Originally run on 4 May 2009. Illustration by me.
A Review of The Thin Red Line by James Jones.
As war nerd, it was only a matter of time before I began to chew my way through the great American literature on World War II, and with that one of the most critically acclaimed novels to come out of that war:
The Thin Red Line. Written by James Jones (who also penned
From Here to Eternity) in 1962, the novel follows a hapless band of soldiers in C-For-Charlie as they attempt to clear Guadalcanal, the bloodiest island in the Pacific, of the Imperial Japanese forces. The book was later adapted twice into film, once in 1968 and a second time in 1998. From what I can tell, the second film contains the best passages of the book, without the immense amount of chaff that makes up Jones' novel.
This isn't a criticism of the book, exactly—it's unfair to compare one medium to the other-- but what works for the film is that it's much better paced. Jones' novel is a rambling affair with no obvious rhyme or reason. Presumably, this is Jones' point since in war there's no clear objectives, romanticism, or selfless courage— there's only trying to get through the day. In this way Jones has made a unique war novel, one that is completely detached from the popular myths of the Greatest Generation.
The soldiers of
The Thin Red Line aren't John Waynes or Audie Murphys, they're frightened mortals who cuss, retreat, develop pointless grudges, and, occasionally try to have sex with each other. While Jones manages to avoid the sentimentality of WWII, he also makes every person, place, and thing in his book completely unlikable.
The story lacks a central narrator and the reader isn't chained to a single character. What this results in is a story without a spine. It doesn't have distinguishable characters; it doesn't have set pieces, or even character development (unless one gets shot).
The Thin Red Line is so generalized that it's almost reductive. The reader isn't given enough time with any character to properly care about him and when he does learn something about a soldier he finds that he isn't just flawed, but the character is a downright, miserable bastard. With the exception of Sergeant Welsh (who reads like he fell out of
Catch 22) there's little to be interested in, or to sympathize with. Jones might be trying to make a point about the loss of individuality that occurs in the military, but I'll be damned if I care.
The style is primarily expressed through the viewpoints of about a dozen or so different soldiers. The author never indicates when he shifts from one character's perspective or another, either. Even though this unanchored narrative is what causes most of
The Thin Red Line's problems, it's also the most interesting thing about the book. As readers we're left to figure out if these men are liars, crazy, or actually bothering to tell the truth. Jones is one of a select few writers that can shift between several dozen characters' narratives and make it appear seamless. Note to aspiring writers: Steal from this man.
Interesting literary techniques aside, as a novel, it falls short. There is no story, there's just drudgery, and a lot of descriptions of terrain that I can't make any sense out of.
The Thin Red Line is a well-constructed book that I'm glad I got out of the way, but there isn't much I can give a shit about in its 500 pages. If it came down to it, I'd rather watch the movie again and spend the rest of my day napping in peace.
