This was ok. I must confess that I don't particularly like Oliver's style of writing, which seems overly peripatetic, jumping from place to place and never quite holding anything down. Oliver describes this as 'a story of remembrance', and not a story about the Great War, but it ends up being neither. It's not a story, rather a collection of short stories and anecdotes, with an unsatisfying and disjointed feel throughout. Where this book excels is in the depth, detail and incredible research, bringing to light little snippets that would otherwise be lost. I liked it, and I'm glad I read it, but it didn't have a satisfactory feel to it at the end. Maybe that was deliberate, in deference to the subject matter? Sadly, I don't think so.