War leaves scars—not just on the landscape, but on the bodies and souls of those who survive it. In my novel, The Masks of War, one of the most haunting realities I explore is the experience of soldiers who returned from the battlefields of World War I with grievous facial injuries. These men—once sons, brothers, husbands, and fathers—found themselves unrecognizable, not only to others but to themselves. Society often shunned them, and even the most advanced medical care of the era struggled to restore both function and identity.
A century later, the Russo-Ukraine War has inflicted similar tragedies on Ukrainian soldiers and civilians, though modern medicine offers new hope. As the New York Times reported in August 2025, advanced reconstructive techniques, including 3-D printing and patient-specific implants, are helping to repair shattered faces in Kyiv and beyond. Yet despite these technological breakthroughs, the psychological toll remains immense. Like their World War I counterparts, those who survive facial trauma must rebuild not just their bodies, but their very sense of self.
The parallels are striking. In both wars, soldiers faced brutal conditions on the battlefield. In World War I, the mud, barbed wire, and constant artillery fire left countless men disfigured. Today, modern weaponry—missiles, drones, and heavy artillery—creates similar devastation. Mr. Melnyk, a Ukrainian soldier, spent nearly 23 hours fighting with shrapnel tearing through his face. For World War I soldiers, survival often meant enduring weeks of injury before reaching medical care. The agony, fear, and isolation remain painfully familiar across the decades.
Social reactions have also mirrored each other. Dr. Andrii Kopchak of Kyiv observes that losing a leg is recognized as heroism, but losing one’s face can make a survivor feel like a ghost—a sentiment echoed by the social stigma faced by disfigured soldiers after World War I. Even when reconstruction is possible, the journey is long and grueling. Patients endure multiple surgeries, setbacks, and painstaking rehabilitation, yet the ultimate goal—restoring both function and identity—remains the same.
There is hope, though. Just as pioneers like Harold Gillies revolutionized facial reconstruction during World War I, today’s Ukrainian medical teams are pushing the boundaries of surgery, employing digital modeling, stem cell therapies, and international collaboration. The human drive to repair, restore, and reintegrate those wounded by war is a bridge across time, connecting the survivors of the Somme with the survivors of Bakhmut.
The stories of Percy and Harry in The Masks of War are fictional, but they reflect truths that remain painfully relevant. The courage required to face the battlefield is matched only by the courage it takes to confront life afterward, in front of mirrors, in crowded hospitals, and in the eyes of those who once knew them. Whether in Europe a century ago or in Ukraine today, war leaves its mark not just on the body, but on the identity of those who survive it—and the world must meet that reality with both science and compassion.
This is why I am dedicating my novel upon publication to the men and women of Ukraine facing difficult recoveries from the wounds of war, and in tribute to them and to draw attention to their struggle.