This is why the archives are great. You can read passages like this one: "There are still some phases of war that I haven't seen, so that I am not sorry to be returning to the front, but for your comfort it is very unlikely that we shall see action for some time. There is a lot of reorganization and remoralization to be done. One thing that makes me more satisfied with life than ever is that I have a very good idea of what I am going to do with my life."
There are several things I wanted to touch on within this. First, there's the hint that morale was sinking amongst the troops and that structural work had to be undertaken, probably due to loss of lives and dwindling of resources. On a personal note, however, I found that I really identified with Lardner in this passage. I understood that going back to the front meant for him more experiential knowledge and I was glad that that was something for which he was still seeking. I guess I felt similar to him then because I sort of do the same thing--I'll try things just to gain the experience and the knowledge that comes with it. Still, we know Lardner wanted to write. So that might be a reason for his wanting to see more fighting--so that he could accurately render the experience. I was really glad when I read that he thought he'd found a clear direction for his life from then on. I'm always hoping I'll reach a moment like that in my life and it's gratifying to see that it does happen for some people. At the same time, it's infinitely sad. Just as he finds he understands himself and his purpose, his life is cut short. It's very tragic--so tragic that it's literary. There's even a term for it in Greek--anagnorisis--the point of recognition of one's identity; knowledge that comes too late and is often followed by tragedy.
The last letter we have in the folder is dated September 19th, 1938, and its last sentence reads: "This is not a very cheerful letter but I will do better next time." As I scanned the last folders I realized there was no next time. To me, that last letter set an oppressively sad tone. I may have started crying then or it may have been after John Murra's letter. Murra's letter was perfect. It was addressed to Lardner's mother and told all about James' adventures and accomplishments in Spain, how kind and intelligent he was. That part was about three-fourths of the letter. The revelation of James' death was subtle and sort of indirect, followed by a statement that there was nothing more to say of it. After I had gotten over the shock of James' death and went back the second time to finish the folder, I looked at Murra's letter again and tried to imagine a mother receiving that letter. And then I tried to imagine John Murra, lying in a hospital bed in Spain attempting to write a condolence letter to the mother of one of his closest friends now dead. I just think this series of letters is a great microcosm of the suffering experienced by every American volunteer and family wrapped up in the Spanish Civil War. But it doesn't stop there. It points further toward toward the tragedy of the Spanish people, and even further into the future when innocent civilians all over the world were ravaged and devastated by fascism.
Questions have been coming to me now about the relevance of the Spanish Civil War. I envy that generation for their activism and their passion, and in a strange way, for the great evil they witnessed in their time. For at least they could identify that evil and fight it. In our time, there is no clear enemy, no obvious manifestation of the darker side of human nature. How can we carry on the fight? To where has fascism slipped away? And is it growing, ready to emerge in a new twenty-first century form?