Week Eleven: Wartime Morality in Cercas’s “Soldiers of Salamis”

by samuel wallace

    Javier Cercas’s “Soldiers of Salamis” is a story which examines the human condition in wartime. From his own experience, he places the study in the context of the Spanish Civil War. A sparring match between fascist and socialist sides, it was a battle which was ultimately viewed as a precursor to World War II. Yet through unreliable narration and an unclear answer on the identities of several real world historical characters, he paints the portrait of the war as one involving, predominantly, the nameless soldier, often unsure of why or for what reason for which he is fighting. Through highlighting this struggle of purpose, the human condition is distilled as little more than a vessel of duty in wartime. In its purest essence, there is no room for morality—although it may sometimes shine through.

    Miralles, like the other characters, is a soldier in the Spanish Civil War. Unlike some authors, who seek to create a character through which to espouse their philosophy and life experiences, Miralles seems to lead a life completely opposite from the author Javier Cercas who narrates the book. At age forty, he is divorced, has no children and still grieving his father’s passing: At age fifty, Cercas has attained all that Miralles wishes he could have. Tragically, it is only war which halts his progress and holds him back from bettering himself. 

    There is some debate as to whether or not Miralles—and other characters like an apparent mirroring of the Chilean novelist Roberto Bolano—are real life depictions marred by embellishment, or simply coincidence. One thing we know is that, early on in the story, the narrator clearly states, “I am lying” (pg. 13). It is a statement which seems to  leave fewer answers than the leaders who spout the purpose of the Spanish Civil War in its entirety.

    There is a strange conflict in the structure of the book as being part lying, part truth-telling. One might view following the latter veracity as a dutiful act, where the former conjures up images of deceit and corruption in the ranks. Through refusing to conform to one extreme or the other, the reader can only leave with the impression that Cercas seeks to present wartime as perverting even the most intrinsic of human emotions—in their wake, pure survival is all that is left for the many. 

    Later on in the novel, when one character Mazas is found by an enemy soldier (suspected to be Miralles), the man does not give his position away and instead chooses to save his life: for what reason, it is unknown. In this instance, “[t]he soldier’s look doesn’t express compassion or hatred, or even disdain, but a kind of secret or unfathomable joy,” evidencing some greater morality behind the veneer of service (pg. 118). Of course, the reasons could also be practical: perhaps he simply does not wish to get his hands dirty, or refuses to taint his conscience further by killing an unarmed man. Time and time again, however, readers are left with the distinct impression that morality and war can, and often do, manifest themselves in a state of coexistence. 

    My question follows along this line: Is morality possible in wartime, as Cercas suggests?