Four years ago, I went to war. Like many of the people whose stories I followed in my daily “live-tweets” on World War I, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.In the American mind, World War I typically occupies an unimpressive
place as a kind of shambolic preamble to the great good-versus-evil
crusade of World War II, a pointless slugfest in muddy trenches for no
worthy purpose, and no worthwhile result. Its catchphrases—“The War to
End All Wars,” “Make the World Safe for Democracy”—evoke a wry and
knowing chuckle. As if. But the war I encountered, as it unfolded day by
day, was far more relevant, passionate, and unpredictable.Read on in the New York Review of Books...