Dear Mr. Hemingway, you were truly an unhappy man. 
 Is this what you want me to learn from your story? War is stupid, but that we have already known. People died, people did idiot things, people lost direction in war. And peace of mind was just an illusion in wartime...you thought you could run from it, you thought you were in a safe haven, but that was just a very clever trick the world played on you. 
 And...that plot of yours towards the ending. Oh dear Mr. Hemingway, I don't know an ending can hurt people this much. And I don't know how to write a review without blabbering too much about the storyline. 
 Did you weep when you finished writing this? Because I did. For Frederick. For Catherine. For soldiers and civilians and the happiness that never was. 
 Is this it, dear Mr. Hemingway? Is this it?