Johnny Got His Gun

"What a hell of a thing, a wonderful, beautiful thing, to wiggle your toes."

It's an extraordinary line, one that can help yank you out of a depression, or at least think about everything you have to be thankful for. That's what it did for me about a year ago, when I read it in Dalton Trumbo's 1939 novel Johnny Got His Gun.

The book's main character, Joe Bonham, wakes up in a hospital bed after being hit by an artillery shell in the closing days of World War I. After coming to his senses, he realizes that the explosion has rendered him literally a shell of a human being: he is blind, deaf and mute, with no arms or legs, left alone in the dark with a fully functioning, but powerless, mind. As he struggles to remain sane and find some way to reach out to the world, he reflects on the life he lost and the one he might have had, the ultimate futility of war, and what connection he still has to his fellow human beings.

This is undoubtedly the most viscerally effecting book I've ever read; you're right there in poor Joe's head, feeling what he feels, wanting what he wants, needing a happy ending that will never come. The passages in which he finds out the true extent of his injuries hit you like a punch in the stomach. His realization that this non-life is the best he can ever hope for shreds your heart into pieces. His memories of his family and his last night with his sweetheart make you smile, albeit with a twinge of sadness. Finally, his resolve to keep fighting to be heard (so to speak) inspires a kind of angry, defiant hope.

Read it if you're even thinking about joining the military (shameless editorial comment -- deal with it). Read it if you want to challenge the way you think about politics, life, anything. Read it if you want somethinig beautiful to pass on to your kids. Just read it.