Jessica Wang

Dalton Trumbo’s anti-war novel pushes readers into a world of suffering, where his mind remains vibrantly alive, yet his body is a mere shell. It’s a stark exploration of the human cost of conflict, a journey through memory, loss and the bitter truths of existence.

Waking up in a hospital bed, Joe Bonham feels his body being swaddled in bandages that wrap around his face and block out his vision. He instinctively reaches for his eyes, but he has no hands to move — they aren’t attached to his arms anymore. Neither his arms to his shoulders. He tries to scream and finds he has lost his mouth too.

The stream-of-consciousness narration by Joe Bonham thrusts readers into the world of “Johnny Got His Gun.” Dalton Trumbo’s anti-war novel pushes readers into a world of suffering, where his mind remains vibrantly alive, yet his body is a mere shell. It’s a stark exploration of the human cost of conflict, a journey through memory, loss and the bitter truths of existence.

The first thing I noticed when reading this novel was the absence of commas entirely from the prose, creating a relentless flow that mirrors Joe’s disorienting thoughts and emotions. The lack of traditional punctuation and capitalization serves to emphasize the chaos. This punctuation choice propels the reader through the narrative with an urgency that reflects the chaotic and traumatic experience of war. Each sentence feels more intimate and visceral, pulling us deeper into Joe’s psyche, every moment raw and unfiltered.

The first act of the narrative relives Joe’s cherished memories while simultaneously slowly discovering, chapter by chapter, the extent of the loss of his physical self. In the second act, Joe desperately tries to communicate with the outside world, only to be met with disillusionment, confronting a society — and those in power — seemingly indifferent to his suffering. 

The narrative blurs the lines between memory and present reality, capturing the chaos and torment of Joe’s thoughts. As he recalls tender moments from his past, the beauty of these memories only amplifies the tragedy of his current life, with each brighter recollection fleeting within the darkness of his current existence. I felt terrified as I navigated Joe’s journey, with the juxtaposition of his cherished memories contrasting harshly with his harrowing reality. “Johnny Got His Gun” serves as both a personal story of one man’s suffering and a broader commentary on the devastating impact of war on humanity, compelling me to reflect on the moral implications of conflict and the value of life itself. 

Written in the late 1930s, the novel emerged against the backdrop of violent political turmoil and growing anxieties surrounding communism in the United States, which would later culminate in the Red Scare and McCarthyism. Initially, the book was labeled as pacifist propaganda during this time of heightened war anxiety. Nonetheless, its anti-war message resonated with a wider audience as the horrors of conflict became increasingly apparent. The novel then won the National Book Award for the most original work of fiction in 1939, deservingly.

The story was unlike anything I’ve ever read before; it left me feeling devastated, yet reflective — if I were to encapsulate my experience of reading this novel into a single, distilled word, it would be ‘stirred.’ I found myself completely immersed in Joe’s turmoil, and as Joe’s attempts to connect with the world around him grew increasingly desperate, I felt a growing frustration and sadness. 

It was heartbreaking to witness how the government within the novel deliberately concealed him from public view, fearing the grim reality of the truth he represented.  It felt all too true to life. The way those in power sought to conceal the realities of suffering — rather than confront them — mirrored real-world tendencies to ignore or sanitize the consequences of war. The messaging of the novel made me acutely aware of how often we turn away from uncomfortable truths, choosing instead to protect our own self-serving, myopic views of what we want to believe to be the world around us.

Trumbo’s masterful use of language immerses readers in Joe’s mind, creating a sense of urgency and despair. In beautifully vivid passages, readers taste and smell the familiar comforts of home, only for Trumbo to yank them back to the stark reality of Joe’s existence. The ending left me with a lingering sense of dread mixed with a seemingly contradictory, but wholly complementary hope for peace.

In the final passages, Trumbo delivers a haunting cry: “Make no mistake of it we will live. We will be alive and we will walk and talk and eat and sing and laugh and feel and love and bear our children in tranquillity in security in decency in peace. You plan the wars you masters of men plan the wars and point the way and we will point the gun.” 

Rating: 5/5