Themes
Key
LitCharts assigns a color and icon to each theme in An Episode of War, which you can use to track the themes throughout the work.
Rank vs. Human Judgment
Inexperience and Shame
War, Clarity, and Beauty
Nature and Human Insignificance
Summary
Analysis
A lieutenant has lain his rubber blanket on the ground and spread on it a mass of coffee. “[F]rowning and serious,” he stands above the blanket dividing the coffee with his sword into “astonishingly equal” squares. In doing so, he is about to enact “a great triumph in mathematics.” A group of corporals, lined up along the breastwork, watches him expectantly, “throng[ing]” forward and eager for their portion.
This opening scene is packed with irony that will soon become significant to the protagonist’s development. A military leader is hard at work behind the scenes of battle. He wears a look of dire concentration. He puts to use the implements of war—his trusty sword and a textile specially designed to keep soldiers dry. Throughout, he displays “astonishing” capability, as evidenced by the narrator’s dramatic language (“a great triumph”). All this is typical of a war hero. But rather than poring over a battle map or strategizing his men’s fight, the lieutenant is merely serving coffee, dividing roasted beans with his weapon instead of battling the enemy. This mock-heroic punchline is the perfect setup for the embarrassments that soon befall the protagonist. And this setup is the first clue to the story’s central theme, that people, no matter how skilled in peacetime, are often unprepared for the real trials of war.
Themes
Suddenly, the lieutenant yells and glares at the man nearest him. Some of the corporals cry out, too, when they notice blood on his sleeve. He winces, sways a bit, and then straightens himself so he can stand in silence, staring out over the breastwork at the distant forest where “little puffs of white smoke” appear. Only the lieutenant’s “hoarse breathing” is audible. His “statue-like” men stand in silence along with him and soon turn their gazes to the wood as well.
The vagueness of the action here is significant. Crane doesn’t say, “A bullet struck the lieutenant.” Instead, he illustrates the chaos of the moment by showing only the men’s confused response. They were hit behind a breastwork, a wall that’s meant to shield them, so they’re shocked. This deep confusion introduces Crane’s argument that one needs distance from war in order to understand it. Interestingly, the men’s instinct is to do nothing. Though they soon realize the lieutenant has been shot, no one makes a move or says anything, which suggests that they are inexperienced and ill-prepared for war. Importantly, however, the blood on the lieutenant’s sleeve tells readers that the wound is minor; this lets them focus on other aspects of the story—like the protagonist’s emotions—rather than solely on his health. This passage is also significant because Crane introduces the symbol of the distant forest. The gunshot clearly originated there, but the density of the trees makes it impossible to discern the enemy’s movements. That nature can hide important truths gives the forest a menacing quality that will continue to make the lieutenant feel insignificant and powerless.
Themes
The lieutenant reaches for his sword, but since his right hand is now incapacitated, he has a fumbling, awkward time about it, gripping the middle of the blade with his left hand “awkwardly.” It’s as if the weapon were suddenly “a trident, a scepter, or a spade.” All the while, he has been staring at the “hostile” forest. Soon deciding the sword is useless, however, he tries to sheathe it. This is even more awkward to do, since his scabbard is on his left hip. He “breath[es] like a wrestler,” and the whole scene looks like a circus spectacle.
Finally, the lieutenant does something that befits his title: he grabs his sword. But even here, Crane highlights the protagonist’s cluelessness by making him grunt with the sword amid an awkward silence. When the lieutenant gives up and tries to sheathe the thing, Crane takes this inability to the next level by comparing his movements to a circus act. Crane uses the sword—the iconic symbol of combat—to show an instantaneous shift in character: minutes earlier, he was deftly wielding the weapon to divide coffee, but now, when put to its intended purpose, the object becomes useless. This shows war’s unique ability to bring out people’s inexperience. On another note, it’s significant that the forest is a “hostile” belittler of the lieutenant’s struggle. Readers begin to see the two entities as opposites: nature sits fixed and permanent, while humans fuss over their petty problems.
Themes
The lieutenant’s men stand by “stone-like” and dumbfounded until an orderly-sergeant steps up to help him sheathe the sword. He approaches “tenderly” then nervously backs away, careful not even to “brush” a finger against the wounded man’s body. The narrator explains that “[a] wound gives a strange dignity to him who bears it,” as if the injured had a “hand […] upon the curtain” of life’s mysteries.
With the orderly-sergeant’s nervous behavior, Crane introduces his belief that official roles—such as “lieutenant”—mean less in social situations than sudden changes in health. Previously, the crowd of subordinate corporals had “throng[ed]” forward for coffee, without regard for the presence of a superior. But now that the lieutenant’s been wounded, words like “tenderly” and “brush” indicate the sergeant’s sudden respect for his superior. Crane’s language—the hand upon the curtain—makes clear the extent of this respect, as if injured people were on a different spiritual plane from that of the healthy. The sergeant’s behavior here prepares readers for later attitudes toward the lieutenant, from people who also judge him for his injury instead of his military role. On another note, Striking words like “stone-like” and the earlier “statue-like” make the men seem totally clueless. This is Crane’s last say about them before he moves on to other scenes, so he wants readers to feel that, when tragedy strikes, most people have no idea what to do. The soldiers’ collective uselessness here will help readers understand the protagonist’s deepening embarrassment later on, in the presence of over-confident bullies.
Themes
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Once his sword is put away, another soldier offers him a shoulder. The lieutenant waves him away “mournfully,” looking “helpless.” He stares again over the breastwork at the forest before sauntering off, holding his wrist “tenderly” as the men glance back and forth between him and the wood.
Crane pushes the symbol of the forest once again. First the lieutenant and, second, his men repeatedly turn to it in their confusion. Previously, the lieutenant had stared at the woods in confusion and embarrassment, but now, with dominant words like “mournfully,” the overwhelming attitude toward the forest is one of defeat. In this way, nature not only hides things from people; it symbolically triumphs over them, reminding them of their insignificance.
Themes
Now relieved from duty, the lieutenant is “enabled to see many things which as a participant in the fight were unknown to him.” He watches the developing battle from a safe distance. The first thing he notices is a general on a “black horse” meeting the “lines of blue infantry” against the “green woods which veiled his problems,” all of which looks like a “historical painting.”
Here, Crane gives one final message about the forest: that it “veils” people’s problems. This adds an element of mystery to nature, a quality that dwarfs the humans who try to penetrate these mysteries. Meanwhile, as the lieutenant traverses the battlefield, Crane’s language takes on its most significant role in the story. It’s important how Crane describes the battle; not just what he describes. Instead of mere infantry and a horse, he goes the extra step of describing the colors of these sights: black, blue, and green. These observations combine into a “historical painting.” Crane’s simile here is a dramatic way of describing an otherwise commonplace sight for a lieutenant. Crane wants readers to know that, now that he’s off-duty, the lieutenant can notice the world’s aesthetic value. The lieutenant can observe things more sensitively—“things which […] were unknown to him” in combat. This sudden shift in awareness deepens Crane’s argument that war can cloud people’s clarity when they’re in the thick of it. Contemplative distance, argues Crane, is crucial to understanding the world.
Themes
Next, the lieutenant sees a general, a bugler, some orderlies, and the bearer of the corps standard. They all ride “quivering” chargers into battle while shells explode overhead. The lieutenant pauses to watch a “shining [and] […] swirling” battery make its way across the field. He is struck by the “slant of glistening guns” and the “roar of the wheels.” The spectacle “stir[s] the heart,” “reache[s] into the depths of man’s emotion,” and combines into a “beautiful unity” as the battery recedes into a distant “black mass.” The lieutenant watches until he can no longer see the action, but even from a distance he continues to notice the sound of gunfire “crackl[ing] like bush-fires” and “reverberat[ing] like thunder.”
Crane goes over the top with poetic language here to illustrate his lieutenant’s radical shift in consciousness. Crane engages all aspects of sight: shape (“slant”), movement (“quivering”), color (“black”), light (“glistening”), and so on. He also engages the full spectrum of sound, from “crackled” to “reverberate” and “roar.” This sensory language tells readers that the lieutenant now absorbs the world with his full faculty of sensation, something he couldn’t do while confused in the thick of battle. Further, poetic devices like alliteration, simile, and substitution (“horses” become “chargers”) suggest that the off-duty lieutenant can digest this scenery in a poetic and engaging way, much as poets and novelists like Crane himself. Lastly, the lieutenant initially notices very specific ranks like “generals” and a “bearer of the corps standard.” But these titles soon disappear into collective nouns like “mass” and “unity.” This switch suggests that military rank cannot accurately capture human nature.
Themes
After the battle has fully moved on, the lieutenant asks a group of off-duty soldiers for directions to the field hospital. They tell him exactly where it is and then go on to describe the battle with impressive precision. These soldiers have such perfect knowledge of the battle because they aren’t taking part in it. The lieutenant stares at them in disbelief.
Like the captivating sights and sounds of the battery, the men in this scene continue the lieutenant’s education. In this way, they further Crane’s argument that being in the middle of war is detrimental to knowledge. But instead of revealing aesthetic realities about the world, the soldiers tell the lieutenant how clueless he’s been to basic factual matters in the battle. Ignorance is extremely embarrassing for people in positions of power. So by having these men school the lieutenant on matters both small and large—from simple field directions to crucial war details—Crane mixes shame into the lieutenant’s attempt to rectify the ignorance that the war has imposed on him.
Themes
Arriving at the road, the lieutenant finds a brigade making coffee and chatting away like “a girls’ boarding school.” When the lieutenant walks up, the men ask him some things about the battle, but he doesn’t know the answer. One officer, seeing the lieutenant’s gunshot wound, starts to “scold” him for not dressing it properly. Without asking, the officer tries to fix it. He cuts the lieutenant’s sleeve open to the naked skin, “every nerve of which softly fluttered under his touch.” As the officer admonishes the lieutenant in a condescending tone, the wounded man hangs his head, feeling stupid.
The arrogant officer—repeatedly scolding the lieutenant’s undressed wound, and laying bare his “softly flutter[ing]” skin for a sling—resembles a parent changing a baby’s diaper. This reduction to childhood marks a turning point in the lieutenant’s deepening shame: once privately doubtful of himself, he is now publically embarrassed for his inexperience. Also worth noting is the fact that the officer chides him just for being wounded. This injustice furthers Crane’s argument that people tend to judge others on superficial flaws—such as an injury—rather than on rank and social status. Another thing to note is the narrator’s comparison of the cheerful off-duty men to a girls’ boarding school. This simile—equating school with carefreeness—will become more important as Crane imbues his next symbol, the old schoolhouse, with ironic terror.
Themes
Finally, the lieutenant reaches the hospital, a converted “old” schoolhouse. He stands watching the mayhem of the place: two ambulances full of groaning and wounded men have crashed, the drivers insult each other loudly, a crowd of patients comes and goes, the grounds are littered with sick people. Catching sight of a particularly grey-faced man, the lieutenant is overwhelmed by the urge to tell him that he is dying.
At the hospital, readers get a sense that the lieutenant is not just mournful and embarrassed—he’s also scared for his life. But instead of fixating solely on the gravity of his injury, the man has an irrational unease about the hospital building itself. The fact that the hospital—a place that makes the lieutenant uneasy and fearful—is a converted schoolhouse deepens readers’ opinion of him as almost childishly inexperienced. He has just passed one happy field camp—compared to a “girls’ boarding school”—so it’s ironic that the appearance of an actual school would now introduce mortal fear.
Themes
A surgeon passes by; though he’s busy, he still smiles at the lieutenant and wishes him good morning. But upon noticing the lieutenant’s wound, the surgeon’s cheerful demeanor becomes a look of “contempt.” He curtly admits the lieutenant, insulting the “mutton-head” who improperly bandaged the wound. He asks who did it, to which the lieutenant responds, “Oh, a man.”
This initial encounter with the surgeon shows how sharply people can judge one another based on injury alone. The lieutenant’s rank obviously can’t protect him from a man who treats the wounded with “contempt.” The irrelevance of rank in people’s social judgment is also apparent in the lieutenant’s vague response to the surgeon’s question about who bandaged his arm. Rather than identifying the officer’s rank—as he did on the battlefield when watching individual soldiers—he calls the officer a mere “a man.” The surgeon’s anger also shines light on the “mutton-head” officer who bandaged the lieutenant’s arm in the preceding scene. If the officer’s dressing was incompetent in the first place, then the officer had no real right to “scold” the lieutenant like a condescending parent. Though he succeeded in embarrassing the lieutenant, readers realize he may well have been as unequipped as the lieutenant, underscoring Crane’s argument that war is uniquely capable of making people—such as the lieutenant—feel inadequate.
Themes
The surgeon examines the lieutenant’s wound “disdainfully,” and then tells him to enter the hospital in a tone that suggests he’s committed a crime. The lieutenant, who has been “meek” until now, grows agitated at the request. His face flushes, and he asks whether he will lose his arm. The doctor scoffs and tells him not to “be a baby.” At this, the lieutenant stops cold and “wrathfully” shakes free of the doctor’s grip. With his eyes locked on the “old” schoolhouse door, “as sinister to him as the portals of death,” he refuses to budge.
The lieutenant is justly afraid of amputation, but his fixation is on the “doors” of the schoolhouse, rather than solely on his health. Crane explains his fear in terms of the schoolhouse door to heighten the lieutenant’s sense of childishness and squeamish fear. Like a child, he has an irrational aversion to the physical structure of a school. Crane uses “old,” a term suggesting the schoolhouse is quaint, familiar, and endearing, to heighten the irony of his fear. And the doctor’s insult of choice (“baby”) makes him sound like a schoolyard bully. All of this contributes to an overall sense of the lieutenant’s childishness and inexperience.
Themes
The narrator tells readers that “this is the story of how the lieutenant lost his arm.” In a fast-forward to the future, the lieutenant has arrived home, his arm amputated. The lieutenant’s family—his sisters, mother, and wife—greet him, weeping for a long time. He stands “shamefaced” while they cry, and brushes it off: “Oh, well, […] I don’t suppose it matters so much as all that.”
Crane uses a conventional war “story” conclusion for an ironic effect. Readers might expect a line like this at the end of a valiant tale of battle and near-death. Instead, Crane uses it to punctuate the inglorious tale: a useless soldier is accidentally shot while serving coffee and loses an arm because he’s afraid of entering a schoolhouse. By using the familiar-sounding line in this unfamiliar way, Crane heightens the banal reality of war and the unfair expectations families might have of their returning sons. Also, the description of the lieutenant’s family is more important for what it omits than what it includes. The lack of children suggests that the lieutenant is very young. The lack of father and brothers suggests the lieutenant’s shame at returning with an inglorious wound while other men, perhaps, are still out fighting. These suggestions pile upon the lieutenant’s already profound shame.
Themes
