It taught me how literature can carry national grief. The novel doesn’t glorify war - it strips it bare. The language is sober, devastating and shaped how I understand brutality, numbness, and the fight to stay human.
Once, in my hometown, there was an art installation where quotes from the book were engraved into tree trunks and scattered through the city:
“A lance corporal (…) drags his shattered knees behind him; another walks to the dressing station, and over his clasped hands spill his intestines. (…) The horror can be endured as long as you simply duck your head; but it kills you if you start to think about it.”
