This blog will touch on the experiences I have as a writer (not to be mistaken for my experience as a writer, i.e. how many books I've written, etc); the pleasure and the pain, the joy and the grief, the satisfaction and the frustration, the magic and the reality - have I left anything out, oh yeah, the rejection, rejection and more rejection, the humiliation and the embarrassment, the jealousy and the resentment - that pretty much covers it, except for why I do it which perhaps I'll realize along the way. Are you totally confused? Good, let's begin.
Michel Mocker’s memoir of the time he spent in the French Resistance during the Second World War gives and interesting insight into aspects of war seldom considered in fictional novels and movies.
A good deal of this important historical story talks about the difficulty in organizing, leading, training, transporting, housing and even feeding hundreds of men and women in a volunteer, irregular army.
Because of the details of these logistics, and since René and his compatriots are seldom in combat, the story tends to drag in places.
It does, however, ring with sincerity when Mocker’s writes how he felt about the loss of friends, the taking of human life, and the bonds of love and camaraderie forged during this intense experience.
The randomness and chaos of war is also evident as well the callousness that comes with dealing with death on a daily basis. When the Resistance ambushed retreating German convoys they would kill enough of the enemy so it would no longer be a threat and then disappear into the forest leaving the Germans to deal with their own wounded and dead. If the Germans surrendered, they stripped them of their weapons, boots and belts, and sent them on their way back to Germany. The Resistance simply did not have the resources to feed prisoners of war or provide medical aide.
Likely because it is a factual memoir and spans a relatively short period of time, the narrative flows remarkably well. Even the stilted English adds to its authenticity. This reader could almost hear the author’s accent.
However, it’s obvious the services of a good editor would have improved this work immensely without detracting from its validity.