A Rumor Of War Essays Shooting An Elephant By Orwell Essay

I got out of Vietnam without a scratch, but while reporting on the Lebanese civil war, I became part of the story when I was wounded in both legs by automatic rifle fire, suffering injuries that put me in a hospital for a month and in a wheelchair or on crutches for six more months. War prohibits all retreat into the familiar confines of whatever illusions people may have had about themselves, laying bare bedrock truths about their characters. Some people, like the protagonist in Stephen Crane’s , learn that they are not as brave or as good as they had imagined themselves to be.

Sometimes, but no less compelling, they discover virtues they did not realize they had.

It’s in that broader sense that my baptism of fire in Vietnam has affected much of my fiction.

The phrase, “the joy of battle” occurs frequently in his verses.

In an introduction to the accepts violence as a permanent factor in human life,” Knox continues, “and accepts it without sentimentality, for it is just as sentimental to pretend that war does not have its monstrous ugliness as it is to deny that it has its own strange and fatal beauty.” I wrestled for weeks with the fact that I had loved the war as deeply as I’d hated it.

Some drill down and discover that they don’t have any. ”is simply a story about war, about the things men do in war and the things war does to them.” To expand on that thought a bit—the things men do in war is often a measure of the things it has done to them I began the book in the spring of 1967 in the bachelor officer’s quarters at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, and finished it in a cabin in Pine Creek, Montana, in the fall of 1976. Anger and fear—for a long time, I couldn’t sleep without a loaded gun at my bedside.

Guilt—I was almost court-martialed after my platoon killed two Vietnamese civilians mistaken for Viet Cong.

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