Ana Carden-Coyne's The Politics of Wounds tells a complex story. From the beginning, we see that Carden-Coyne's aim to explore “experiences of pain, and efforts to alleviate pain, as interrelated social, political, and ethical aspects of modern war” (4) means that we have an ambitious text that ranges widely in an area of study that is growing but by no means fully explored. Her book plugs a gap in the market between narratives of empirical explanation and deeper theoretical considerations as it tackles the untidiness of the varied experiences and beliefs that made up First World War medical care. What she does best is show the reader the shifting sands that make up this particular period of history. The story she tells is messy, tension filled, and at times even contradictory. She does not give us one answer, but the reality of many. Such admirable complexity would not be feasible if Carden-Coyne had not resisted the pressures of quick output inherent these days in academia and instead spent time collecting, collating, thinking, talking, and reworking her ideas. Generally, good history is created slowly, and this book, taking a decade, is a fine example of the results of such a process.

Organized into five chapters that cover a variety of issues that surrounded wounding during the First World War, Carden-Coyne builds on strong source material (and some great images) as well as a clear understanding of the debates around this field. In chapter 1 she considers, from a variety of viewpoints, the early experiences of wounding and care. From triage to transportation, we see contradictions between the needs of the military machine, the reality of mass evacuation, and the impact of civilians on care. In chapter 2 she explores surgery and is strongest when considering the ethics of care. As historians of care, we often become caught up in studying particular techniques, overlooking crucial personal and social challenges of care-giving. Carden-Coyne shows us that while tensions existed between military and civilian surgeons, these men were shaped by their own desires, fears, and egos. Chapter 3, alongside considerations of the development of care, sits as a balance to the previous chapter, as Carden-Coyne considers moments of agency from the viewpoint of those undergoing surgery. She also explores how patients' fears were brought into the light through dark humor.

For me, what really makes these early chapters striking are the insights Carden-Coyne offers into the tense debates surrounding treatment that were made more extreme through the lens of political expedience and personal egos in a war zone; some used war as a time for experimentation and personal advancement. As a Captain Upcott recalled, “I am very sorry to leave 32 as I think the work would have been interesting” (174). While discussion of humanitarian care could rage, surgeons could be bored, exhilarated, tired, or ready to experiment and make their name. As Carden-Coyne says, the results can be both negative or positive.

In chapter 4, Carden-Coyne takes the reader on another journey, this one to explore the realities of hospital experience. She takes time to untangle issues that have long been of central interest to her: gender, class, and the crossing of national boundaries. Describing the hospital experience as somewhat familial, she points to contradictions that we might see in any family, however temporary: men seen as children, yet sexualized, and the formation of close bonds alongside antagonistic ones. Again, chapter 5 sits comfortably alongside the previous chapter as Carden-Coyne explores the men's “soft resistance” to their treatment and the reality in which they found themselves. In her discussion of their recuperation in a space where the experience and expression of pain was shaped by medical staff and other men, again we see how dark humor was being expressed and used. As a form of resistance, humor sat alongside the use of the imagination and refusal of treatment. This is an important point in medical history and modern medical ethics: who owns the pain?

Finally, in her epilogue Carden-Coyne begins to think about the injured body in terms of the state and economics. Considering the system of war pensions that broke the body down into percentile worth and the reality of gender identity in relation to the economic, it seems that she only begins to tease out some issues here: I can see volume two on the horizon.

Carden-Coyne wisely stretches the scope of this book to cover personal experiences of wounded men and those who cared for them while considering the social, cultural, and political dimensions of care in a time of war. At times, it may create confusion for the reader craving a clear picture of pain and pain management in the First World War, but that is the point. Like pain itself, this story is not neat and easily describable; it is chaotic, confusing, and nonlinear.