Battle-scarred and shell shocked: how else to describe my condition after 460 pages of blood, sweat and tanks? Antony Beevor’s book documenting the siege of Stalingrad is not for the faint of heart or the weak of stomach. What with bombing raids, grenade attacks, hand-to-hand combat — to say nothing of frostbite, typhoid and malnutrition — I’m lucky to have escaped with my life.

It’s received a crouching ovation from critics and sold half million in the UK alone. But although there’s no doubting its colossal impact, I have two big problems with Stalingrad: The Fateful Siege: 1942-1943. First, it’s unrelentingly grim. You wouldn’t expect many laughs in a war history, but Stalingrad stands out as one of the most depressing books I’ve ever read. Death stalks every page. Yet even the grim reaper seems preferable to the appalling conditions endured by troops and civilians. If it’s not starvation it’s dehydration; if it’s not infestation it’s amputation. This is war in the raw, where no-one is spared. Deserters are shot, women are raped, children are massacred, horses are eaten. It’s not the author’s fault; he’s only recording how inhuman humans can be. But it’s still heavy going.

Then there’s the overwhelming technical and military detail. Of course, for battle buffs this is paradise alley. Tank spotters will salivate at the description of panzers trundling triumphantly across the steppe, while armchair strategists will relish every bomb and bullet.

But, just like the Germans, I got bogged down. Encircled by tanks and bombarded by planes, on more than one occasion I had to bail out before sinking in military minutiae.

Keeping up with the cast of characters in the theatre of war was another challenge (the index names over 70 generals). And it didn’t help that both Hitler and Stalin kept replacing officers who were foolish enough to tell them unpalatable truths.

Amidst the doom and detail, the book has some absorbing sections, notably the chapter on the enemy within. Fighting the invaders was challenging enough, but the Russian forces also had to contend with Stalin’s secret police in their midst. The slightest whimper amounted to treachery, and at Stalingrad 13,500 paid the price of doubt with their lives. Well, they did if the firing squad wasn’t incompetent or drunk. Stories of soldiers getting up and scarpering after being executed are not as incredible as they might seem.

Eyewitness accounts and soldiers’ letters vividly capture the mood swings on both sides. These testimonies are never more powerful than in the final weeks of the siege. While expressing confidence in the face of encircling Soviets, between the lines the German troops prepared their loved ones for the worst.