Journey to a War

by W.H. Auden, Christopher Isherwood

The authors describe their experiences traveling to China in 1938, and share their impressions of the Sino-Japanese War

Genres: Poetry, Nonfiction, China, Travel, History, Memoir, Asia

301 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1939

About the author

Poems, published in such collections as Look, Stranger! (1936) and The Shield of Achilles (1955), established importance of British-American writer and critic Wystan Hugh Auden in 20th-century literature.

In and near Birmingham, he developed in a professional middle-class family. He attended English independent schools and studied at Christ church, Oxford. From 1927, Auden and Christopher Isherwood maintained a lasting but intermittent sexual friendship despite briefer but more intense relations with other men. Auden passed a few months in Berlin in 1928 and 1929.

He then spent five years from 1930 to 1935, teaching in English schools and then traveled to Iceland and China for books about his journeys. People noted stylistic and technical achievement, engagement with politics, morals, love, and religion, and variety in tone, form and content. He came to wide attention at the age of 23 years in 1930 with his first book, Poems ; The Orators followed in 1932.

Three plays in collaboration with Christopher Isherwood in 1935 to 1938 built his reputation in a left-wing politics.

People best know this Anglo for love such as "Funeral Blues," for political and social themes, such as "September 1, 1939," for culture and psychology, such as The Age of Anxiety , and for religion, such as For the Time Being and "Horae Canonicae." In 1939, partly to escape a liberal reputation, Auden moved to the United States. Auden and Christopher Isherwood maintained a lasting but intermittent sexual friendship to 1939. In 1939, Auden fell in lust with Chester Kallman and regarded their relation as a marriage.

From 1941, Auden taught in universities. This relationship ended in 1941, when Chester Kallman refused to accept the faithful relation that Auden demanded, but the two maintained their friendship.

Auden taught in universities through 1945. His work, including the long For the Time Being and The Sea and the Mirror , in the 1940s focused on religious themes. He attained citizenship in 1946.

The title of his long The Age of Anxiety , a popular phrase, described the modern era; it won him the Pulitzer Prize in 1947. From 1947, he wintered in New York and summered in Ischia. From 1947, Auden and Chester Kallman lived in the same house or apartment in a non-sexual relation and often collaborated on opera libretti, such as The Rake's Progress for music of Igor Stravinsky until death of Auden.

Occasional visiting professorships followed in the 1950s. From 1956, he served as professor at Oxford. He wintered in New York and summered in Ischia through 1957. From 1958, he wintered usually in New York and summered in Kirchstetten, Austria.

He served as professor at Oxford to 1961; his popular lectures with students and faculty served as the basis of his prose The Dyer's Hand in 1962.

Auden, a prolific prose essayist, reviewed political, psychological and religious subjects, and worked at various times on documentary films, plays, and other forms of performance. Throughout his controversial and influential career, views on his work ranged from sharply dismissive, treating him as a lesser follower of William Butler Yeats and T.S. Eliot, to strongly affirmative, as claim of Joseph Brodsky of his "greatest mind of the twentieth century."

He wintered in Oxford in 1972/1973 and summered in Kirchstetten, Austria, until the end of his life.

After his death, films, broadcasts, and popular media enabled people to know and ton note much more widely "Funeral Blues," "Musée des Beaux Arts," "Refugee Blues," "The Unknown Citizen," and "September 1, 1939," t

Reviews

[Andrew · Rating 5 out of 5]

I saw John Ashbery read Monday at the Folger Library and he spoke at length about the influence of early Auden on him when he was young, that Auden was the first modern poet he "got." Some hecklers in the audience were appalled, but, having studied Letters from Iceland and Journey to a War extensively, I appreciated the connection. After the reading (Ashbery read lengthy portions of Flow Chart as well as other poems) I curled up with a bottle of wine and read the sonnet sequence that I think is titled In a Time of War in the later editions. The early form of it though, as it appears in this breathtaking and raw book, is to my ear superior. Its arc is more intuitive, its emotions more primitive and the flattened, hammered-down poems are like the death's heads of German baroque drama in Walter Benjamin, imbued with life by Auden's wit and originality. In fact, they read like John Ashbery poems, only angrier.

[Ruth · Rating 3 out of 5]

It's a travelogue, poem, and a bunch of photos by 2 guys who visit China during the war with Japan. It gave me a strange feeling because they were kind of tourists of destruction, going around with all their luggage and their fold-up beds and a Chinese guy to carry all this stuff, and enthusiastically looking to capture the real horrors of war from their untouchable positions as Westerners. Uncomfortable but interesting.

[Perez Malone · Rating 4 out of 5]

Two dandys go off to China to witness the Sino-Japanese war. They visit with important people, witness important events, and see just how horrible war can be. Plus they are quite funny and comment on things in a rather insightful/humorous way. This is a very interesting look at the absurdity of war, colored with humor that is often quite morbid, such as the picture labeled, "Soldiers and Civilians: With legs, Without". A rather strange beast that uses prose, photos, and verse to relate Auden and Isherwood's experiences.

[Meghan · Rating 4 out of 5]

I think this is an important book in the history of 20th-century travel writing, especially in relation to Auden and his coterie's other works, and to Isherwood's fiction, and to their particular situation as interwar bourgeoisie. But do I like it? Hmm....

[Rudy Seifert · Rating 4 out of 5]

" Well, we've been on a Journey with Fleming in China, and now we're travelers for ever and ever. We need never go farther than Brighton again." Wystan Auden May 1939

[Richard Jespers · Rating 5 out of 5]

Journey begins and ends with verse, most likely Auden’s. This first section of six poems is entitled London to HongKong [sic]: “The Voyage,” “The Sphinx,” “The Ship,” “The Traveller,” “Macao,” and Hongkong.” The journal as a whole covers a long journey the two men—good friends, having studied together at Cambridge—make to cover the war Japan is waging against China (from the late 1930s until the Japanese empire’s demise in 1945)—a piece of history the West often ignores or forgets.

Isherwood’s accounts are as lively and engaging as his novels, including many details. “It was a fine, hot, steamy morning [February 28, 1938]. We breakfasted on board, and hurried out on to the deck, eager to miss none of the sensational sights which had been promised us. Friends in Hongkong, who had made the trip, had described how Japanese planes, returning from a raid, might swoop low over the Tai-Shan, playfully aiming their machine-guns at our heads” (27). His tone is almost lighthearted as he and Auden cruise the river. At times, the conflict indeed seems more like a cat and mouse game: the Japanese appearing to pick their targets carefully so as not to kill too many people, and the Chinese hiding skillfully, waiting to pounce, rather than returning fire openly—largely because the Chinese are poor and undermanned and underarmed.

The book closes with two sections, In Time of War, a Sonnet Sequence of twenty-seven poems and thirteen pages of “commentary” in the form of verse—all courtesy of W. H. Auden.

Some nuggets from the book:

“That is what War is, I thought: two ships pass each other, and nobody waves his hand” (29).

“During the past fortnight, eleven Japanese had been brought down. The Government had offered a reward to anybody who could bring down a plane; as a result, anti-aircraft defence had become a local sport, like duck-shooting. When the planes came over, everybody blazed away—even the farmers with their blunderbusses in the fields” (37). Isherwood peppers his prose with “Japs,” an acceptable appellation in those days.

“Most of the Germans have been in China for several years. They belong to the pre-Hitler emigration period, when an ambitious officer could foresee no adventurous military career in his own country, and often preferred to be abroad” (57). Isherwood speaks fluent German, and he sometimes has interesting interchanges with the Germans.

“As we walked home the whole weight of the news from Austria descended upon us, crushing out everything else. By this evening a European war may have broken out. And here we are, eight thousand miles away. Shall we change our plans? Shall we go back? What does China matter to us in comparison with this? Bad news of this sort has a curious psychological effect: all the guns and bombs of the Japanese seem suddenly as harmless as gnats. If we are killed on the Yellow River front our deaths will be as provincial and meaningless as a motor-bus accident in Burton-on-Trent” (59). The two men are conflicted about their past involvement—in their twenties—with Germany and Austria.

“China, says Dr. MacFadyen, is a terrible place for growths and tumours. In the hospital he has a whole museum of bladder-stones. One of his patents had a polypus [polyp] growing out of his nose, so long that you could wind the pedicle round his neck” (103-4). From this passage one realizes just how backward, how terribly poor 1930s China is.

Isherwood manages to capture the ironies of war, a pretty dog with no moral sensibilities: “Meanwhile there was time for a stroll round the village. It was a glorious, cool spring morning. On a waste plot of land beyond the houses a dog was gnawing what was, only too obviously, a human arm. A spy, they told us, had been buried there after execution a day or two ago; the dog had dug the corpse half out of the earth. It was rather a pretty dog with a fine, bushy tail. I remembered how we had patted it when it came begging for scraps of our supper the evening before” (112).

Here, he comments on the hale attitude with which the Chinese approach war: “The average Chinese soldier speaks of China’s chances with an air of gentle deprecation, yet he is ultimately confident or, at least, hopeful. ‘The Japanese,’ said one of them, ‘fight with their tanks and planes. We Chinese fight with our spirit.’ The ‘spirit’ is certainly important when one considers the Chinese inferiority in armaments (today’s new guns were a remarkable exception) and their hopeless deficiency in medical services. European troops may appear more self-confident, more combative, more efficient and energetic, but if they had to wage this war under similar conditions they would probably all mutiny within a fortnight” (117).

Here Isherwood comments on the amenities of a particular inn: “The Guest-House at Sian must be one of the strangest hotels in the world. A caprice of Chang Hsueh-liang created it—a Germanic, severely modern building, complete with private bathrooms, running water, central heating, and barber’s shop; the white dining-room has a dance-floor in the middle, and an indirectly rose-lit dome. Sitting in the entrance-lounge, on comfortable settees, you watch the guests going in and out. With the self-assured briskness of people accustomed to luxury and prompt service, inhabitants of a great metropolis. Those swing-doors might open on to Fifth Avenue, Piccadilly, Unter den Linden. The illusion is nearly complete” (129).

The following is an interesting anecdote that a Dr. Mooser passes on to Isherwood: “While he was working in Mexico he was summoned to the bedside of an Englishman named David H. Lawrence, ‘a queer-looking fellow with a red beard.’ I told him: ‘I thought you were Jesus Christ.’ And he laughed. There was a big German woman sitting beside him. She was his wife. I asked him what his profession was. He said he was a writer. ‘Are you a famous writer?’ I asked him. ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘Not so famous.’ His wife didn’t like that. ‘Didn’t you really know my husband was a writer?’ she said to me. ‘No,’ I said. ‘Never heard of him.’ And Lawrence said: ‘Don’t be silly, Frieda. How should he know I was a writer? I didn’t know he was a doctor, either, till he told me.’
Dr. Mooser then examined Lawrence and told him that he was suffering from tuberculosis—not from malaria, as the Mexican doctor had assured him. Lawrence took it very quietly. He only asked how long Mooser thought he would live. ‘Two years,’ said Mooser. ‘If you’re careful.’ This was in 1928” (138). [Lawrence died in 1930.]

In Hangkow, near their journey’s end, Isherwood comments thusly about one of the hotels: “Running out to meet us came a drilled troop of houseboys in khaki shorts and white shirts, prettily embroidered with the scarlet characters of their names. Mr. Charleton’s boys were famous, it appeared, in this part of China. He trained them for three years—as servants, gardeners, carpenters, or painters—and then placed them, often in excellent jobs, with consular officials, or foreign business men. The boys had all learnt a little English. The could say: ‘Good morning, sir,’ when you met them, and commanded a whole repertoire of sentences about tea, breakfast, the time you wanted to be called, the laundry, and the price of drinks. When a new boy arrived one of the third-year boys was appointed as his guardian. The first year, the boy was paid nothing; the second year, four dollars a month, the third year, ten. If a boy was stupid but willing he was taken on to the kitchen staff, and given a different uniform—black shirt and shorts. All tips were divided and the profits of the business shared out at the end of the year” (178).

And of course, the two writers cannot end the book without commenting on war, what they have come to learn about it: “But war, as Auden said later, is not like that. War is bombing an already disused arsenal, missing it, and killing a few old women. War is lying in a stable with a gangrenous leg. War is drinking hot water in a barn and worrying about one’s wife. War is a handful of lost and terrified men in the mountains, shooting at something moving in the undergrowth. War is waiting for days with nothing to do; shouting down a dead telephone; going without sleep, or sex, or a wash. War is untidy, inefficient, obscure, and largely a matter of chance” (202). What has changed?

More of the same: “Mr. Wang was the civil governor of six counties, and he had prepared an exhaustive report on the atrocities of the Japanese against the civilian population. In Mr. Wang’s area eighty per cent of the houses had been burnt. Out of 1,100 houses in Siaofeng only 200 remained. Out of 2,800 in Tsinan only 3. Three thousand civilians had been killed during the past four months. Children were being kidnapped by the Japanese and sent to Shanghai—for forced labour or the brothels. Out of 110,000 refugees only ten percent had been able to leave the district. The rest were returning, where possible, to their ruined homes, with money from the Government to buy seeds for the spring sowing. If they belonged to areas occupied by the Japanese they would be given work—either in repairing the roads or in their own handicrafts” (213).

Isherwood’s guilt over being conveyed by the coolies in carts over muddy terrain: “The coolies strode along, relieving each other with trained adroitness. We gazed at their bulging calves and straining thighs, and rehearsed every dishonest excuse for allowing ourselves to be carried by human beings: they are used to it, it’s giving them employment, they don’t feel. Oh no, they don’t feel—but the lump on the back of that man’s neck wasn’t raised by drinking champagne, and his sweat remarkably resembles my own. Never mind, my feet hurt. I’m paying him, aren’t I? Three times as much, in fact, as he’d get from a Chinese. Sentimentality helps no one. Why don’t you walk? I can’t, I tell you. You bloody well would if you’d got no cash. But I have got cash. Oh, dear. I’m so heavy . . . . Our coolies, unaware of these qualms, seemed to bear us no ill-will, however. At the road-side halts they even brought us cups of tea” (226).

Isherwood’s utter amazement at the absolute thriftiness of the Chinese: “We stopped to get petrol near a restaurant where they were cooking bamboo in all its forms—including the strips used for making chairs. That, I thought, is so typical of this country. Nothing is specifically either eatable or uneatable. You could begin munching a hat, or bite a mouthful out of a wall; equally, you could build a hut with the food provided at lunch. Everything is everything” (231).

From Sonnet XIX:
But in the evening the oppression lifted;
The peaks came into focus; it had rained:
Across the lawns and cultured flowers drifted
The conversation of the highly trained.

Auden and Isherwood's memoir is fresh and compelling though the subject matter is over seventy-five years old���a compelling read!

[TK Wong · Rating 5 out of 5]

IV. HONG KONG
Its leading characters are wise and witty,
Their suits well-tailored, and they wear them well,
Have many a polished parable to tell
About the mores of a trading city.

Only the servants enter unexpected,
Their silent movements make dramatic news;
Here in the East our bankers have erected
A worthy temple to the Cosmic Muse.
Ten thousand miles from home and What's-Her-Name
A bugle on this Late Victorian hill
Puts out the soldier's light; off-stage, a war

Thuds like the slamming of a distant door:
Each has his comic role in life to fill,
Though Life be neither comic nor a game.

V. MACAO
A weed from Catholic Europe, it took root
Between some yellow mountains and a sea,
Its gay stone houses an exotic fruit,
A Portugal-cum-China oddity.
Rococo images of Saint and Saviour
Promise its gamblers fortunes when they die,
Churches alongside brothels testify
That faith can pardon natural behaviour.

A town of such indulgence need not fear
Those mortal sins by which the strong are killed
And limbs and governments are torn to pieces:
Religious clocks will strike, the childish vices
Will safeguard the low virtues of the child,
And nothing serious can happen here.

[John · Rating 5 out of 5]

Christopher Isherwood and WH Auden and have combined their exceptional literary talents to present a fascinating travelers account of war-torn China in 1938. It is an unusual combination of one part travel narrative, one part picture commentary, and one part poetry (Isherwood writing the narrative an Auden the poetry). The two are constantly seeking to overcome obstacles to get to the front lines of the fighting between the Chinese and the Japanese — the obstacles come in many forms — some of them are bureaucratic and some of them are mechanical and some are Japanese bombers. They meet with a variety of characters Chinese bureaucrats and officers including General Chiang Kai-shek and his wife,Chou Enlai, White Russians, American Missionaries, German military advisors, and fellow Englishman Peter Fleming (a well known traveler of China and brother of Ian Fleming author of the James Bond books). The writing is extraordinarily good and a window into another era and way of thinking. Isherwood reports the good the bad and the ugly in a very understated British way. I highly recommend this book especially for those who have an interest in travel and history.

[Janet · Rating 5 out of 5]

I read Journey to a War partly as research for my grandparents’ own wartime journey through China. Isherwood’s keen eye and dry humor make the chaos of 1937 both vivid and strangely intimate, while Auden’s contributions add texture. The book endures as a reminder even in war, humor and humanity persist.

[Ronalee · Rating 5 out of 5]

I trust these two’s words above anyone else’s. It was a gift to read about China’s past through their eyes.

[Tim · Rating 4 out of 5]

Two dandys go off to China to witness the Sino-Japanese war. They visit with important people, witness important events, and see just how horrible war can be. Plus they are quite funny and comment on things in a rather insightful/humorous way. This is a very interesting look at the absurdity of war, colored with humor that is often quite morbid, such as the picture labeled, "Soldiers and Civilians: With legs, Without". A rather strange beast that uses prose, photos, and verse to relate Auden and Isherwood's experiences.

[Micebyliz · Rating 1 out of 5]

Didn't like this as much as i thought i would. There were author notes in the beginning, to explain away? or explain what would be read in an attempt to excuse the writing, or something..i wasn't clear on that. I didn't get the impression that either one of them really understood the culture they were in or appreciated the nuances, let alone the history and profound circumstances they found themselves involved in--so the text felt more like they were amused. I enjoyed Isherwood's Berlin stories much more.

[Marta · Rating 1 out of 5]

Dos periodistas ingleses que van a echar un vistazo a la guerra chino-japonesa de 1938.