A Man Could Stand Up— by Ford Madox Ford (books for 5 year olds to read themselves txt) 📕
Description
A Man Could Stand Up— opens on Armistice Day, with Valentine Wannop learning that her love, Christopher Tietjens, has returned to London from the front. As she prepares to meet him, the narrative suddenly shifts time and place to earlier in the year, with Tietjens commanding a group of soldiers in a trench somewhere in the war zone. Tietjens leads his company bravely as they shelter from the constant German strafes, before the narrative again jumps to conclude with an actual Armistice Day celebration.
In this simple narrative Ford creates dense, complex character studies of Valentine and Tietjens. Tietjens, often called “the last Tory” for his staunch and unwavering approach to honor, duty, and fidelity, has changed greatly from the man he was in the previous installments in the series. Ford explores the psychological horror that the Great War inflicted on its combatants through the lens of Valentine’s gentle curiosity about Tietjen’s time on the front: men returned from battle injured not just in body, but in soul, too. The constant, unrelenting shelling, the endless strafes, the clouds of poison gas, the instant death of friends and comrades for no reason at all, the muddy and grim entrenchments where men lived and died—all of these permanently changed soldiers in ways that previous wars didn’t. Now the “last Tory” wants nothing more than to retreat from society and live a quiet life with the woman he loves—who is not his wife.
As we follow Valentine and Tietjens through the last day of the war, we see how the Great War was not just the destruction of men, but of an entire era.
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- Author: Ford Madox Ford
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Mrs. Wannop was informing him that she had had the news of Valentine’s having gone to him from a Miss Wanostrocht. She had, she said, at first agreed that it was proper that Valentine should look after him if he were mad and destitute. But this Miss Wanostrocht had gone on to say that she had heard from Lady Macmaster that Tietjens and her daughter had had a liaison lasting for years. And … Mrs. Wannop’s voice hesitated … Valentine seemed to have announced to Miss Wanostrocht that she intended to live with Tietjens. “Maritally,” Miss Wanostrocht had expressed it.
It was the last word alone of Mrs. Wannop’s talk that came home to him. People would talk. About him. It was his fate. And hers. Their identities interested Mrs. Wannop, as novelist. Novelists live on gossip. But it was all one to him.
The word “Maritally!” burst out of the telephone like a blue light! That girl with the refined face, the hair cut longish, but revealing its thinner refinement. … That girl longed for him as he for her! The longing had refined her face. He must comfort. …
He was aware that for a long time, from below his feet a voice had been murmuring on and on. Always one voice. Who could Valentine find to talk to or to listen to for so long? Old Macmaster was almost the only name that came to his mind. Macmaster would not harm her. He felt her being united to his by a current. He had always felt that her being was united to his by a current. This then was the day!
The war had made a man of him! It had coarsened him and hardened him. There was no other way to look at it. It had made him reach a point at which he would no longer stand unbearable things. At any rate from his equals! He counted Campion as his equal; few other people, of course. And what he wanted he was prepared to take. … What he had been before, God alone knew. A Younger Son? A Perpetual Second-in-Command? Who knew. But today the world changed. Feudalism was finished; its last vestiges were gone. It held no place for him. He was going—he was damn well going!—to make a place in it for … A man could now stand up on a hill, so he and she could surely get into some hole together!
He said:
“Oh, I’m not destitute, but I was penniless this morning. So I ran out and sold a cabinet to Sir John Robertson. The old fellow had offered me a hundred and forty pounds for it before the war. He would only pay forty today—because of the immorality of my character.” Sylvia had completely got hold of the old collector. He went on: “The Armistice came too suddenly. I was determined to spend it with Valentine. I expected a cheque tomorrow. For some books I’ve sold. And Sir John was going down to the country. I had got into an old suit of mufti and I hadn’t a civilian hat.” Reverberations came from the front door. He said earnestly:
“Mrs. Wannop. … If Valentine and I can, we will. … But today’s today! … If we can’t we can find a hole to get into. … I’ve heard of an antiquity shop near Bath. No special regularity of life is demanded of old furniture dealers. We should be quite happy! I have also been recommended to apply for a vice-consulate. In Toulon, I believe. I’m quite capable of taking a practical hold of life!”
The Department of Statistics would transfer him. All the Government Departments, staffed of course by noncombatants, were aching to transfer those who had served to any other old Department.
A great many voices came from below stairs. He could not leave Valentine to battle with a great number of voices. He said:
“I’ve got to go!” Mrs. Wannop’s voice answered:
“Yes, do. I’m very tired.”
He came mooning slowly down the stairs. He smiled. He exclaimed:
“Come up, you fellows. There’s some Hooch for you!” He had a royal aspect. An all-powerfulness. They pushed past her and then past him on the stairs. They all ran up the stairs, even the man with the stick. The armless man shook hands with his left hand as he ran. They exclaimed enthusiasms. … On all celebrations it is proper for His Majesty’s officers to exclaim and to run upstairs when whiskey is mentioned. How much the more so today!
They were alone now in the hall, he on a level with her. He looked into her eyes. He smiled. He had never smiled at her before. They had always been such serious people. He said:
“We shall have to celebrate! But I’m not mad. I’m not destitute!” He had run out to get money to celebrate with her. He had meant to go and fetch her. To celebrate that day together.
She wanted to say: “I am falling at your feet. My arms are embracing your knees!”
Actually she said:
“I suppose it is proper to celebrate together today!”
Her mother had made their union. For they looked at each other for a long time. What had happened to their eyes? It was as if they had been bathed in soothing fluid: they could look the one at the other. It was no longer the one looking and the other averting the eyes, in alternation. Her mother had spoken between them. They might never have spoken of themselves. In one heartbeat apiece whilst she had been speaking they had been made certain that their union had already lasted many years. … It was warm; their hearts beat quietly. They had already lived side by side for many years. They were quiet in a cavern. The Pompeian red bowed over them; the stairways whispered up and up. They would be alone together now. Forever!
She knew that he desired to say “I hold you in my arms. My lips are on your forehead. Your breasts are being hurt by my chest!”
He said:
“Who have you got in the dining-room? It used to be the dining-room!”
Dreadful fear went
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