There's no denying that war is gory. It's ugly. It's dirty and often not as glorious as one might expect (take the shit field where Kiowa passed, for example). Indeed, "war is hell."
But can it be beautiful as well?
In the stories we've read so far from Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried, there have undoubtedly been showcases of the horrors of war, both physical and emotional. Yet every death or other incident is accompanied by a sort of beauty as well.
Take the story of Curt Lemon, who is killed after stepping on a land mine. His death is first told in an almost poetic manner, with O'Brien describing the seemingly tranquil landscape—the white flowers, the sunlight dancing through the leaves, and the surrounding mountains. Then, Lemon's face appears in the sunlight, shining, and suddenly, he "soars" into the tree.
Lemon's story made me do a double take, and I had to reread the section to fully acknowledge that he had died. It was certaintly not what I had pictured a death by land mine to be like. As O'Brien puts it a second time, "when he died it was almost beautiful, the way the sunlight came around him and lifted him up and sucked him high into a tree full of moss and vines and white blossoms."
Later, we get another, more technical and gory version of the story, where "the booby-trapped 105 round blew him [Lemon] into a tree." O'Brien and Dave Jensen were tasked with peeling the body parts off the tree and throwing them down—the white bone of an arm, wet yellow pieces of intestines.
There's also the man that O'Brien killed, described as having a 'star-shaped hole' where his eye should have been, the jaw in his throat, and half his mouth blown away. Yet this description stands in sharp contrast to the other things O'Brien notices about the man: the smooth, undamaged nose and right cheek, his shapely hands and clean fingernails. Notably, we receive descriptions of nature once more. The dead man's head lays among a blanket of blue blossoms, and a butterfly momentarily rests on his chin.
For me, war and beauty have always seemed to be worlds away from each other, especially when you consider the gory nature of fighting. But O'Brien seems to find a middle ground in his writing, where the two are free to intermingle. "War is grotesque, but in truth, war is also beauty. For all its horror, you can’t help but gape at the awful majesty of combat."
Because O'Brien has stated that he is intent on capturing the emotion in war, it is easier for me to try and picture the beauty he describes. Perhaps, in his shoes as a soldier, there is something beautiful about seeing how powerful war can be, and how death can occur so quickly, to anyone. It may even make him value his own life more.
I also think that O'Brien intends to tell us that despite war and death, life keeps moving. Butterflies still fly, sunlight is still reflected off the dead man's ammunition belt. Flowers blossom among pools of blood. Death does not change the world around O'Brien and his soldiers—they're still stuck in Vietnam, in some cases in a shit field. But they too, must eventually cope and move on with their grief.
By writing stories that highlight both the gore and beauty of war, that's exactly what O'Brien is attempting to do.
But can it be beautiful as well?
In the stories we've read so far from Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried, there have undoubtedly been showcases of the horrors of war, both physical and emotional. Yet every death or other incident is accompanied by a sort of beauty as well.
Take the story of Curt Lemon, who is killed after stepping on a land mine. His death is first told in an almost poetic manner, with O'Brien describing the seemingly tranquil landscape—the white flowers, the sunlight dancing through the leaves, and the surrounding mountains. Then, Lemon's face appears in the sunlight, shining, and suddenly, he "soars" into the tree.
Lemon's story made me do a double take, and I had to reread the section to fully acknowledge that he had died. It was certaintly not what I had pictured a death by land mine to be like. As O'Brien puts it a second time, "when he died it was almost beautiful, the way the sunlight came around him and lifted him up and sucked him high into a tree full of moss and vines and white blossoms."
Later, we get another, more technical and gory version of the story, where "the booby-trapped 105 round blew him [Lemon] into a tree." O'Brien and Dave Jensen were tasked with peeling the body parts off the tree and throwing them down—the white bone of an arm, wet yellow pieces of intestines.
There's also the man that O'Brien killed, described as having a 'star-shaped hole' where his eye should have been, the jaw in his throat, and half his mouth blown away. Yet this description stands in sharp contrast to the other things O'Brien notices about the man: the smooth, undamaged nose and right cheek, his shapely hands and clean fingernails. Notably, we receive descriptions of nature once more. The dead man's head lays among a blanket of blue blossoms, and a butterfly momentarily rests on his chin.
For me, war and beauty have always seemed to be worlds away from each other, especially when you consider the gory nature of fighting. But O'Brien seems to find a middle ground in his writing, where the two are free to intermingle. "War is grotesque, but in truth, war is also beauty. For all its horror, you can’t help but gape at the awful majesty of combat."
Because O'Brien has stated that he is intent on capturing the emotion in war, it is easier for me to try and picture the beauty he describes. Perhaps, in his shoes as a soldier, there is something beautiful about seeing how powerful war can be, and how death can occur so quickly, to anyone. It may even make him value his own life more.
I also think that O'Brien intends to tell us that despite war and death, life keeps moving. Butterflies still fly, sunlight is still reflected off the dead man's ammunition belt. Flowers blossom among pools of blood. Death does not change the world around O'Brien and his soldiers—they're still stuck in Vietnam, in some cases in a shit field. But they too, must eventually cope and move on with their grief.
By writing stories that highlight both the gore and beauty of war, that's exactly what O'Brien is attempting to do.
