The Tartar Steppe. Dino Buzzati (1940). translated by Stuart C. Hood. Edinburgh, Scotland: Canongate Books, 2007

"Time has slipped by so quickly, that his heart has not had a chance to grow old."[1]

Written in 1938 against the backdrop of geopolitical uncertainty as the world waited for war, The Tartar Steppe casts a dark shadow over the military profession. This prescient and frightening novel follows the trials of a young officer posted to a remote fort in the mountains to prepare for the impending invasion of the Tartars. It is a tale of anticipation that serves as a valuable lesson—perhaps even a warning—for those soldiers and officers who focus too closely on their military service while forgetting to live a meaningful life. It challenges those in the military to consider their work-life balance, while giving those not in the military insight into the monotonous and anticipatory struggle of soldiers waiting to see combat.

Dino Buzzati’s writing style is simple and captivating, his observations of the nuances of everyday military life as striking as they are familiar. Although translated from Italian into English, it retains a literary style reminiscent of Hemmingway. It immerses the reader in a story of hope, but then shows how cruelly such a feeling can be crushed by disappointment. Buzzati never served in the military, but one could be forgiven for thinking he did. He perfectly describes the monotonous and repetitive art of sentry duties, and he flawlessly articulates how decisions on the ground appear to be made by a faceless bureaucratic hierarchy. And although he never uses these exact words “That’s the way it’s always been done,” they reverberate throughout the book as the characters engage in archaic regimental duties.

The story’s protagonist, Giovanni Drogo, spends his days in the mountain outpost of Fort Bastiani overlooking the Tartar Steppe’s barren lands. As a junior officer, Drogo eagerly looks forward to a life full of adventure and excitement. His initial enthusiasm and optimism parallel Shakespeare’s As You Like It, which provides a commentary on man’s seven ages, particularly the daring and exciting stage of a soldier’s life:

Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation,
Even in the cannon's mouth.[2]

But, after the initial boredom of regimental life sets in, Drogo tries desperately to secure a posting back to the city. Unsuccessful, he gradually grows an attachment to the fort, almost unknowingly convincing himself to stay. One posting extension turns into another before he begins citing the gravitational pull of duty and service—and, of course, the impending Tartar invasion for which he must prepare. Meanwhile, the fort is neglected by headquarters and all but forgotten. Drogo soon slips into a routine, where he becomes overtaken by the passing of time:

The same day, the same things, had repeated themselves hundreds of times without taking a step forward. The river of time flowed over the Fort, crumbled the walls, swept down dust and fragments of stone, wore away the stairs and the chain, but over Drogo it passed in vain—it had not yet succeeded in catching him, bearing him with it as it flowed.[3]

Decades pass, and Drogo rises to the position of second-in-command in the fort. But he then becomes ill and receives orders to leave. As his aging body is stretchered down the mountain toward the city he left so long ago, he is passed by young soldiers and officers rushing to reinforce the fort. Drogo, sick and dying, barely has time to consider what could have been before he dies alone, in a little inn, tragically on the eve of the long-awaited battle.

The Tartar Steppe is both a scathing critique of military pre-war life and a meditation on a soldier’s independent thirst for glory. It is a tale of a wasted life and a parable of time lost. It serves as a warning for those who focus too heavily on the future, and not enough on the present. It even serves as a black comedy about alienation, the unresponsive military bureaucracy, the frustration of trying to conduct business with non-transparent, seemingly arbitrary controlling systems, and the futile pursuit of an unattainable goal.

It is a story of false-crests, a telling tale of disappointment and a chilling reminder that life is too short to waste. It will appeal to, and probably scare the life out of, anyone who has thought to themselves, “If only I can get through this posting, everything will be fine next year.”

Indeed, on multiple occasions I contrasted the novel’s themes against a contemporary military context. At times, I felt an affinity with Drogo in the anticipation of conflict, the sense of duty and desire to serve selflessly, the focus on individual readiness and collective preparedness, and the overwhelming desire to plan for the next war. Yet, at other times, I noted the stark difference between Drogo’s world and that of my own concerning the work-life balance and the irreplaceable role and support of my family.

Drogo’s life was consumed by waiting. At times I wanted to scream at Drogo and tell him to go back down the mountain; take a holiday, find love, do something enjoyable, and live a meaningful life—but I was helpless. This passage still haunts me:

Meanwhile time was slipping past, beating life out silently and with ever increasing speed; there is no time to halt even for a second, not even for a glance behind. "Stop, stop" one feels like crying, but then one sees it is useless. Everything goes by—men, the seasons, the clouds, and there is no use clinging to the stones, no use fighting it out on some rock in mid-stream; the tired fingers open, the arms fall back inertly and you are still dragged into the river, the river which seems to flow so slowly yet never stops.[4]

The Tartar Steppe is Buzzati’s ultimate metaphor, a unique story about the hardships of military life and their potential to become meaningless if war never comes. The monotony confronts the reader—as soldiers waste their eyes and lives guarding a distant fort...where nothing ever seems to happen. An unseen, unspecified tension lurks throughout the entire book, leaving the reader with a sense of enduring consternation. For aspiring leaders, this novel presents a complex dilemma about human nature and war—or the blessed lack of it. It provides an opportunity to reflect on the challenge of maintaining a mission-focused mindset in an austere environment where all hope seems lost.

In the final haunting passages, Drogo dies alone, without ever achieving the honour and reputation he once sought. Instead, he is faced with the realization of his greatest fear—that his name would be forgotten forever. Buzzati’s coda leaves the reader with a sense of emptiness and desolation, again echoing Shakespeare:

Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.[5]

Christopher Johnson is an Australian Army infantry officer. He is author of the Australian blog Chesterfield Strategy. The views expressed are the author's and do not reflect the official position of the Australian Army, the Australian Department of Defence, or the Australian Government.

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Header Image: Jaisalmer Fort (Ancient Origins)

Notes:

[1] The Tartar Steppe. Dino Buzzati, 1940, translated by Stuart C. Hood. Edinburgh, Canongate Books, 2007, p. 236

[2] As You Like It, act II scene VII. Jacques – The Seven Ages of Man.

[3] The Tartar Steppe. Dino Buzzati, 1940, translated by Stuart C. Hood. Edinburgh, Canongate Books, 2007, p. 213

[4] Ibid, p. 219

[5] As You Like It, act II scene VII. Jacques – The Seven Ages of Man.