Writing World War II: An Exercise in Love, Hurt and Satisfaction

From Guest Blogger and Author Jay Stout:

I write about World War II—six books so far—and I love it.  Although it seems odd, even thoughtlessly naïve, to “love” the act of writing about the most brutal episode in human history, it’s the right word.   Capturing the stories of these men and putting their very real and raw recollections into the wider context of doctrine, strategy and operations is something I enjoy greatly.  It’s a labor that ensures that the achievements of these men will be available to future generations.  And it is one that preserves their individual legacies into perpetuity.

Moreover, there is real gratification in doing it in a way that not only makes sense to the reader, but also makes the reader want more. It’s a craft or skill that gives satisfaction in the same way—I assume—that a woodworker takes pleasure from creating a beautiful piece of furniture, or that a surgeon takes from perfectly performing a complex procedure.

And I won’t deny that I derive some thrill at writing about their combat experiences.  This is so, even though I know from my own career that “an exciting story” is often a polished and primped version of an event that was more likely marked by shock and trouser-soiling terror—emotions that are more typical of actual combat.

I also love what the books do, the reactions they elicit.  The best are the messages I receive from the families of the men:  “When dad read your book, it reminded him of stories he had never shared with any of us.  We talked like we hadn’t talked in years.”  Or similarly, “I loved grandpa, but he was always stooped and quiet and never talked about the war.  It wasn’t until I read your book that I really understood what he had seen and done.”  It’s prideful, but I love that my writing makes a real and positive difference in the lives of others.

But when I start a new World War II book, I feel a certain melancholy. I know that I’m going to be hurt because of the certainty that the friendships I form will not—cannot—last.  It is not only that the conversations I enjoy with these men will grow fewer as the book is finished and we move on with our respective lives.  But also, the men I grow to know during the writing of a book are approaching the ends of their lives.  Some of them will “Go West” before the book is even finished.  It has happened many times already.  As most of the remaining men are now in their early nineties, it cannot be otherwise.

Stupid tyranny of time.

On the other hand, I’ve found myself making friends with men who are long dead.  Through their combat reports, diaries and letters home, I feel that I know and understand many of them.  I also recognize personalities very similar to those of my own comrades. There is something reassuring about the timelessness and consistency of human nature, regardless of the setting.

Finally, I love that so many others are also avid historians—amateur and otherwise—of World War II.  It validates my passion for the subject and, quite frankly, means that there is a market for the work I do.  More importantly, it also means that there are others who are also actively preserving this important period of our history.  I’m particularly impressed by the work of Heather Steele and Charley Koenig and the others who work on The World War II History Project.  In particular, their efforts to preserve and translate the memories of German veterans will help fill an important gap that would otherwise go wanting—much to the detriment of all of us.  They deserve, I believe, a very heartfelt thank you.

Lieutenant Colonel (ret) Jay A. Stout flew fighters in the Marine Corps, including 37 missions during Operation DESERT STORM.  His latest book, published by Penguin Random House, is Hell’s Angels: The True Story of the 303rd Bomb Group in World War II.

His website is jayastout.com