"How Much Time You Got?"
Michael Herr is an anomaly. Herr cannot be both the best journalist and the best writer at the same moment. His book, Dispatches, cannot be such a brutally honest portrayal of the Vietnam War. But it is. And Herr is some sort of uber journalist/writer.
Herr achieves nirvana because he was not your typical reporter during the Vietnam War. Herr himself did not see himself as a reporter either—“no, a writer.” But he indeed was a reporter, a journalist, and a historian.
Although Herr does use literary references to connect with his pompous audience, it is his dialogue with colleagues that makes Dispatches appealing. Herr’s acquaintances are the elites of journalism. They report on the war not because it has become part of their lives.
Herr’s three closest acquaintances are photographers Sean Flynn, Dana Stone, and Tim Page. There is something quirky about photographers, particularly war photographers, as they seem invulnerable. Sometimes a photograph is so amazing and destructive that you have to wonder how the photographer made it through alive.
It is through dialogue with his colleagues that Herr’s Dispatches becomes profoundly authentic. Because writing is never a one-person process. You write because you want to tell the world about your experiences. And you cannot have a worldly experience without having close human bonds.
Of all his mates, only Herr made it through the Vietnam War. Flynn and Stone have disappeared and Page is physically incapacitated. It may be that Herr’s chapter on “Colleagues” was a work of love and remembrance to comrades.
Discussing Dispatches is much like discussing art. No two people can view a piece of “art” the same way. But I do agree with Ian’s (aka SampleThis) comment on this blog that distancing oneself from Herr’s book “takes a stance on no stance.” Turning away after you dipped your hand in the cookie jar is suspect.
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The base at Khe Sanh was the most provoking reason why the Vietnam War should never have happened. How else does one describe a base held in hostile enemy territory that is a landmark one day and just another piece of jungle the next? All the manpower, all the anxieties that each solider suffered…all for nothing—nothing at all.
Khe Sanh was also where Herr begins a lengthy character dialogue with soldiers Day Tripper and Mayhew. The greatest thing about Mayhew and Day Tripper were that they were the best of comrades, during a time when ethnicity was constantly a battle in their own country.
The friendship of Day Tripper and Mayhew proved that ethnicity discrimination in the United States made no sense. There is a famous photo by Larry Burrows that showed an African-American solider, Jeremiah Purdie, reaching out to his injured white comrade. Purdie is mud-drenched with a blood stained head wrap while his comrade is slouched in the mud.
Ethnic barriers did not exist for American soldiers in the Vietnam War. Soon after the war, there were none domestically as well. If the Vietnam War had any benefits for the American people, it was the destruction of ethnic barriers.
The destruction of Saigon was left to the Vietnamese, after all.
Herr achieves nirvana because he was not your typical reporter during the Vietnam War. Herr himself did not see himself as a reporter either—“no, a writer.” But he indeed was a reporter, a journalist, and a historian.
Although Herr does use literary references to connect with his pompous audience, it is his dialogue with colleagues that makes Dispatches appealing. Herr’s acquaintances are the elites of journalism. They report on the war not because it has become part of their lives.
Herr’s three closest acquaintances are photographers Sean Flynn, Dana Stone, and Tim Page. There is something quirky about photographers, particularly war photographers, as they seem invulnerable. Sometimes a photograph is so amazing and destructive that you have to wonder how the photographer made it through alive.
It is through dialogue with his colleagues that Herr’s Dispatches becomes profoundly authentic. Because writing is never a one-person process. You write because you want to tell the world about your experiences. And you cannot have a worldly experience without having close human bonds.
Of all his mates, only Herr made it through the Vietnam War. Flynn and Stone have disappeared and Page is physically incapacitated. It may be that Herr’s chapter on “Colleagues” was a work of love and remembrance to comrades.
Discussing Dispatches is much like discussing art. No two people can view a piece of “art” the same way. But I do agree with Ian’s (aka SampleThis) comment on this blog that distancing oneself from Herr’s book “takes a stance on no stance.” Turning away after you dipped your hand in the cookie jar is suspect.
The base at Khe Sanh was the most provoking reason why the Vietnam War should never have happened. How else does one describe a base held in hostile enemy territory that is a landmark one day and just another piece of jungle the next? All the manpower, all the anxieties that each solider suffered…all for nothing—nothing at all.
Khe Sanh was also where Herr begins a lengthy character dialogue with soldiers Day Tripper and Mayhew. The greatest thing about Mayhew and Day Tripper were that they were the best of comrades, during a time when ethnicity was constantly a battle in their own country.
The friendship of Day Tripper and Mayhew proved that ethnicity discrimination in the United States made no sense. There is a famous photo by Larry Burrows that showed an African-American solider, Jeremiah Purdie, reaching out to his injured white comrade. Purdie is mud-drenched with a blood stained head wrap while his comrade is slouched in the mud.
Ethnic barriers did not exist for American soldiers in the Vietnam War. Soon after the war, there were none domestically as well. If the Vietnam War had any benefits for the American people, it was the destruction of ethnic barriers.
The destruction of Saigon was left to the Vietnamese, after all.
posted by sau at 9:40 PM
1 Comments:
Your pompous audience here is happy that you've written about dialogue and photographers. You might extend one of these into an essay, Sau. (Oh, and the literary frame for the last class was an excuse to play loud music, of course.)
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