The Boat
Lothar-Gunther Buchheim
Language: English
Pages: 419
ISBN: 039449105X
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Autumn 1941. A U-boat is on a hazardous patrol in the Battle of the Atlantic, but the tide is beginning to turn against the Germans. As the U-boat is forced to hide beneath the surface of the sea, the increasing claustrophobia of the submarine becomes an enemy as frightening as any depth charge.
Reader reports:
Quiet on the Western Front". A historical novel in the classic tradition of a great novel. A strongly anti-war novel functioning on many levels: anti-war, anti-authoritarian (against High Command in general and Hitler and Adm. Doenitz in paticular), instructional on the daily operation of a WWII U-boat in ALL activities, including huge hours fruitlessly patrolling (U-boats, unlike US Boats, didn't have radar until late in the war, nor specific " Ultra" code intercepts of enemy ship movements - though German codebreakers had some good successes until midway through the war); the obsolesence of the U-boats vs. experienced radar- equipped British destroyers and aircraft; the struggle of men in a tiny ship vs. the sea. This last topic receives much time, and the American translation of this originally German book is very detailed, raw, and poetic, particularly decribing the changing nature of the sea, the clouds, and the author's emotions as he tries to understand, often with great difficulty, exactly what is going on. you will find great controversy on this book, mostly centered on the drunkeness of shore leave, but also the anti- High Command sentiments that are probably exaggerated. I bought and read this book in 1976 when it came out in paperback and read it in the back seat of my dad's car on a cross-country family vaction roadtrip (I was 13) and I have read and enjoyed it several times since. A searing story of just incredible moments of combat and weeks of patrolling with no enemy contact -the norm for warships, and patrolling ships and aircraft, too - most convoys were never sighted, let alone attacked. The movie is very good, but this very good book beats it, as the really good books usually do. I tried the version from England (1974 hardcover) but found the tranlator's choice of words and phrasing to be very dry, uncolorful, and stiff- definetely get the American translation. Historically, the author crams 6 years of warfare into one superlong patrol, juxtapositioning some trends and common occurences a little too close together, but he does set his novel at what is now recognized as the turning point of the U-boat war- fall 1941. Although U-boats went on for another 15 months of havoc, especially of the Americas, Cape Town, and in the Indian Ocean, the British had in fact escaped serious war altering effects by the U-boats with the codebreaking, radar, signals location ("Huff Duff"), aircraft, and the Germans failure to build more boats earlier on, provide aircraft support, radar, and secure communications. The futility of the vastly outgunned, outnumbered and out-teched Germans has you rooting for them yet knowing that like in "Finding Private Ryan" or an old Western like "The Wild Bunch", these guys have all the odds against them.
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To talk about the way he plans our passage past Gibraltar— hesitantly, trying our patience as usual; anyone would think he was putting his thoughts together for the first time like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle—that he hadn't spent hour after hour concocting his plan, weighing the risks, then discarding the whole project, recombining the elements, weighing the advantages and disadvantages. "We'll use the nighttime approach—on the surface. As close as we possibly can. It'll be a real obstacle race.".
If in a sudden rage: "Move it! I want blankets up here. Now!" As the first blanket is handed up through the tower hatch he himself puts it around Bremer's shaking shoulders. Not sufficient depth of water to dive; no boom-breaker; no anti-aircraft protection—what a fucking mess! This mirror-smooth sea. The Halifax. What was that all about? Was it really carrying just one bomb? A crate like that must carry a load of them. "I felt—felt it—like a snake around my throat," Bremer goes on stammering.
Lying on their backs, bellies torn open like exploded ships, all four legs stretched rigidly toward the sky, soldiers sunk in trench slime, teeth bared in final madness. Here on board, however, we may have just narrowly escaped destruction, but there are no sprawling tangles of entrails, no charred limbs, no lacerated flesh bleeding through canvas covers. A few fragments of broken glass, damaged manometers, spilled cans of condensed milk, two crushed pictures in the gangway—these are the only.
Sway violently and each time Schwalle has to seize the pot so it won't spill over. Dunlop the torpedo man comes out of the depths of the compartment on all fours with two lamps, one red and one green, in his hand; he wants to substitute them for the white ones. It takes him a while to accomplish this, but he's in ecstasies over the result. Bengal festival .lights! His very own handiwork! "Sexy," says a complimentary voice from one of the hammocks. I hear the Gigolo talking to Little Benjamin.
Power, spoils the frank and generous nature of the West Wind. It is as if his heart were corrupted by a malevolent and brooding rancor. He devastates his own kingdom in the wantonness of his force. Southwest is the quarter of the heavens where he presents his darkened brow. He breathes his rage in terrific squalls and overwhelms his realm with an inexhaustible welter of clouds. He strews the seeds of anxiety upon the decks of scudding ships, makes the foam-striped ocean look old, and sprinkles.