“For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother…”
- William Shakespeare, Henry V, Act 4, Scene 3
As a history lover, and as someone who loves not getting flamed on Goodreads, I am loathe to say what I am about to say. However, as someone who finds it impossible not to say what I feel like saying, I’ll just go ahead and say it: I don’t like Stephen Ambrose.
Not like that, I hasten to add.
I didn’t know him personally, but in interviews he seemed like a nice man, congenial and friendly, who often charmingly mentioned his family in his books. Moreover, Ambrose did history itself an incredible service by collecting the stories of ordinary men. The living memory of World War II is fading fast, and it is due to the efforts of historians, biographers, and researchers like Stephen Ambrose that we will have so many incredible stories, even after that generation has passed into memory.
But here’s the thing: I think he’s a crap writer.
I’ve tried very hard in the past to enjoy Ambrose books. When I read the flaccid Pegasus Bridge – my first experience – I told myself that I was at fault, not the great Ambrose.
Then, I read Crazy Horse and Custer and noticed that entire pages were copied almost verbatim from Royal Hassrick’s The Sioux. Still, I gave him a pass, knowing that sometimes writers make mistakes when it comes to citing sources.
But the accusations of plagiarism kept cropping up, along with the Eisenhower Presidential Library accusing him of fabricating interviews with Ike.
It occurred to me that – despite Ambrose’s pervasive popularity as the Godfather of Dad Books – my inclinations were correct. There are plenty of good author/historians in the world, free of taint, and I decided that I should avoid Ambrose in the future. Time is short, after all, and the library is large.
But I got pulled back in.
It’s the fault of HBO, truly and absolutely. The Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg-produced Band of Brothers miniseries happens to be one of the greatest things to ever appear on a screen. This is not hyperbole, by the way, but an objective fact written in the stars.
When it first came out, I ordered HBO simply to watch it. I bought the DVD the first day it was available, and watched it start to finish again. Even though I owned the DVD, I watched in on the History Channel, every (edited) episode. When it came out on Spike TV (back when Spike TV existed), I sat through it again, through the interminable commercials of basic cable.
I spent one enjoyable Thanksgiving watching it on the couch, a sated smile on my face. In college, I devoted a second date to watching an episode in my dorm room (there was no third date, but who needed dates when I had Ron Livingston and Donnie Wahlberg saving the world). When Band of Brothers was released as a Blu-Ray set, I bought that too, and watched it yet again, reveling in the high-definition clarity that – unfortunately – really demonstrated the fakeness of the Bastogne sets.
In short, I spent a not-insignificant portion of my pre-marriage, pre-kids life watching Band of Brothers.
Finally, after the 20th viewing, as an inevitability, I decided to read the source material: Band of Brothers by Stephen Ambrose. It had become an obligation.
Band of Brothers is a grunt’s eye view of history. War as it was seen by the men who fought it. It stands on a continuum of anecdotal works by such luminaries as Walter Lord (Day of Infamy; Incredible Victory) and Cornelius Ryan (The Longest Day; A Bridge Too Far) who used a pastiche of eyewitness accounts to present the intimate side of a massive, impersonal war.
Ambrose attempts to replicate, on a smaller scale, the feats of Lord and Ryan. In Easy Company of the 506th Regiment of the 101st Airborne, he has an incredible subject: an elite group of soldiers who – like the mythical platoon of Samuel Fuller’s The Big Red One – find themselves in just about every important operation in the European Theater, from D-Day to VE-Day.
The problem, though, is that Ambrose is no Walter Lord, and he’s no Cornelius Ryan. He’s barely serviceable. His prose is blunt, ugly, and disjointed. There is tortured grammar and a noticeable lack of editing. There is not a smidgeon of grace or elegance to be found. Ambrose’s shortcomings as a writer are put in stark relief whenever he quotes from the writings of David Webster, a Harvard-educated English major who was part of Easy Company. Webster, unlike Ambrose, writes in vivid prose that is alive with acute perception.
Most of the enjoyment I received from reading Band of Brothers came from the fact that I’d seen the miniseries (more times than is healthy, probably) and was interested to compare and contrast the various characters. When I tried to imagine being a reader who hadn’t seen the miniseries, I found it hard to understand the universal acclaim.
First, there is absolutely no tension or drama in the story. Instead of taking oral histories and spinning them into a narrative, Ambrose elects to directly quote the men he has interviewed. Now, I’m sure this saved him a great deal of time when it came to actually writing, but it tells you right away who lives, and to a lesser extent, who dies. If you like vividness, the sensation of being there – look elsewhere. This is the cutting and pasting of transcribed interviews.
Ambrose’s style also feeds into a participant’s bias, in that the men who talked to Ambrose are lifted to the heights of Achilles or Hector, while those who did not participate, or who died, recede – for the most part – into the background. This is not history as it happened, but history as told by some limited viewpoints. (And this limited viewpoint is why Ambrose is criticized so often – by other veterans – for utterly screwing up the facts. He only listens to one side and seldom takes the time to corroborate).
Another problem I had was Ambrose’s lack of objectivity when it comes to his subjects. And by lack of objectivity, I mean abject hero-worship. Here, once again, lest I be digitally mobbed, I wish to interject that yes, the men of Easy Company were heroic. They were young men who sacrificed their youths to do a dangerous job that their country asked them to do. There is a place for a flag-waving, chest-thumping, drum-beating homage to “the greatest generation.” Indeed, God created Tom Brokaw for just this purpose.
However, it’s not a historian’s place to wave the flag or thump his chest or beat his drum. And Ambrose has always claimed to be a historian. In Band of Brothers, he is not. Instead, he’s more like a cheerleader, or a proud father, or a guy who secretly feels guilty that he never joined the army and fought a war. He is hyperbolic in his descriptions of Easy Company’s exploits, he is quick to take sides and defend his interview subjects at the expense of men who weren’t interviewed, and he gives a wink-wink nudge-nudge to myriad war crimes committed by those soldiers, including numerous executions of P.O.W.s, the murder of an alleged SS officer after the war was over, and enough looting and pillaging to make Genghis Khan envious.
(These are war crimes, aren’t they? Or am I being obtuse? I mean, if the Germans had done this to us – killed our prisoners, as they did at Malmedy, or looted homes and businesses, as they did all over Europe, wouldn’t we consider them crimes? Didn’t we? Did we not try and execute or imprison Germans for these very things? The answer to those rhetorical questions – to be clear – is yes).
Ambrose’s blinders leads him to continually make silly and unsupportable statements about how “citizen soldiers” and “democratic soldiers” were eminently superior to the Nazis forces of totalitarianism and darkness. This is a sweeping, simplistic, reductive, and jingoistic statement that is better placed on a 1940s war bonds poster.
It’s also patently untrue. Far from being an inferior fighting force, the German armies were far better, man-for-man, than any other army in the world. By 1944, when Easy Company finally got in the war, the Wehrmacht had been fighting for five years. They’d destroyed Poland and France, nearly crushed England, and pushed Russia to the brink. After all those years and all those casualties, they still managed to scrape together one hell of a defense after Normandy. By the way, I hate the Nazis and everything they stood for. I’m just saying they could rumble.
Ambrose’s failure is in using an exception to prove a rule. On the whole, the American armies in North Africa, Italy, and Europe didn’t perform especially well. This isn’t some kind of indictment on our fighting men, only a reality that comes from a mass draft, a hurried mobilization, and an army of citizens, not soldiers.
Easy Company was an exception. They were an elite group. They were volunteers. They were well trained (again, so well trained that they didn’t actually get into the war till 1944; meanwhile, their fellow Americans invaded North Africa and Guadalcanal in 1942). The men of Easy Company were fit, mobile, ambitious, motivated, well-armed, strongly conditioned killers. They deserve their accolades. They are not, however, representative.
The consequence of Ambrose’s tight focus on Easy Company, and his ill-conceived extrapolation of their experience, makes Band of Brothers into something rare: a pro-war book. This is the anti-All Quiet on the Western Front. Rather than ruining lives and shattering psyches, Ambrose presents a portrait of war as a great adventure, and men who only became fully actualized by combat. It’s almost an advertisement: Go to War; Make Great Friends; See the World and Steal Some Nazi Silverware! To bolster this fact, Ambrose’s afterward stresses how many of Easy Company’s men became rich!
That is what I took from Ambrose’s writing.
Of course, that’s not the reality. Thanks to the miniseries and the accompanying documentary, you can actually listen to these men talk about their experiences. They don’t sound like the soldiers Ambrose presents in his book. They are somber and reflective. Their eyes glisten and their voices crack and waver. They hint at reservoirs of jumbled memories that combine the fear of battle and the horror of death and the pain of lost friends with the love of their brothers. To see and hear them is an experience far more touching and real than the pastiche of direct quotations and patriotic slogans that Ambrose stitched together for his book.