So here we have the 631-page novel that won the Pulitzer in 1949, yet when I went Davis Kidd bookstore in West Nashville to purchase it, I was amazed to discover that not only did Davis Kidd not carry the novel, it had been out of print for years. Initially, I decided that was all I needed to know: no one publishes the novel because no one buys the novel because no one reads the novel because it’s not any good. Next. And yet, I felt remiss that I had committed myself to reading all the Pulitzers in fiction, and here I was already skipping the second work in the series.
I was also a little puzzled as to how a once-critically-acclaimed novel, if not a popular one, could fall so out of disfavor that it wasn’t even worth printing. It seems that the Pulitzer Board would guarantee at least a paltry printing each year, enough to keep up with the demands of literary scholars, if no one else. The sales clerk at Davis Kidd countered: “Lots good novels are no longer in print.”
My question: “If these novels are so good, why are they out of print?” I mean, really: Who’s definition of good are we talking about, certainly not the publisher’s? Since I would never attempt to measure the worth of a novel based solely on its popularity, perhaps we can strike a happy a medium and safely theorize “Many novels that were once considered good are no longer marketable.”
While it’s clear that the Pulitzer Board of 1949 thought Guard of Honor was not only a good book, but a distinguished book of American fiction, and while it’s clear that posterity vehemently disagrees, it’s not clear, on the surface, as to why. To this purpose, I bought a used, 1976-edition copy of the novel and went about the monotonous task of slogging my way through it. I say monotonous because there is very little tension to motivate the reader to keep reading. I found myself constantly drifting, digressing into my own thoughts and troubles, re-reading paragraphs, if not pages.
Added to the monotony is Cozzens’s somewhat challenging writing-style. This isn’t the type of book someone sits back to passively enjoy. Rather, the reader must constantly study and re-read sentences to ascertain, say, what part of which abstract idea the pronoun “this” refers to. In his life, Cozzens was known for his reclusive lifestyle. In his writing, his rhetorical questions, double negatives, disorienting descriptions, esoteric words, and equivocal pronouns lead me to believe that he wants to hide even from his readers. “Dig deep, dig deeper, if you want to find the story,” he seems to be saying. “It’s here if you’ll do the work to sort it out.”
Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of writers whose writing-style is dense and challenging and can only be fully appreciated through dissection, analysis, and discussion. William Faulkner comes to mind. But the difference between Faulkner and Cozzens is that with Faulkner, there’s a huge payoff for your drilling. With Cozzens, I find no water at the bottom of the well.
The entire “action” of the novel, if that’s what you want to call it, takes place over a three-day period. Accordingly, the novel is divided not into chapters, but into three large sections aptly named: Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. Judging from the memorandums that appear throughout the story, the days in question are September 2nd, 3rd, and 4th of 1943.
The setting is a fictional United States Army Airforce base in central Florida. The main character is, well—there is no main character. That’s another problem. Rather than anchoring the reader in the lives of a few central characters, Cozzens attempts to sweep us away with an unending and homogenous flow of professional white males. I suppose this is all well and good if you can identify with the nuanced dilemmas of such a disenfranchised segment of the American populace.
In the interest of full disclosure I am a professional, white, male, veteran of the United States Army, and if anyone could identify with the litany of characters Cozzens presents in Guard of Honor, he should be, resoundingly, me. However, even I find myself drowning in all the officers and gentlemen. If you dare to cross this river, here are some of the names you will have to navigate: Lieutenant Phillips, Lieutenant Werthauer, Lieutenant Edsell, Lieutenant Anderson, Lieutenant Pettie, Lieutenant Kashkin, Lieutenant Carter, Captain Andrews, Captain Vaughn, Captain Dyer, Captain Raimondi, Captain Hicks, Captain Burton, Captain Collins, Captain Dobie, Captain Duchemin, Captain Wiley, General Baxter, General Beal, General Nichols, Colonel Ross, Colonel Woodman, Colonel Mowbray, Colonel Van Pelt, Colonel Schermerhorn, Colonel Jobson, Colonel Folsom, Colonel Coulthard, Major McCreery, Major Whitney, Major Beaudry, Major Blake, Major McIlmoyle, Major Pound, Major Tietam, Major Sears, Master Sergeant Pellerino, Sergeant Olmstead, Sergeant Brooks, Sergeant McCabe, Lieutenant Colonel Howden, Lieutenant Colonel Carricker, Mr. Bullen, Mr. Botwinick, Mr. James, and Mr. Lovewell.
The greatest problem that these men seem to have is deciding who actually out-ranks whom, since many of the officers presented are from the reserves and have achieved prestige and influence in their civilian lives, if not their military ones. As an almost ancillary point, these professional white males are also trying to cope with the suspicion that black people should have the same rights as white people. My God, what if it’s true?! Indeed, if there is an explanation for Guard of Honor winning the Pulitzer, it might be due to its use of civil rights as a medium for exploring the relative rank, talent, morality, and intelligence of professional white males.
There are three main events that happen in 600-plus pages of narrative. The first is the incidence of Lieutenant Colonel “Benny” Carricker punching Lieutenant Willis, who is an African-American pilot. This sets up event two, wherein other African-American pilots protest the use of segregated officer clubs, and the leadership debates appropriate action. Finally, during day three, there is a mass training exercise in which seven equipment-laden soldiers accidentally parachute into a lake, sink to the bottom, and drown. The last incident, incidentally, has nothing to do with anything. The first incident is charming enough. But the second, and here’s the point, is based upon an actual historical event that is widely regarded by civil rights historians as the catalyst that brought about the end segregation within the armed forces.
On April 5, 1945 at Freeman Air Field near Seymour, Indiana, African-American officers of the 477th Bombardment Group attempted to integrate with an all-white officer club. Although Army Regulation 210-10 formally disallowed segregation, authorities arrested sixty-one African-Americans, three of which were ultimately court-martialed. Later, after the commanding officer issued Base Regulation 85-2 (which maintained the status-quo segregation on technicalities) 101 more officers were arrested for refusing to sign a statement that they had read and understood the regulation. Not until 1995 did the Air Force begin the process of removing letters of reprimand from the permanent files of members of the 477th Bombardment Group.
If Cozzens demonstrates innovation—thereby creating literature—it’s in his willingness to explore and bring attention to such a controversial subject at the time. He also deftly categorizes different types of officers along with the merits of their ideas, the saliency of their minds, and the motivation of their actions and words. Colonel Norman Ross, a trenchant observer and thinker whose point-of-view we see more than any other character, and who is also a judge in his civilian life, is expertly contrasted with Colonel Mowbray, a man who, while an earnest and experienced military professional, has more power than intelligence, and therefore lacks the precision of thought and soundness of judgment that his position sometimes requires.
No matter how much the occasional paragraph delights us—some remark about intelligence, some paring of first impression from final conclusion—it isn’t enough to sustain the reader. When compared to the amount of energy required digest this novel, the rewards of Guard of Honor are insufficient at best, and a defamation to the Pulitzer Prize, indeed to literature itself, at worst.
To Cozzens’s credit, he also wrote By Love Possessed, a novel that won the Howell’s Medal of the American Academy of Arts and Letters and topped The New York Time’s best seller list for several months in 1957. I haven’t read it, but if it’s still in print, I suspect your time is better spent there