My Dear I Wanted to Tell You by Louise Young poignantly portrays the horror of war, insightfully revealing the effects on men and women, soldiers and medical teams, those at the front and those at home. She uses three young women and two young men to carry much of the story and bases some of what she writes on real people and actual medical practices and advancements, particular in plastic surgery. When the war is over, all are wounded and needy. The ability to bear the unbearable gives them the strength to keep on. (Spoiler alert. Summary follows quotes.)
Young’s prose is skillful and memorable:
“… one of the many injustices of the war—a small one, in the big scheme, but still—was how the sweet-natured pretty-faced daughters of England were required to toughen up. A girl like Julia wasn’t made for it. Why should she have to” (87)?
“It seemed to Purefoy that if your legs are shot to pieces no one expects you to keep going, but if your nerve, the machinery of your self-control is shot to pieces, they do. It’s not your will, your desire, your willingness to fight on—it’s a separate part of you, but it’s one they don’t understand yet, because they never yet put this much on a soldier. Ainsworth had talked about that—how they had never before given heavy industry to war” (124).
“She knew now exactly what Riley had been talking about when he had said he didn’t exist. She knew now the hollow manic energy induced by living at crisis pitch all the time. It left you—well , it never left you: it rendered you brutalized, incapable, unthinking, unfeeling, scar tissue all over. No feeling at all. Wild. Everything was terribly remote and she was utterly impenetrable” (234).
“Courage for the big troubles in life, patience for the small. And when you have laboriously finished your day’s efforts, go to sleep in peace. (Be of good cheer. God is awake.)” (264).
“For the next few days he watched the other patients. Patience. He was looking for good cheer among them. How did they bear it? How could they bear it? This was not a rhetorical question. He wanted to know how the others bore it, what they actually did to bear it, because he could not bear it. And he could not suddenly start to bear it just because it was over. No one ever wins a war, and wars are never over:” (265).
Working class Riley Purefoy and posh, aristocratic Nadine Waveney meet as children and become friends when Riley’s brains, talent and personality lead him to work in the household of a rich artist. When WWI begins, he enlists in the Army, survives his first experiences, and begins trying to cope with war, striving to come to terms with the disparity between the atrocities he does and sees in battle and his own moral code. He begins to have trouble communicating with Nadine, afraid to tell her real things, but he builds strong loyalties and friendship with comrades, especially his Captain, Peter Locke.
Nadine recognizes that Riley isn’t sharing with her, and in an effort to make a difference and understand him, she becomes a nurse. They begin to exchange real letters and even meet, finally consummating their relationship. When his jaw is blown off, though, he sends her a letter telling her he loves another to spare her the pain of living with him and his disfigurement, and he enlists his own nurse’s help in convincing Nadine to go away. Riley’s nurse is Locke’s cousin, a plain woman unlikely ever to marry as opposed to his wife Julia, a lady “bred and trained to be a beautiful wife and nothing else” (65).
Peter Locke creates part of his problem when he goes home on leave. He can’t bear to touch Julia despite her flirtatious attempts to be intimate because he’s done such monstrous things. Desire overcomes him in the night, but he practically rapes her and then, ashamed to his core, leaves without comment. She becomes pregnant, bears him a son, and, flounders, unable to mother the boy—her own mother takes him away—or to do anything useful to help Locke who spirals down, becoming an alcoholic.
All does end well, when the armistice is announced, in a Christmas reunion at Locke Hill, where Purefoy brings the drunken Locke, and Nadine accepts hospitality from Rose. Julia has burned her face with acids, attempting to hide signs of aging, but seems to feels more relief than anything when her son whom she’s fetched to see his father reacts to her bandages by attempting to comfort her, and she understands that “Peter needs me sane more than he needs me beautiful…” (324). After a brief exchange in which Purefoy and Nadine speak of horrors—“I killed.” “I let them die.”—she says, I think we should get married now, before anyone has a chance to think about it. Then whatever else, we’ll be safe together” (320) and Purefoy concurs, “It was the only thing they were sure of” 320).