The best books about facing death and danger

My father, who had spent three years at sea before going to college, used to tell me stories of adventures in the Pacific when I was a small boy, which is perhaps the reason I was drawn to Lord Jim, Joseph Conrad’s story of a failed romantic, a hero in all his youthful dreams who became notorious as a coward and then known everywhere as the truly heroic Lord Jim. 

The story of living with, and then overcoming, my own cowardice was not some made-up tale of the past for me; it was, and it remains, a reminder of things I should have done and did not and what, if anything, I did later to make things right.

I had always thought it unfair how the bull in a bullfight was worn down until he was ready to be killed, how the bull had no chance. And then I read Hemingway’s book and learned that fairness had nothing to do with it.

Death is, and was meant to be, a certainty for the bull; danger and the possibility of death are a certainty for the man. How the danger of death is approached made a bullfight, and not just a bullfight, great.

The bravery and the “calm indifference” make the bullfighter worthy of respect. I discovered this book is not really about bullfighting at all; it is about courage and what it means to live and die well.

When I was young and ambitious and dreamed about politics, when I had studied Greek philosophy and ancient history in graduate school, the life of T.E.Lawrence–Lawrence of Arabia as he became known–a young Englishman who had never been in a battle before led the Arab Revolt which helped bring an end to the First World War, made everything seem possible.

Lawrence had his secrets, but some of them he shared. Two of them seemed to my young imagination everything that was needed. Speaking like Odysseus was one of them, which meant tailoring what you say to the audience you have. The other was to make the strength of your opponent his fatal weakness.

I did not realize until much later that the most important thing I learned from T.E. Lawrence was that what is best remembered is what is written, like this book, with clarity and passion.

I cannot remember in which of his many short stories I read it, but the great Argentine writer Jorge Borges put into the mouth of one of his inimitable characters a line that has never left me: “I have often begun the study of metaphysics but have always been interrupted by happiness.” Borges was the master of the unexpected, describing situations no one could have foreseen. I have read everything he wrote and read his stories over and over again. 

The ones I like best deal with bravery and cowardice but also with time and how time can change what we think happened in the past out of all recognition. In The Other Death, a man who ran away during a great battle, dying forty years later of natural causes, describes in his delirium how he had fought bravely.

Those who heard him provide this first-hand account to the historian who writes the definitive account of the most important battle of a legendary war. Each time I read it, it reminds me that the difference between fact and fiction is, more often than we would like to believe, no real difference at all.

I first read this book when I was twenty-four, late one night at the end of my second year in graduate school, the night before I left to spend the summer in New York. I have read it at least half a dozen times since, and it is like reading something new each time.

It isn’t just that I am reminded again of what it was like in the Jazz Age, a phrase Fitzgerald invented, when life for those rich enough to afford it was a party that lasted all summer and summer, banishing the seasons, lasted all year; it is because it reminds me what it was like to fall in love with a girl you knew you could never have, unless, like Gatsby, you became someone else. 

It reminds me that the ‘green light’ that Gatsby sees across the Sound where Daisy lives, the light that seems close enough to touch, will always be, tragically,  too far away.