How can we comprehend war?

Birdsong. A beautiful reminder of the psychological and physical torment experienced by the soldiers of World War One. I've had the novel on my shelf for about a year now after finding it in a second-hand bookshop, but only just got round to reading it. I'm in that funny state of mind when you've finished a book, and are in mourning for the wonder of reading it for the first time, knowing you'll never have that wonderful enlightening experience again. Of course, I can choose to re-read it, but I won't be able to recapture the urgency I felt whilst turning the pages rapidly and wondering whether the war-wearied men I had warmed to would survive the next few lines.

I dare not say much more, as the enjoyment you would leech from the novel is too great to ruin. I'll just say three words: Read. This. Book.

I went on a school trip when I was 15 where we visited the trenches and mass graveyards in the Somme. I don't think I was emotionally mature enough to comprehend what had passed on those once barren landscapes. I still find it impossible to truly comprehend the mental hardship of those involved. I don't know if I would be able to throw myself over the top of the trench and run across No Man's Land, towards enemy bullets that make the muscle of men appear like the flimsy stuffing of a cheap rag doll. As the character Stephen says in Birdsong, how can you sum up the bravery of the actions of war from within the confines of the English language?

In Flanders Fields

by John McCrae, May 1915

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.