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He dwells less on the strategic decisions of those who directed the war and more on the actual fighting as perceived by the civilians who suffered and the soldiers, sailors and airmen who took part. He makes no secret of his belief that in the art of making war the Germans were outstanding. They were finally defeated partly by Hitler’s strategic follies but mainly because in different ways the Americans and Russians brought to bear men and weapons on a scale which the Third Reich could not hope to match. The conclusion may dismay patriotic Britons, but the evidence is probably incontrovertible.
In The Pursuit of Italy, David Gilmour has turned away from India and produced a marvellous book about his first love, Italy. The love is severe, even to the point of unfairness. He is not concerned with the matchless beauty of Italian cities or countryside. With surgical skill he dissects the main episodes of Italian history, exposing the myths upon which most of us have been brought up. He is scathing about the means chosen for the unification of Italy, and even more harsh on Italian performance in the two world wars. Without mercy, he analyses how it was that Italy was governed today by Silvio Berlusconi. But in spite of all the mistakes and misfortunes, the world’s pursuit of Italy continues. Gilmour’s chastisement is that of a lover; he is cruel only to be kind.
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