Wow. This is a fictionalized account of the war in Iraq that is
written by someone who was there. The
author has stated in interviews that he wrote the book to answer the question
that is most often posed to him about his war experience—“What was it like over
there?” The short answer is that
it was as bad as you would think it would be and worse.
The
book is the narrative of a soldier-witness still numbed by what he's seen. Private
Bartle is not filtering what he says to us in his account of his time in Al
Tafar, Iraq. His story is a
beautiful and horrifying trance of a book, as he takes us again and again to a
dream-like battlefield where unimaginable cruelties are inflicted upon
combatants and civilians alike.
The
men fight in Al Tafar, in a setting that is Dante-esque, in the broadest
possible sense of that word. The men of Bartle's squad go there to see sin and
to suffer, and perhaps to survive and be somehow redeemed. The torments they
find in Al Tafar are described with a spare, haunting lyricism that is both
cilling and memorable.
On
this battlefield in Iraq, Private Bartle finds himself caught between the
conflicting demands of his role as soldier: becoming the ruthless killer his
commanding officer, Sgt. Sterling, expects him to be and being the protector that
the weakest member of the squadron needs him to be. His inability to reconcile
those contradictions is pulling him apart — while ideas, language and memory
are the glue holding him together.
In
the end, Private Bartle loses his battle to be human and to remember and
integrate what he did and saw in Iraq with who he needs to be to be a
well-adjusted civilian. He can
fake it at times, sometimes he even feels it, but ultimately he has left a part
of his ability to be happy and well-adjusted on the ground in Iraq. A sad, sobering, and powerful book that
serves as a well placed reminder that war is hell.
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