Matteson, John. A Worse Place Than Hell: How the Civil War Battle of Fredericksburg Changed a Nation. New York: Norton, 2021.
Matteson adroitly sets the warp on this beautiful tapestry with the parallel lives of Walt Whitman, Louisa May Alcott, Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr., John Pelham, and Chaplain Arthur Fuller. The weft is the Civil War narrative of Antietam and Fredericksburg and the marks trauma left on his selected subjects. For Pelham and Fuller, their impulsive actions led to early (and avoidable) death in places and situations they did not militarily belong. Holmes, Alcott, and Whitman survived the war. However, war wounds and the scars that resulted forever changed their lives. Of the three, Holmes forever bore literal scars from three severe combat wounds. While Alcott and Whitman never experienced combat, they worked in the bloody turbulence of its wake, and the horror nearly undid them.
Matteson’s mastery of the inner world of those who lived through trauma (and vicarious trauma) was startling. While he had quite a bit of help from a large body of written materials left by the three who survived, he clearly understood (perhaps even felt) their experiences and attempts to bring order to their post-war inner being.
In Plutarchian fashion, Matteson implicitly compares the relative value of Holmes’ primary coping mechanism (distancing himself from others while burying himself in his work) with Alcott’s and Whitman’s outward turn (they both embraced their humanity and studied how better to love). While Holmes’ post-war mode of life allowed him to rise to the pinnacle of his profession, Alcott and Whitman have also significantly impacted American life and culture. Matteson provided his nuanced comparison with subtlety and without moralizing or condemning, which, I believe, is essential when dealing with survivors of trauma.
As an Active-Duty Air Force Chaplain with war-time Mortuary and Level-1 Hospital Trauma Center experience, I felt that Matteson’s comparison described the intersection of competing urges often present within me. I live in the company of memories – with specific triggers, I can’t help but recall faces of suffering and death and can resort to protectionist coping mechanisms that are less than helpful in my quest to serve others. If Matteson’s work is history, it is living history – at least for me (and I suspect many other professional caregivers). I approached this work with little more than idle curiosity as a diversion over the holidays. I certainly didn’t expect to benefit from the book personally. While a great read for anyone, I heartily recommend it to my chaplain colleagues and any other caregiver who regularly walks with humanity at the intersections of life and death.
A Thousand Thunders 