Personal Narrative: All Quiet On The Western Front

All Quiet On The Western Front is an account of WW1, from the perspective of a soldier named Paul Baumer. The author of the novel, Erich Maria Remarque, based the novel on his own life as he too fought in the war and was transferred to the Western Front. The war destroyed the men that took part in it. Simply put Remarque’s novel is an example of how the war has shaped history and if it were not read we would still be at war like they were in WW1, disoriented and unorganized.

It is March first, I miss you so much it is unbearable. Sleeping can be awful out here in the trenches only because I want to be home in a comfy bed again safe and sound where war isn’t the only thing on my mind. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I can’t breathe because I dream someone has invaded our trenches and shot me. It isn’t easy being out here but if it means fighting for you then it is what I will do.

The First World War was a war of many firsts. Not only was it the first true contemporary war, but it was also the first war that introduced new forms of industrial warfare, which resulted in many repercussions. One of these repercussions was the development of shell-shock or neurosis as a result of war in soldiers returning from the battle front. In “All Quiet on the Western Front” by Enrich Maria Remarque the psychological effect of industrial warfare on soldiers was depicted as a paradoxical combination of exhilaration on the battlefront as well as a deep state of numbness and melancholy.

In Erich Maria Remarque’s novel, All Quiet on the Western Front, human nature is the only abstract periphery between belligerent barbarism and justifiable violence. Through the insipid bombardments that rained shells over the Germans’ heads and noxious implementation of mustard gas, Remarque dexterously misleads the reader into believing that he fights in an apathetic war where all remnants of human nature and identity have been destroyed with the introduction of trench warfare. Through Paul Baumer’s eyes, Remarque identifies war as an artificial construct devoid of human identity and any subsequent emotions until the first bombardment, the first glimpse Baumer has of the unfettered abominations of war. After the shrieking of artillery shells ceased, it was replaced by the numbing scream of injured horses. Paul described this abhorrent noise as “the moaning of the world…, wild with anguish, filled with terror, and groaning” (Remarque 62), the first emotionally provocative scene in the novel. As if the description of the noise did not suffice to pique the reader, Remarque continues, “The belly of one is ripped open, the guts trail out. He becomes tangled in them and falls…” (Remarque 63). At this instant, Remarque sheds the obscure layer of superficiality and reveals the tatters of human nature and identity still exist even in most anguish conditions of comeradeship, sympathy, contrition, and selflessness.

Meanwhile, a specific sergeant tried to make my life harder. This sergeant enjoyed agonism which “occurs among those who enjoy fighting for its own sake and who perceive trading insults as a type of game” (p.21). I constantly tried to filter out the words being filled in my head, but my internal dialogue had been so negative and judgmental for so long I really believed the bad things. I could not and did not understand that I was good person with many good characteristics. I was fighting 2 wars in a combat zone, one against terrorists in the desert and the other inside my head.

I am Ella Karcewski reporting to you on this gloomy Spring evening, hoping that this war may soon be over. I am currently experiencing a day that I will never forget. The images that I am seeing, and the heartbreaking pain that I am feeling will never be erased from my naive mind. I feel nearly speechless and am saddened for those drastically affected by this war. I am encountering a tragedy as soldiers and horses alike are collapsing to the ground, screams of pain coming from their courageous bodies. Pouring rain is drenching horses and soldiers, and darkness is curtained over the gloomy sky. Ominous clouds fill the atmosphere above, and it seems that the sun wouldn’t dare peek out on this bellicose April day in 1915. All of this French territory

The meadow near the Western Front was nothing compared to the vast fields of the prairie back home. There, in what seems like another lifetime, was a harvest full of life, colour, and promise. Here, there was only death and harshness. Trevor, our Commander, had once described the scenery of these fields in France before the chaos. He had said it was filled with little red flowers and high green grass. After three years of fatalities and rain, the scene shifted to represent the misery. There was no colour here. Our uniforms that had once been a deep green were now covered with dried mud. The scene before me was bleak. The sky was gray; as it had been since the first day we made camp in these trenches. The ground was muddy with small pools of

Erich Maria Remarque’s novel, All Quiet on the Western Front and Ernst Junger’s memoir, Storm of Steel, present the differences of the experience of The First World War with intriguing contrasts that spark debates between the two accounts. These texts illustrate real events within The First World War. Both authors, who are veterans of the war tell the reader their conclusions in post-war experiences and opinions. It is essentially two faces of the same coin. One, “All Quiet on the Western Front”, reflects the inner dialogue and self-reflection of the protagonist, while “ The Storm of Steel”, is a public projection to the audience. Closed off yet propelling nationalistic pride and propaganda.

So many innocent lives being lost each day during the war. During the past few days, none of us, even the enemy, dared to cross the “no man's land”. It was a barbaric move to do so, and even if you did do it, the whole area would be covered in barbed wire and most military personnel. These small dugouts helped us stay protected and kept us away from the elements. But did you guys know what these dugouts didn’t help us with? It was hunger. The hunger issue was devastating, most guys that I hanged out with got really skinny to the point they can’t even carry heavy stuff or handle the recoil of shooting heavy duty guns. I mean like really? Out of everything hunger would be the one to end us all? Man, the enemy even went to random houses just to get food and supplies. While we are stuck here in our own trench with barely anything to survive off of. But that doesn’t give us an excuse to lose hope on fighting and winning the war. The allies sometimes helped us when we needed help in the Western Front. While I’m writing this letter to you guys, I hope that you guys are doing okay back at the

We all sleep and rest and eat in the trenches, but it’s not paradise. One night, the sound of loud booms woke us up. We were being attacked by some very dangerous artillery. We could feel every boom and every crack in the dirt above us. Many soldiers were not prepared for this and got sick. The attack come out of nowhere and frightened all of us.

12th March 1915: The day hadn’t started out differently to any other day. I had just been out to milk the cows and feed the calves. As I was walking back to the farmhouse for breakfast, I met Dad, who had come back from the markets. He stopped the truck beside me and wouldn’t look me straight in the eye. That was when I knew there was something wrong. He wordlessly passed a brown envelope out of the truck window. “GOVERNMENT OF NEW ZEALAND” was emblazoned in bold red print across the front. My heart lurched, constricting my throat. As I opened it, my worst fear was confirmed. In small lettering it announced, “Mr Michael Jones, we need you to protect our country.”

What began as an assassination of a single individual, Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria, led to one of the greatest despairs in all of history. Known throughout the world as The Great War or World War I, this global war ignited battles throughout the entire world where the Central Powers of Germany, Austria-Hungary, and the Ottoman Empire fought against the Allied Powers which included several countries including Britain and the United States. Lasting for four treacherous years, the war led to the deaths of millions of people. From mere citizens trying hard to live their life safely and away from all the violence, to brave soldiers who stood up to fight for their countries, people living all around the world had hardly had any any nice memories of days that had just passed by or hope for the coming times.

It was mid-October and in the twenties, because it was October as was I am finishing my route. As I biked the town seemed so beautiful. I like this job because it helps me get away. I had woken up with Abelard screaming about friends lost in the war. Jacob had to come over help him. Jacob was a friend of the family and was also referred as an hyphenated American. The two had been bullied at the start of the Great War long before it came to America.

Some people may ask me why I am writing this now. Why I didn't tell everyone before. Well, I finally have an answer. I used to tell myself that nobody would believe me if I told my story, but the truth is... I wasn't ready to tell it. It's been 68 years and I'm still not ready. I can never forget what happened during the summer of 1943, and although I might try, a part of me doesn't want to let go... Not yet. I don't think I'll ever be ready to tell my tale, but this is a tale that needs to be told. My time is slowly coming to an end and I don't have much longer...so... here

I write to you today from a hospital bed in France. I know that may sound bad, but truly I am one of the lucky ones. I have lost so many friends in this past battle. I am sure you have probably heard news of this back home in England already. The first day of the battle on the Somme was a dark day indeed. I have heard it word here that it could have been one of the bloodiest battles to date. I do not even know how to begin describing the war, but I have to describe it to someone. I would never want to tell my parents of these horrors I am facing; it would be far too much for them to bear. You are my closest friend back home, and I know if it were not for your health issues, you would be here fighting too, so I feel I can tell you about all this. I know I volunteered for this, but I never in a million years could have predicted what war would truly be like. Looking back on it though, we are truly lucky that Britain is a country that relies on volunteer