“There’s nothing so embarrassing as when things go wrong in a war.”
War is perhaps the greatest symbolism of life. It reiterates that in life there will always be winners and losers. And like most things in life, war is mandatory.
When Michael Herr, a journalist, steps into Vietnam he is fulfilling a perverse desire to understand the war. This is a ludicrous idea, as war is hell. There is no understanding, not even those who orchestrate the war.
Herr can only tell the tales. And most of his tales are small sporadic ones; so disorganized one has to wonder if each happened in its own lifetime.
When Herr writes about the ten-year-old Vietnamese boy who has lost his mind, the reader becomes well aware that while American soldiers are having it rough, it is the Vietnamese civilians who are suffering the most.
When Herr write about the young Marine who laughs at him after accidentally kicking Herr’s nose. Or about how some of the CIA’s spooks have disappeared in their own private agendas, you begin to see how human discourse takes a steady tumble in war.
By page 85, a reader gets the feeling that Herr himself has no clue as to what he observes. This in unison makes Herr the prized journalist, an observer who makes no assumptions.
And like Herr, the reader is both terrified and flabbergasted at war’s capacities to the disillusion of men.
There is no way to explain war. When the President (in a generic sense) speaks about how the war is progressing, she/he speaks as though she/he understands it.
Herr was in the Vietnam War. He wrote a novel for about it. And it is so bloody obvious that Herr to this day does not understand why anything happened.
When the President tries to have discourse on war to the media it is always about progress. There’s nothing so embarrassing as admitting to a wrongful war.
As a side note: During Tuesday’s class, A.J.’s observations of O’Connor’s Good Country People was in my opinion, the best dissection of O’Connor’s literature yet. Quite frankly A.J. had the best (so far) supporting evidence for his analysis. I support “C.S.I: Literature.”
When Michael Herr, a journalist, steps into Vietnam he is fulfilling a perverse desire to understand the war. This is a ludicrous idea, as war is hell. There is no understanding, not even those who orchestrate the war.
Herr can only tell the tales. And most of his tales are small sporadic ones; so disorganized one has to wonder if each happened in its own lifetime.
When Herr writes about the ten-year-old Vietnamese boy who has lost his mind, the reader becomes well aware that while American soldiers are having it rough, it is the Vietnamese civilians who are suffering the most.
When Herr write about the young Marine who laughs at him after accidentally kicking Herr’s nose. Or about how some of the CIA’s spooks have disappeared in their own private agendas, you begin to see how human discourse takes a steady tumble in war.
By page 85, a reader gets the feeling that Herr himself has no clue as to what he observes. This in unison makes Herr the prized journalist, an observer who makes no assumptions.
And like Herr, the reader is both terrified and flabbergasted at war’s capacities to the disillusion of men.
There is no way to explain war. When the President (in a generic sense) speaks about how the war is progressing, she/he speaks as though she/he understands it.
Herr was in the Vietnam War. He wrote a novel for about it. And it is so bloody obvious that Herr to this day does not understand why anything happened.
When the President tries to have discourse on war to the media it is always about progress. There’s nothing so embarrassing as admitting to a wrongful war.
As a side note: During Tuesday’s class, A.J.’s observations of O’Connor’s Good Country People was in my opinion, the best dissection of O’Connor’s literature yet. Quite frankly A.J. had the best (so far) supporting evidence for his analysis. I support “C.S.I: Literature.”
posted by sau at 10:27 PM
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