Definitely reads more like a firsthand account than a novel (and therefore interested me intellectually, but wasn’t particularly interesting from a narrative standpoint). The horrors of war are all there, as is the anti-war sentiment that I value most in WWI narratives. The moment that stood apart from other books of the era was the moment when the narrator had the shits during a bombardment. The feeling of that particular pain at the most inconvenient time imaginable—a hand reached out from the past and shook mine.