Regeneration commences Pat Barker’s lauded First World War trilogy, dramatising a real-life encounter between the poet Siegfried Sassoon and WHR Rivers, an anthropologist, neurologist and psychologist working with shell-shocked soldiers at Craiglockhart Hospital. In July 1917, Sassoon, an army officer, has published a declaration on the injustice of the continuance of the war and is refusing to return to the front. Partly to avoid the negative publicity that might arise from his being court-martialled – and presumably shot – for disobeying an order, he is sent to Rivers for treatment. Over the ensuing months, both men come to change their positions in relation to the Declaration and their respective roles in the conduct of the war. In a parallel process over 250 pages, readers are challenged to consider their positions, not only in relation to war, but also about the ethics of psychological and psychiatric intervention that stifles protest by enabling people to function in an insane world.
In this series, I’m drawing on my past experience as a clinical psychologist to explore both the credibility of psychologists and psychotherapists portrayed in fiction, as well as the extent to which the device of making a key character a professional therapist enhances the narrative. Regarding the first question, Rivers was operating long before the development of any structures with which I’m familiar, so I’ll have to take it on trust that the author has done her research. Aspects of his practice which might appear unprofessional to me a century later, such as staying overnight at his ex-patient’s house while supposedly on annual leave, can be interpreted as the action of a trailblazer following his instincts in the absence of professional guidelines. While I shuddered at his long working hours, with little time off save for his nightly bath and sleep, I had to remind myself, not only that these were unusual times, but that, until very recently, clinical psychologists’ contracts did not specify the standard 37 ½ hour NHS working week but the hours that are required for the job. Not surprisingly, the relentless vicarious traumatisation, impacts on his own mental and physical well-being; unfortunately, he won’t be the last psychologist not to have taken preventive action to safeguard his own physical and mental health.
So, accepting that Pat Barker has presented us with a credible First World War psychologist, is his character an asset to the novel?
Of course it’s central if we read Regeneration as the story of the intersection of the lives of two eminent historical figures. But I want a novel with these pretensions to illuminate more than the particular lives on which it shines its light; I want it to tell me something about the human condition. Regeneration certainly delivers in this regard although, for me, it took a second reading to get there. Initially, I was turning the pages out of duty more than pleasure and, with so much dialogue, I wondered if it might work better as a play. Peppered with references to famous and lesser-known historical figures (Edward Carpenter was an interesting surprise to me, but that’s another story), the early chapters had a case-study air about them, yet with rather less of the undercurrent of psychological exploration I’d normally associate with literary fiction. It was almost as if Pat Barker had given all her psychological competence to the character of Rivers, leaving little for her to play with as the author.
The novel really picked up for me once Rivers was away from Craiglockhart and less worn down by his professional responsibilities, and perhaps by his real-life namesake. Although already foreshadowed in the scenes at the hospital, the themes of war and gender and father-son relationships were more fully explored.
As in the war itself, women in this novel are afforded only supplementary roles, but I loved the way that Pat Barker’s feminism would creep in. Rivers comes to realise that war neurosis is not the result of the horrific isolated incidents his patients tell him about, but the enduring strain and helplessness, which he recognises as somewhat akin to women’s experience in peacetime (p222). The notion of the older generation sacrificing the young as, in the Bible, Abraham was prepared to sacrifice Isaac, is not a new one, but it seemed extra poignant in this novel where Rivers was presented as a father figure to his patients who, in turn, although barely out of their teens, were like fathers to the men who served under them.
Pat Barker tackles yet more complex questions when Rivers go to observe another innovative intervention for soldiers with paralysing symptoms with no organic cause. Yealland’s electric shock treatment is conveyed as chillingly as the torture in The Orphan Master’s Son:
So, accepting that Pat Barker has presented us with a credible First World War psychologist, is his character an asset to the novel?
Of course it’s central if we read Regeneration as the story of the intersection of the lives of two eminent historical figures. But I want a novel with these pretensions to illuminate more than the particular lives on which it shines its light; I want it to tell me something about the human condition. Regeneration certainly delivers in this regard although, for me, it took a second reading to get there. Initially, I was turning the pages out of duty more than pleasure and, with so much dialogue, I wondered if it might work better as a play. Peppered with references to famous and lesser-known historical figures (Edward Carpenter was an interesting surprise to me, but that’s another story), the early chapters had a case-study air about them, yet with rather less of the undercurrent of psychological exploration I’d normally associate with literary fiction. It was almost as if Pat Barker had given all her psychological competence to the character of Rivers, leaving little for her to play with as the author.
The novel really picked up for me once Rivers was away from Craiglockhart and less worn down by his professional responsibilities, and perhaps by his real-life namesake. Although already foreshadowed in the scenes at the hospital, the themes of war and gender and father-son relationships were more fully explored.
As in the war itself, women in this novel are afforded only supplementary roles, but I loved the way that Pat Barker’s feminism would creep in. Rivers comes to realise that war neurosis is not the result of the horrific isolated incidents his patients tell him about, but the enduring strain and helplessness, which he recognises as somewhat akin to women’s experience in peacetime (p222). The notion of the older generation sacrificing the young as, in the Bible, Abraham was prepared to sacrifice Isaac, is not a new one, but it seemed extra poignant in this novel where Rivers was presented as a father figure to his patients who, in turn, although barely out of their teens, were like fathers to the men who served under them.
Pat Barker tackles yet more complex questions when Rivers go to observe another innovative intervention for soldiers with paralysing symptoms with no organic cause. Yealland’s electric shock treatment is conveyed as chillingly as the torture in The Orphan Master’s Son:
You cannot leave the room. The door is locked and the key is in my pocket. You will leave me when you are cured, remember, not before. I have no doubt that you are tired and discouraged, but that is not my fault; the reason is that you do not understand your condition as I do, and the time you have already spent with me is not long in comparison with the time I am prepared to spend with you. (p231)
But before Rivers – and, by extension, the modern reader aware of the principles of psychotherapy and counselling – can feel complacent, he is reminded that his own – albeit less confrontational – methods are also a way of silencing dissent among the men sent to die like cattle. He comes to recognise the virtue of Sassoon’s Declaration, as well as his own collusion in sacrificing the country’s youth.
His journey makes uncomfortable reading, not just for politicians making choices about sending ‘our boys’ to fight, but for anyone engaged in state-funded mental health care. To what extent do participants in the psychiatric system serve to subdue righteous anger by shoehorning troubled individuals into a dubious ‘normality’?
Don’t know about you, but I need a shot of song and dance after that, so I’m flicking through the clips of Richard Attenborough’s moving satire Oh What a Lovely War.
I'll be revisiting Pat Barker's work later in this series, with a look at a contemporary psychologist in Border Crossing. For the next post in this series, I’ll be exploring The Other Side of You by Salley Vickers.
His journey makes uncomfortable reading, not just for politicians making choices about sending ‘our boys’ to fight, but for anyone engaged in state-funded mental health care. To what extent do participants in the psychiatric system serve to subdue righteous anger by shoehorning troubled individuals into a dubious ‘normality’?
Don’t know about you, but I need a shot of song and dance after that, so I’m flicking through the clips of Richard Attenborough’s moving satire Oh What a Lovely War.
I'll be revisiting Pat Barker's work later in this series, with a look at a contemporary psychologist in Border Crossing. For the next post in this series, I’ll be exploring The Other Side of You by Salley Vickers.
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