Wrecked
I sort of get what O’Brien is trying to do in this book. Or maybe I don’t get it, because I’m not a veteran of the Vietnam War and so I can’t possibly begin to understand O’Brien’s experiences. But I think he’s trying to convey what he defines as the real “truth”—the feelings of the war, the levels of terrible and heartbreaking and disorientation that non-veterans are unable to relate to—by throwing away “happening-truth” and telling us fake stories. Here’s how he does it. You become engrossed in O’Brien’s stories. Once you’re inside, they chew you up and wreck you emotionally. Then you’re spit out feeling confused, disoriented, and all kinds of angry when O’Brien tells you hey, by the way, I made that up. Like, how can you make up a story about your best friend Kiowa drowning in poop? How can you talk about these really sentimental moments with your daughter Kathleen, when you really don’t have a daughter named Kathleen? Take “Good Form,” for example. It comes right after the