What do you think?
Rate this book
Canongate Classics
Private Angelo
Angelo, a private in Mussolini's "ever-glorious" Italian army, may possess the virtues of love and an engaging innocence but he lacks the gift of courage. However, due to circumstances beyond his control, he ends up fighting not only for Italy but also for the British and German armies. With his patron the Count, the beautiful Lucrezia, the charming Annunziata, and the delightful Major Telfer, Angelo's fellow characters are drawn with humor, insight, and sympathy, making the book a wittily satirical comment on the grossness and waste of war. Eric Linklater, who served with the Black Watch in Italy in World War II, is one of Scotland's most distinguished writers. Here he has written a book which demonstrates that honor is not solely the preserve of the brave. Introduced by Magnus Linklater.
- GenresFictionWorld War II
262 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1946
12 people are currently reading
93 people want to read
About the author
Eric Linklater
159 books25 followersEric Robert Russell Linklater was a Welsh-born Scottish writer of novels and short stories, military history, and travel books. For The Wind on the Moon, a children's fantasy novel, he won the 1944 Carnegie Medal from the Library Association for the year's best children's book by a British subject.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews
February 20, 2021
Somewhere in Goodreads’ pages, someone has said that William J. Locke is their ‘go-to’ author when they want a good comfort-read. I too like Locke for similar reasons, and Linklater is on the same shelf.
I have slight qualms about so enjoying these writers who seem to have such a sunny disposition towards life and who, when they write of its less sunny aspects, manage to transform them into something almost Panglossian. I still feel uneasy that Locke’s good-hearted Septimus Dix is a designer of weapons, and that Juan in ‘Juan in China’ comes out of the Japanese invasion of Shanghai virtually unscathed and is able to enjoy a charmed life even though he is, like Angelo in ‘Private Angelo’, from time to time in the thick of the fighting.
But Linklater is a writer who survived the war and who was on the winning side. Maybe his good humour does not merit critiquing as being in poor taste, given the lives lost and the suffering endured and the destruction witnessed, but merits instead commendation for reflecting the joy of having survived. Not to acknowledge how wonderful it is still to be alive would be the worse sin. Indeed, I’d argue Linklater as much as indicates this in his penultimate chapter. Angelo has returned home to his beloved, Lucrezia, with another woman, Annunziata, in tow. He is surprised to find that in addition to Lucrezia’s first baby (by an Englishman) she has added a second which Angelo thinks to be his own, except that it is black, a passing North African soldier’s gift. Moreover, Annunziata has a bambino too, one who was fathered by a Pole. Angelo retreats into the fields to consider his position, and muses thus:
‘ “[Italy] is very ancient... All the countries have come to us, either to conquer or to learn, in love or envy, and we are still Tuscany, and the grapes are ripening again, and in a little while from now my family – the Englishman, the Marocchino, and the Pole – will drink the vintage and be the better of it.”
‘He stood up, and walked to and fro, and declared: “It is possible, it even seems probable, that I have a mission. I must demonstrate that all the peoples of the world – or four of them, at least – can make their home together in civilisation. I shall bring up these children in such a way that they will have no obsession about their nationality, and that will be a very good thing indeed. For even the best of nations may have a bad influence on its subjects, and human nature being what it is, the majority of its subjects are likely to prefer that to anything else it can offer. But my family will merely retain a sentimental regard for the places where their fathers were born, and sentimentality, which can relieve itself in a song or two and an occasional tear, is an excellent thing.”’
Linklater is not so naive, however, as to pass over entirely the catastrophes of war. Angelo loses a hand, though the story allows him a handsome hook to replace it – ‘A hook flashing in the sun, with which he could hold an ox by the bridle and with a gesture frighten small boys. A hook would be a fine appendage to his arm.’ Others, however, are not so lucky. The Count – Angelo is his illegitimate son and he is very fond and duly solicitous of him – is imprisoned and suffers desperate deprivation; a mysterious German, Fest, threads through several incidents, his raison d’être being to cause trouble for his fellow countrymen by whom he has been persecuted, abused, and tortured; and in an unexpected incident, coming out of nowhere, a cultivated German paratrooper, Captain Schlemmer, part of an advance party of 3 assigned to blowing up bridges, arrives in the Count’s country house in Tuscany, demands and receives hospitality of the Countess, and is shown to a room in which hangs a painting of the Adoration by Piero della Francesca which he shoots to shreds because he is bedevilled by whether or not it is authentic.
It struck me that both Fest and Schlemmer are suffering from PTSD, and indeed neither of them is granted a happy ending. In this way, Linklater keeps us in touch with the tragedies by which individuals are struck in wartime.
And indeed, Schlemmer’s unexpected and unanticipated iconoclasm and Fest’s random appearances are characteristic of the picaresque nature of this novel, and, as someone who has not been a soldier may imagine, of war. In what other circumstances might a man find himself riding a white ox, or becoming the Supervising Agent in Umbria, Tuscany, the Abruzzi and the Marshes for American sewing-machines, or joining a ‘Free Distributer’ in his lucrative adventures, or carrying all night the wounded man, who happens also to be the father of your fiancé’s son and who happens to have just saved your life, across a mountain range without any paths while he is strapped to a ladder, or end the war having served with the Italian, German and English armies? This picaresque novel wears the structure of the unstructured chaos of war very comfortably. You never know where you are going next, and Linklater provides you with a number of characters whose fates he persuades you you are keen to discover.
A friend who read this on my recommendation, says that she finds the dialogue of the Italians styled in a way that matches something of Italian itself. I can’t comment, except to say she is right in that they have a manner of their own, often characterised further by their fondness for philosophising about the finer things of life and how to manage adversity – perhaps also a nod by Linklater to the manner of the 18th century and the style of picaresque writers? This style may, however, come across as a bit stodgy rather than gently thoughtful or entertaining. Other nationalities by contrast perform pretty much to order, the English Tommy’s speech being spattered with the comic euphemism ‘shocking’ (reflecting Angelo’s response to the use of the word it replaces).
And comic or quasi-comic incidents are not missing. The Count, threatened with re-arrest, is saved by being covered in sofa cushions and sat upon by his mistress while the aforementioned Fest pretends to be the German attaché to the Vatican. Later in the novel, after his house in Rome has been looted, the Count manages to retrieve his paintings and, to recover some of his lost wealth, sells them on the black market. As a Scot, Linklater appears to enjoy observing the characteristics of English officer class: ‘To join and remain in Force 69 it was necessary that an officer should be naturally brave, uncommonly resourceful and know a great number of people by their Christian names. ... in the field... decisive action was taken only in consequence of something that General Oliver or Colonel Peter had said to Dicky This or Nigel That.’ And he admires the forceful and stoical objectivity of the character – as he portrays it – of the ordinary Tommy. A bricklayer from Coventry comments to Angelo that he’s not at all upset by the destruction of his home city because ‘as soon as I get back to Coventry, I’m going to be worth my weight in gold.’ Moreover, the same bricky has a philosophical directness the Italians lack: ‘But is my importance recognised? No. Would I myself live in one of the houses that I built before the war, or that I’m going to build after the war? No. And why not? Because they were shoddy and they’ll be shoddy again... As a people we can still hold our own, because in my opinion nobody’s much good nowadays, and everybody’s going downhill; but we’re going slower than the rest. But I often feel we’re not as good as we used to be...’
Another of Linklater’s strengths is the easy way he has with description – he often resorts to straightforward but not unskilful or ineffective pastoral description. For example, the war-weary Schlemmer has a moment walking in the Countess’ garden observing its formality and its setting amid the Tuscan hills, and finds a moment of consolation, and Angelo is depicted at the end of the war with his family harvesting amid the fruitful fields of old. But Linklater’s skills also extend into some delightfully animated descriptions of the excitement of the eager Press Corps during the liberation of Rome, or Angelo’s highly imaginative interpretation of liberation as a symphony in four movements.
As well as a general love of life, the novel lays some emphasis on the value of charity, largely through Lucrezia’s and Annunziata’s arguments that their wartime children were the fruits of compassionate acts. No doubt, there may well be a convenience in attributing one’s succumbing to seduction (or rape) as an act of charity towards lost and lonely soldiers in order to preserve both one’s self-respect and one’s reputation; but in combination with Angelo’s decision to foster these babes of war, as well as both their mothers, as an act of civilised charity, and the recurring image of the Madonna that he rescues from the della Francesca painting so insanely shot to pieces by the war-maddened Schlemmer, I think Linklater wants us to see that Amor Vincit Omnia. Or at least has the capacity to do so.
I have slight qualms about so enjoying these writers who seem to have such a sunny disposition towards life and who, when they write of its less sunny aspects, manage to transform them into something almost Panglossian. I still feel uneasy that Locke’s good-hearted Septimus Dix is a designer of weapons, and that Juan in ‘Juan in China’ comes out of the Japanese invasion of Shanghai virtually unscathed and is able to enjoy a charmed life even though he is, like Angelo in ‘Private Angelo’, from time to time in the thick of the fighting.
But Linklater is a writer who survived the war and who was on the winning side. Maybe his good humour does not merit critiquing as being in poor taste, given the lives lost and the suffering endured and the destruction witnessed, but merits instead commendation for reflecting the joy of having survived. Not to acknowledge how wonderful it is still to be alive would be the worse sin. Indeed, I’d argue Linklater as much as indicates this in his penultimate chapter. Angelo has returned home to his beloved, Lucrezia, with another woman, Annunziata, in tow. He is surprised to find that in addition to Lucrezia’s first baby (by an Englishman) she has added a second which Angelo thinks to be his own, except that it is black, a passing North African soldier’s gift. Moreover, Annunziata has a bambino too, one who was fathered by a Pole. Angelo retreats into the fields to consider his position, and muses thus:
‘ “[Italy] is very ancient... All the countries have come to us, either to conquer or to learn, in love or envy, and we are still Tuscany, and the grapes are ripening again, and in a little while from now my family – the Englishman, the Marocchino, and the Pole – will drink the vintage and be the better of it.”
‘He stood up, and walked to and fro, and declared: “It is possible, it even seems probable, that I have a mission. I must demonstrate that all the peoples of the world – or four of them, at least – can make their home together in civilisation. I shall bring up these children in such a way that they will have no obsession about their nationality, and that will be a very good thing indeed. For even the best of nations may have a bad influence on its subjects, and human nature being what it is, the majority of its subjects are likely to prefer that to anything else it can offer. But my family will merely retain a sentimental regard for the places where their fathers were born, and sentimentality, which can relieve itself in a song or two and an occasional tear, is an excellent thing.”’
Linklater is not so naive, however, as to pass over entirely the catastrophes of war. Angelo loses a hand, though the story allows him a handsome hook to replace it – ‘A hook flashing in the sun, with which he could hold an ox by the bridle and with a gesture frighten small boys. A hook would be a fine appendage to his arm.’ Others, however, are not so lucky. The Count – Angelo is his illegitimate son and he is very fond and duly solicitous of him – is imprisoned and suffers desperate deprivation; a mysterious German, Fest, threads through several incidents, his raison d’être being to cause trouble for his fellow countrymen by whom he has been persecuted, abused, and tortured; and in an unexpected incident, coming out of nowhere, a cultivated German paratrooper, Captain Schlemmer, part of an advance party of 3 assigned to blowing up bridges, arrives in the Count’s country house in Tuscany, demands and receives hospitality of the Countess, and is shown to a room in which hangs a painting of the Adoration by Piero della Francesca which he shoots to shreds because he is bedevilled by whether or not it is authentic.
It struck me that both Fest and Schlemmer are suffering from PTSD, and indeed neither of them is granted a happy ending. In this way, Linklater keeps us in touch with the tragedies by which individuals are struck in wartime.
And indeed, Schlemmer’s unexpected and unanticipated iconoclasm and Fest’s random appearances are characteristic of the picaresque nature of this novel, and, as someone who has not been a soldier may imagine, of war. In what other circumstances might a man find himself riding a white ox, or becoming the Supervising Agent in Umbria, Tuscany, the Abruzzi and the Marshes for American sewing-machines, or joining a ‘Free Distributer’ in his lucrative adventures, or carrying all night the wounded man, who happens also to be the father of your fiancé’s son and who happens to have just saved your life, across a mountain range without any paths while he is strapped to a ladder, or end the war having served with the Italian, German and English armies? This picaresque novel wears the structure of the unstructured chaos of war very comfortably. You never know where you are going next, and Linklater provides you with a number of characters whose fates he persuades you you are keen to discover.
A friend who read this on my recommendation, says that she finds the dialogue of the Italians styled in a way that matches something of Italian itself. I can’t comment, except to say she is right in that they have a manner of their own, often characterised further by their fondness for philosophising about the finer things of life and how to manage adversity – perhaps also a nod by Linklater to the manner of the 18th century and the style of picaresque writers? This style may, however, come across as a bit stodgy rather than gently thoughtful or entertaining. Other nationalities by contrast perform pretty much to order, the English Tommy’s speech being spattered with the comic euphemism ‘shocking’ (reflecting Angelo’s response to the use of the word it replaces).
And comic or quasi-comic incidents are not missing. The Count, threatened with re-arrest, is saved by being covered in sofa cushions and sat upon by his mistress while the aforementioned Fest pretends to be the German attaché to the Vatican. Later in the novel, after his house in Rome has been looted, the Count manages to retrieve his paintings and, to recover some of his lost wealth, sells them on the black market. As a Scot, Linklater appears to enjoy observing the characteristics of English officer class: ‘To join and remain in Force 69 it was necessary that an officer should be naturally brave, uncommonly resourceful and know a great number of people by their Christian names. ... in the field... decisive action was taken only in consequence of something that General Oliver or Colonel Peter had said to Dicky This or Nigel That.’ And he admires the forceful and stoical objectivity of the character – as he portrays it – of the ordinary Tommy. A bricklayer from Coventry comments to Angelo that he’s not at all upset by the destruction of his home city because ‘as soon as I get back to Coventry, I’m going to be worth my weight in gold.’ Moreover, the same bricky has a philosophical directness the Italians lack: ‘But is my importance recognised? No. Would I myself live in one of the houses that I built before the war, or that I’m going to build after the war? No. And why not? Because they were shoddy and they’ll be shoddy again... As a people we can still hold our own, because in my opinion nobody’s much good nowadays, and everybody’s going downhill; but we’re going slower than the rest. But I often feel we’re not as good as we used to be...’
Another of Linklater’s strengths is the easy way he has with description – he often resorts to straightforward but not unskilful or ineffective pastoral description. For example, the war-weary Schlemmer has a moment walking in the Countess’ garden observing its formality and its setting amid the Tuscan hills, and finds a moment of consolation, and Angelo is depicted at the end of the war with his family harvesting amid the fruitful fields of old. But Linklater’s skills also extend into some delightfully animated descriptions of the excitement of the eager Press Corps during the liberation of Rome, or Angelo’s highly imaginative interpretation of liberation as a symphony in four movements.
As well as a general love of life, the novel lays some emphasis on the value of charity, largely through Lucrezia’s and Annunziata’s arguments that their wartime children were the fruits of compassionate acts. No doubt, there may well be a convenience in attributing one’s succumbing to seduction (or rape) as an act of charity towards lost and lonely soldiers in order to preserve both one’s self-respect and one’s reputation; but in combination with Angelo’s decision to foster these babes of war, as well as both their mothers, as an act of civilised charity, and the recurring image of the Madonna that he rescues from the della Francesca painting so insanely shot to pieces by the war-maddened Schlemmer, I think Linklater wants us to see that Amor Vincit Omnia. Or at least has the capacity to do so.
August 13, 2025
This is a lovely and very gentle read. Its the story of a man (who lacked courage) in Italy after the fall of Mussolini during Word War II. The story covers the Allied invasion of Italy and the escapades of Private Angelo. It has a fabulous cast of characters and was very enjoyable.
May 19, 2009
I picked this book in a secondhand bookshop in Mysore, near Ballal Circle and am have been reading and reading this extraordinary book.
It's a gentle story set during WWII about a soldier , an SOE officer and assorted characters and you are taken along the journey of Private Angelo. Uou finish it , wake up and wish you can gp back again to the world of Angelo... again and again. This is one of those books that should be in your backpack, jhoola and its small, a real pocketbook that it can fit in your pcoket.
It's a gentle story set during WWII about a soldier , an SOE officer and assorted characters and you are taken along the journey of Private Angelo. Uou finish it , wake up and wish you can gp back again to the world of Angelo... again and again. This is one of those books that should be in your backpack, jhoola and its small, a real pocketbook that it can fit in your pcoket.
August 5, 2012
This was a lovely read. A gentle tale of a man who lacked "the gift of courage" set in Italy after the fall of Mussolini during the Allied invasion, with a great cast of characters from the Contessa from Yorkshire to the Special Forces officer who drags the unwilling Angelo into warfare despite himself. I was pleased to have rediscovered this Scottish writer.
November 29, 2017
Private Angelo is probably my favourite novel of 2017. It's beautifully written, gently witty, charming and profound. The characters might express themselves in a way that is innocent, 'homespun', and at times naive, but I think that their reflections on life, and the war, have continuing significance.
May 23, 2020
A joy to read. Gentle, wistful, full of colourful characters with laugh out loud moments and truly universal pondering on what it means to be human and the sheer idiocy of war. Introduced to P riveted Angelo by my now deceased father when I was a teenager. It has been a joy to discover him all over again.
July 30, 2023
Private Angelo is a good-natured ordinary countryman caught up in a war he finds alarming and a military career for which he has no calling. Then his own side surrender and he swiftly finds himself fighting for the other side but all the while yearning for peace, his village, and his beloved Lucrezia. He is just about the last person who should wind up helping out something very like the SOE, but that's more or less what happens to him. Eric Linklater clearly saw too much of the front line in two world wars to write a straightforwardly comic novel about the war in Italy from 1943-45, but he still has his hero driven out of action on the back of a rampaging bull and his relations with his beloved Lucrezia have something of Don Quixote and Dulcinea about them. Overall it is an affectionate but somewhat patronising view of the people of Italy written in the immediate aftermath of the war itself. For something more bracing, try Norman Lewis' 'Naples 44' or Curzio Malaparte's 'The Skin'.
July 13, 2025
The author spent time in Italy during WW2 and this is evident in his story . His love for the land and its people is celebrated throughout the novel. The protagonist Private Angelo is a self confessed coward with a very amoral love life . However the reader still empathises with him when he sees suffering and devastation.
At times it is a very funny read , with great wit and wry observation.
The great survivor of the story is Italy herself.From out of the destruction comes survival . The Tuscan landscape,the beauty of Art and the strength of ordinary people .
Finally the head of Piero’s Madonna is the real love story .
At times it is a very funny read , with great wit and wry observation.
The great survivor of the story is Italy herself.From out of the destruction comes survival . The Tuscan landscape,the beauty of Art and the strength of ordinary people .
Finally the head of Piero’s Madonna is the real love story .
July 11, 2025
Interesting...a story written by a Scot in which the British Army becomes simply the English Army. I'm guessing Linklater was making a political point here ( later he includes the Scots, and the Irish, in a whole group of different peoples 'enslaved by the English.') If he was making a point, I can't see it. There's no such thing as 'the English Army'; the Scots, Welsh and Northern Irish are in no way English. I'm particularly pissed off about this story as my dad, born in the East End of Glasgow in 1917, was a British Army infantryman fighting in Northern Italy at this time. If anyone had referred to him or his fellow Scottish soldiers as 'English', there would have been fists flying!
Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews