The Red Badge of Courage. Stephen Crane.

The Red Badge of Courage
Stephen Crane
New York: Washington Square Press. 1894.

Why read it? Novel. A realistic, impressionistic description of confusion and fear and death in the Civil War, written by an author who had never seen a real battle, but so vivid that “you are there.” War is all about irony. The irony of Henry Fleming’s illusion that he will be a hero when engaging in combat, but when faced with the reality of the conflict, he turns and runs. And justifies his cowardice. The irony of being struck accidentally on the head by a fellow soldier, giving Henry his “red badge of courage,” the sign to others that he had actually fought and been wounded during the battle. In turn, he feels courageous. In the end, Henry Fleming forgets himself, forgets his doubts, joins in the shooting, becomes one with the other men on the lines.

Reminds of Joseph Conrad’s Lord Jim, in which the protagonist is sure he will be heroic when faced with danger on the high seas and, in reality, flees, leaving the human cargo in the hold to fend for itself. He is found out, convicted, retreats to the jungle, becomes “king” of the natives and then must face again his temptation to cowardice. Reminds also of the film, Twelve O’clock High in which the men during WWII flights from England to Germany must learn not to be concerned with their own safety, but to concentrate on completing the mission because in concentrating on their own safety, they usually fail at their mission.

Some sample ideas from the novel: “He had had the belief that real war was a series of death struggles with small time in between for sleep and meals; but since his regiment had come to the field the army had done little but sit still and try to keep warm.” “…sudden spatter of firing.” “Once the line encountered the body of a dead soldier…lay upon his back staring at the sky…dressed in an awkward suit of yellowish brown…could see that the soles of his shoes had been worn to the thinness of writing paper, and from a great rent in one of the dead foot projected piteously…as if fate had betrayed the soldier, in death it exposed to his enemies that poverty which in life he had perhaps concealed from his friends.”

“During this halt many men in the regiment began erecting tiny hills in front of them…used stones, sticks, earth, and anything they thought might turn a bullet…in a short time there was quite a barricade along the regimental fronts….however, they were ordered to withdraw from that place.” “Some wished to fight like duelists, believing it to be correct to stand erect and be, from their feet to their foreheads, a mark…but the others scoffed in reply, and pointed to the veterans on the flanks who were digging at the ground like terriers.” “A shell screaming like a storm banshee went over the huddled heads of the reserves…landed in the grove, and exploding redly flung the brown earth…a little shower of pine needles.”

“Bullets began to whistle among the branches and nip at the trees; twigs and leaves came sailing down…as if a thousand axes, wee and invisible, were being wielded…men were constantly dodging and ducking their heads.” “The men dropped here and there like bundles.” “As he gazed around him the youth felt a flash of astonishment at the blue, pure sky and the sun gleaming on the trees and fields…surprising that nature had gone tranquilly on with her golden process in the midst of so much devilment.” “He was being looked at by a dead man who was seated with his back against a columnlike tree…the eyes, staring at the youth, had changed to the dull hue to be seen on the side of a dead fish…mouth was open…over the gray skin of the face ran little ants.”

Quote: “He had been to touch the great death, and found that, after all, it was but the great death…he was a man.”