Soooo….an author friend of mine chided me for not reading the collective works of Heinrich Boll prior to my 50’s...55 to be exact.  He told me that he broke up with a girl in college for not having read him.  Naturally this exacerbated my mid life feelings of inadequacy.  I then ran in to references of Boll’s work in some Latin authors and finally… I had to break down and see what all the hubbub is about… or was about.  I started with “Billiards At Half Past Nine”.  It was a difficult read but an excellent read.  A lot of complexity and flashing back in Germany pre and post war.  Beautifully written but hard.

It was good enough that I wanted more so the next time I went for “The Train Was On Time”.   Boll was born in 1917 and saw the rise of Nazi Germany and was later drafted into the Wehrmarcht where he served in eastern Europe prior to being captured by the Americans in 1945.  

The book...the book “The Train Was On Time” is a 133 page jewel of depression and hoplessness.  The story line could not be simpler.  A soldier gets on a train to go to the Eastern front.  He knows he is going to die at a particular place and time… and the whole trip is just he and the other children...traveling towards their and particularly his fate.  

I dont think I have ever read a story that so convincingly tells the tale of how was degrades and dehumanizes the participants.  The hopelessness of the whole enterprise for those actually called to carry it out.  He makes friends.  They ride on the train.  The sleep.  They drink Schnaaps.  The go places.  

All on a relentless journey as he remembers where he came from and moves towards his inevitable demise.  You crawl inside his head as he rides.  He remembers.  He describes the other soldiers.  He befriends two.  One of them a sergeant.  They travel together to Lvov.  Who knew Lvov actually existed.  A city in the Ukraine… occupied.  The sergeant takes him and he spends the last night of his life deconstructing himself in conversations with a partisan prostitute.  Devestating in its bleakness.  

This book is a great read because the story doesnt have any action.  It just has an internal monologue and some dialogue and the dialogue is sparse.  Our protagonist Andreas gets on the train in Germany, screaming out the window unheard over the screech of the train, “I DONT WANT TO DIE.”  And the you go on a ride to Lvov…

What could go wrong?