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by Tim O'Brien
In a word (or two or three): 'Nam, man!
From Mr. Hipster:
Having been born during the tail end of
the Vietnam "conflict," there are certainly elements that
have touched my life—a life that almost wasn't (or potentially)
after my dad was drafted. He managed to avoid going after being excused
for medical reasons, but there were certainly pieces of it everywhere.
My mom worked as a social worker in Harlem and Brooklyn, mostly bringing
recent vets their disability checks, and my folks actually met at
Kent State, where the National Guard shot and killed student demonstrators.
Having no actual recollection of the war first-hand, it's hard for
me to imagine how enraging it must have been to watch thousands of
young men coming home in body bags and/or scarred by what they'd seen
all because of politics. Those were different times than today, of
course, but obviously seeing television clips and documentaries, I
can see the horror involved. I read O'Brien's Going After Cacciato
some years ago, and its fantastical/metaphorical approach to the war
made for not only an educational read, but also something transcendent
of war. It was something spiritual and Zen and a really really good
book. It took me all of these years to get to read this one. It seemed
appropriate given the current Iraq situation, and I honestly found
it used and it just jumped out at me. This book is certainly a lot
more straightforward in its approach to war. It's an odd amalgamation
of autobiographical (O'Brien fought in Vietnam) and fictional accounts
of an Army company in Vietnam. The book claims that all the stories
are pure fiction, but that seems unlikely. In fact wrapped up in the
connected short stories is the overarching theme of stories versus
war-stories and what is reality and how sometimes the made up stories
are somehow more real than the true stories, as they sum up the experience,
while the true ones are just stories. To call this thing a novel would
be a stretch, as it's really a grouping of stories, all interconnected,
along with some commentary from O'Brien about some of the stories
that he writes, although even that commentary is fiction about fictional
stories—I think. Whatever the case, the tales he tells are gripping
and powerful, sometimes funny, but almost always poignant in some
way. O'Brien, if he were a pitcher, would be a Greg Maddux type, picking
his corners and hitting his spots, never overwhelming with big words
or sentimentality. His prose doesn't swell and build, it just kind
of goes along in a very matter-of-fact kind of way that is extremely
refreshing. He definitely has a style to his writing, repeating quirks
that give it a true signature. His writing, oddly enough, reminds
me of Kurt Vonnegut a little bit. It's breezy and really carries you
along, but has a true style to it, these little repeating quirks,
that don't get in the way of the story, but give it some real character
and depth that a straight-ahead narrative wouldn't. O'Brien describes
the horror of war in his writing the way the soldiers probably dealt
with it on a daily basis, taking it all in and dismissing it for fear
that letting it in would traumatize them to the point that they couldn't
move on. The most memorable piece for me in the book was when he,
O'Brien—either fictionally or non-fictionally—received
his draft notice. He was a guy working in a hog rendering facility
in his hometown in Minnesota for the summer before heading off to
grad school at Harvard. He got the letter and felt absolutely slighted
and scared and unable to explain to anyone in his small, conservative
town that he wasn't the kind of guy who fired guns and crawled around
the mud and got shot and dies in a rice paddy. All his fear and all
his dread fall on deaf ears, so he heads up to Canada. He stops right
before the border at a lodge to ponder his future and his decision.
This is a choice that determined his future, his parents standing
in their community (deserting was tantamount to treason in their town)
and the standing of right and wrong. He spends a while contemplating
what to do, and ultimately makes a decision. As with all the other
stories in the book, this one comes back a few stories later when
he is looking back on the choice he did make and whether he felt in
the long run that it was the correct one. It's his conclusion that
carries the most weight, and it's a conclusion—and what he perceives
to be the cowardice behind it—that is the most surprising and
eye-opening thing in the whole book. So much of what is taught about
the Vietnam war focuses on the political struggles back in the US,
but this should be required text for any class teaching about the
Vietnam war to show the internal struggle and conflict that went on
within the soldiers themselves.
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