reflection on Things They Carried p. 1-85

I’ve had several discussions on this book, so it’s difficult to go back and sort through how much happened in only half of the book. Re-reading it allows you to relive the experience, but it also makes you less… impacted… not the right word… less… affected by the words, the situations. The first time reading through the book, the first time you read about Curt Lemon – his death – you’re shocked, you’re sick, you’re awed by the way they just keep on going. The way he was standing in the shadows, moved into the sun, and bam. The Lemon Tree. Ted Lavender – “zapped while zipping.” Shocking, the first time through. Sickening. As you read, the stories are repeated, and they get easier… you become more distanced… you become like the soldiers. Now here we are, reading through the same stories a second time, which actually makes the stories within it told more like 6 times. I’ve built up a wall. It seems less revolting.

The first time, I remember almost shuddering as I read about the thumb that Henry Dobbins carried… the thumb that Mitchell Sanders cut off. It’s gruesome, it’s sad, you feel alive. And you think – there’s a moral? “There it is, man.”

Then I look at the chapter entitled “Love” and I don’t think about the war at all. All I can think is, “Was Martha raped?” Actually the only thing that really annoyed me about that chapter was the fact that Jimmy Cross supposedly visits Tim O’Brien at his home, and all of a sudden Jimmy Cross goes upstairs to the guest room and whips out a framed picture of Martha? Who’s house are they in???? Just one of those lack of editing mistakes, at least I think, that distracts me from my thoughts and the book. Back to Martha – she shudders when he tells her what he wanted to do those many years ago – tie her to his bed and hold her knee. She shakes, she shivers, she wonders why men do those things. “’What things?’ ‘The things men do.’” No wonder I wasn’t thinking about the war… I was thinking about the war of rape.

“The average age in our platoon, I’d guess, was nineteen or twenty…” (37). Most powerful line in the book, as far as I’m concerned. Yeah, I’m aghast at the entire thing first time through. I’m in horror that thumbs are cut off and Curt Lemon in the Lemon Tree and Ted Lavender zapped while zipping and the dog strapped to a mine and the men scared and putting up fences. But that one line brought it all back home. That one line – that one line that says, hey – they may have been soldiers, but they weren’t any older than you. They were your friends, they were your age, they had your mindset, your maturity – maybe – you can’t blame them for things like that. “’What’s everybody so upset about?’ Azar said. ‘I mean, Christ, I’m just a boy.’” Amen, kid, amen. Or should I just give that amen to O’Brien?

“On the Rainy River.” I’m not going to say what everyone else seems to be saying. I’m not going to say I felt cheated after O’Brien’s speech. I’m not going to say it has no meaning now that it’s not true… I loved it. I’ve read it twice, heard it once, I know it’s not true, but it’s so true.

I love the absurdity of Lee Strunk and Dave Jensen. The second chapter about them – “Friends” – Strunk is badly hurt – lost a leg, actually. The plan was that if this happened to either one of them, the other would kill him. So when Strunk realizes he’s missing a leg, he passes out. Next thing he does? He says, “Jesus, man, don’t kill me.” You can just picture it. Last conversation in his life, and he doesn’t have any messages, he doesn’t say anything profound – just “Don’t kill me.”

This last chapter is written to writers. It has to be. I can’t say I’ve talked to anyone who has appreciated that chapter unless they, on some level, write. As I said before, people felt cheated after this chapter. They wanted to know what was true at all times. Now, I’m not going to say I was never curious, but come on – this is the beauty of the book. If you have to ask whether or not it’s true, he says, if it matters – then you know. It shouldn’t matter.

I write – I love to write. I can’t say it’s any good, and really, it’s not even anything important half the time. It’s your basic diary. It’s full of rants, observations, accounts of my life, occasionally something creative – it’s me. Last year for AP English we had to turn in 6,500 words of free writing a quarter. I basically turned in my diary (which, incidentally, always surpassed that minimum) and allowed my teacher (the one teacher who had a profound impact on me) to read me. It’s strange to not be doing that now. But O’Brien’s book allowed me to see that I can lie, and still be writing my life exactly how it happened – write the world exactly how I see it. I guess I always have done that to a certain extent, but he put into words what I never could before.