you need a photocopy of the 1916 edition for some reason, the Phoenix edition is to be preferred. That one deserves five stars, this one only four.
Now for the content. Though the events John Reed describes in this book may lack the drama of those in "Ten Days the Shook the World," his powers of description are equally acute. Here he concentrates on a nearly forgotten front, at least in the West, where it seems almost all the attention remains absorbed by the numbing repetition of trench warfare in France and Belgium. Reed's canvas, by contrast, stretches from northern Serbia to Petrograd, then down to Bucharest and Constantinople. He focuses neither on grand strategy nor the war aims of the belligerents, but on the conflict's human, personal side.
In 1915, the only creatures doing well in this struggle without much heroism seem to have been the lice – and the occasional American businessman. "Battle-fields, villages, and roads stank with the lightly buried dead, and the streams were polluted with the bodies of men and horses" (pg. 4). Reed characterizes Serbia as "this country of the dead" (pg. 8), with miserable people picking vermin off each other, where the stench of rotting flesh and corpses filled one's nostrils. Soldiers at the front were "the colour of mud, like animals" (pg. 35). Civilians had only contaminated water to drink and wore rags which they did not change for years.
There were, to be sure, occasional bright spots amid the gloom – for example, the Serbian women in their highly colored skirts and headdresses. But the squalor was never far off. "To see the British minister sail majestically past the pigsty and mount the club stairs as if it were Piccadilly was a thing worth coming miles for" (pg. 16).
If there were any heroes, they were to be found among the medical staff. The fatality rate of doctors in the Serbian army reached 50% – a figure of which they were perversely boastful. When British doctors ordered disinfection measures and vaccinations, this only earned them the contempt of the Serbs, who in their "gloomy pride" thought them cowards (pg. 5).
What a war this was. Long before its end, students at Belgrade University were already dreaming about which German libraries and laboratories they should demand as reparations. "We have not yet decided whether to ask for Heidelberg or Bonn…" (pg. 31). The only maps of Bukovina and Galicia that the Russian generals had were ones they captured from the Austrians. Serbian soldiers marched to the front with giant wooden spoons tucked into their boot tops, yet only a third of them were supplied with rifles. POWs from the Austrian Empire were observed avoiding conversation with each other. The reason Reed offers may be somewhat surprising They were so heterogeneous in background that they lacked any common language.
He and his Canadian sketch artist Boardman Robinson were regarded as potential spies, and kept under observation in Serbia – a situation they would encounter repeatedly in the other countries they visited. More than one cunning official tried to catch them out with trick questions. In Tarnopol, for instance, a guard asked them if they were Germans. "Americans," they replied. Suspicious, the guard came back with "What language do Americans speak?" When they answered, "English," everyone standing around turned expectantly to see the guard's reaction. Once he nodded his approval, Reed and Robinson were admitted to staff HQ. There, among the multitude of minor officials dressed like field marshals, it took some time to find anyone who spoke English.
It should come as little surprise that Reed proves especially perceptive about one country in particular, on subjects ranging from railroads to the art of conversation. "In Russia every one talks about his soul. Almost any conversation might have been taken from the pages of a Dostoievsky novel. The Russians get drunk on their talk." I myself have had occasion, in the interest of research, to test the hypothesis that one may drink a great deal without getting drunk, provided one rigorously avoids talking. John Reed proves the obverse "In Petrograd, I have seen a crowded café at two o'clock in the morning – of course no liquor was to be had – shouting and singing and pounding on the tables, quite intoxicated with ideas" (pp. 100-01).
Though written a century ago, some of his observations have lost none of their aptness. "Russians are not patriotic like other races, I think. The Tsar to them is not the head of the government; he is a divinity. The government itself – the bureaucracy – commands no loyalty from the masses; it is like a separate nation imposed upon the Russian people" (pg. 101). Probably he would not object to being called a Russophile. "Russian ideas are the most exhilarating, Russian thought the freest, Russian art the most exuberant; Russian food and drink are to me the best, and Russians themselves are, perhaps, the most interesting human beings that exist" (pg. 103).
Among Russian cities, Petrograd attracted him more than any other. Apparently blessed with little need for sleep, he was enchanted by the White Nights, the "interminable twilight" that replaces night every June. As in "Ten Days That Shook the World," written just a few years later, Reed made a brief excursion to Moscow, where he experienced a premonition, sensing in the air "a feeling of recklessness and gloom, as if anything might happen…" (pg. 114).
The final chapters return to the Balkans. Rather than narrate the latest political ins and outs of Istanbul, he provides us with impressions of the proud shabbiness of the place, what it looked and smelled like. Germany was of course an ally of Turkey during this war, but the Germans were not much liked – they violated too many cultural norms. Whereas an Englishman or American would go to a stall in the bazaar and accept the offer of coffee and cigarettes, and "talk of indifferent subjects, as is proper," the Germans marched in, saluted, and refused the coffee. They simply wanted to "buy and be gone, without friendship" (pg. 135). For his own part, Reed also managed to step on a few toes. First he wanted to go to Gallipoli (refused), then sought out so many contacts with Armenians that before long he was asked to leave.
From there he traveled to Bucharest. The Romanian capital, whose name means "City of Joy," was at that time only three decades removed from consisting of "a wretched village, some old churches, and an older monastery which was the seat of a princely family… A surface coating of French frivolity covers everything – without meaning and without charm" (pg. 144-45). He devotes a half page to Bessarabia, which even today attracts few visitors.
He expresses some relief upon reaching Bulgaria, where his ears were again filled with "the crackling vitality of Slavic speech" (pg. 153). Without using the term, he describes the ethnic cleansing of Macedonia by Greeks and Serbs, and cheerfully indulges in national stereotyping "The Rumanians are gay and graceful; the Bulgars honest and friendly; the Serbs witty, brave, and charming; after these the Greeks seem a stunted, unfriendly people without any flavor." Some of what he says about Greece rings true even a century later "Athens itself is a hotbed of lies and bribery" (pp. 171-72).
A "Publisher's Note," dated 1916, informs us that this version is an abridgement. The passages left out included "the arrest of Mr Reed and Mr Robinson in Poland, their experiences with the Cossacks, and their entanglement in diplomatic red tape at Petrograd" (pg. ix), among other chapters. The unabridged version, published by Weidenfeld & Nicolson, rather confusingly shares the same picture on its cover. It weighs in at some 362 pages, roughly twice as long as this one.
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