The Weary Ways of War

As I begin blogging, I begin a new project and exam that I hope will benefit me in the future. I recently...well more like a month ago...a primary source that caught my eye a mere second after I had started to read it. There was just something about those three sheets of paper that made it interesting for me to read...filled with sad emotion, but ended with strong energy. There was just something about this source...

"War" by Luigi Pirandello is a primary source that comes in the form of a story. With this, it can be understood by really anyone. A kindergartner would enjoy this (without the big words and grief) as much as a retiree can, searching for something nice to read on a peaceful, Sunday afternoon. Through my eyes, the main idea that Pirandello tried to bring to us readers is that 'no matter how hard anyone talks of pride, denial, and BRAVE death, they never will get over the grief of losing a loved one.' Death can come in the actual form of someone's heart beat stopping, or it can come in the form that you know you have already have lost someone to something so severe as...oh I don't know...war, perhaps?

In this primary source, the "fat traveler," as Pirandello described, talked the passengers aboard the train into the fact that children of 20 years or older don't belong to their parents as much as they belong to their country, the place they fight for. He says that a happy but young man dying isn't worth 50 more years of crying miserable tears because they don't want them. However, in the end, the man himself ended up crying for the reality took everything, all the glitter and sparkles, and crept over the man.

And now, as I read over my cheesy post, I think about the primary source. I wonder, "Did I really enjoy this because it was a story, or is there really something in here, some great emotions that really pull me into it?" Nah, it must be the story....how can I discriminate against other primary sources with just as much emotion, except maybe something hidden and others just...there.