I first read this book in college because it had been assigned in a class I almost took, and then regretted that I didn’t take. Once I read it, I immediately read several more of Tim O’Brien’s books. Later, he visited my college and gave a talk, an incoming student conference, and I was dismayed that he recycled so much from his books for his talk. I get it now. And that’s what has been the experience of rereading this book. I last reread it about eight years ago. Now, when I read it, I am around the age that the older character Tim is in the book. I haven’t gone through anything like what he did, but close enough in age to understand his perspective. When I first read it, I was 21 and we were going to war or had just begun. Now, I guess officially we are out of that war. I was in no danger of being drafted, and even less danger of signing up myself. What still rings brilliant to me is the ways in which he never excuses or rationalizes his complicity (whether deserved or not) in the events he’s narrated or in the act of taking from his experiences and others’ for his writing. I better understand the “cowardice” of not running away.
The book is more or less a novel but not really, but it never feels right to call it a story collection because there’s not a single part of this book that doesn’t belong or go where it’s supposed to go. The glue in this book is so strong that it’s impossible to imagine any part missing.
