69 pages • 2 hours read
Tim O'BrienA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Rat Kiley is one of the narrator’s friends in Vietnam. After a friend of Rat’s dies, Rat writes a heartfelt letter to the man’s sister. He describes how good of a man the friend was: “Anyways, it’s a terrific letter, very personal and touching. Rat almost bawls writing it” (64). The sister never responds to Rat’s letter. The narrator observes that “[a] true war story is never moral. It does not instruct, nor encourage virtue, nor suggest models of proper human behavior, nor restrain men from doing the things men have always done” (65). A true war story tells of evil and obscenity, like Rat’s reaction to not receiving any response from his dead friend’s sister: “Cooze, he says. He does not say bitch. He certainly does not say woman, or girl. He says cooze. Then he spits and stares” (66).
The friend who died was named Curt Lemon. He was “goofing” (66) with Rat along a trail in the jungle, throwing smoke grenades back and forth under the shade of some giant trees. Mitchell Sanders played with his yo-yo nearby while other men slept. There was a noise. Lemon stepped into the sunlight from the shade and the sunlight “came around him and lifted him up and sucked him high into a tree full of moss” (67).
In a war story, “often the crazy stuff is true and the normal stuff isn’t” (68). Sometimes true war stories simply can’t be told. Mitchell Sanders tells the narrator a story near dusk along a river north of Quang Ngai City. A patrol of a few men goes into the mountains on a basic listening operation. They are to spend a week doing nothing but lying low and listening for enemy movement, reporting anything significant via radio. The mountains become spooky: “Absolute silence. They just listen” (68). The men find themselves wrapped in fog, clouds, and vapor and after a couple of days begin to hear strange music emanating from somewhere in the hills; it seems to be coming from the rocks themselves. The men are forced to listen since that is the nature of their mission. They grow uncomfortable.
Soon, they hear voices “[l]ike at a cocktail party. That’s what it sounds like, this big swank gook cocktail party somewhere out there in the fog. Music and chitchat and stuff” (71). Ultimately, the men “lose it” (71) and order up firepower, calling in air strikes and blowing up the trees in the mountains. After they blow away the hillside, it is very quiet, yet the men can still hear the strange noises, so they pack up and return to base camp. When they return, the colonel wants to know why the men had ordered such heavy firepower, “but the guys don’t say zip. They just look at him for a while, sort of funny like, sort of amazed, and the whole war is right there in that stare” (72).
The next morning, Mitchell Sanders admits to the narrator that he made up some details of the story. There was no glee club or opera singing in the hills, as he’d said. But Mitchell Sanders insists that the story is still true: “A true war story, if truly told, makes the stomach believe” (74).
After Curt Lemon dies, the men come across a baby water buffalo in the mountains. Rat tries to feed rations to the water buffalo, then steps away and shoots it in the knee. Rat shoots the water buffalo in the hindquarters, hump, flanks, mouth, tail, and other parts of the body. Finally, Rat shoots it in the throat and cries. Kiowa and Mitchell Sanders take the body of the baby buffalo and dump it in the village well.
The narrator says that “[o]ften in a true war story there is not even a point, or else the point doesn’t hit you until twenty years later, in your sleep” (78). The story of Curt Lemon’s death wakes up the narrator. He remembers Curt turning sideways and laughing, then taking a half step and being blown into a tree. The narrator and Dave Jensen went up into the tree and peeled off the body parts.
Sometimes when the narrator tells this story, he is approached by an older woman who tells him that she liked the story, but the baby buffalo makes her sad: “I’ll picture Rat’s face, his grief, and I’ll think, You dumb cooze” (81). The story that she thinks she likes was made up by the narrator so that he can get to the “real truth” (81). He states, “[n]one of it happened. None of it. And even if it did happen, it didn’t happen in the mountains, it happened in this little village on the Batangan Peninsula, and it was raining like crazy” (81).
The narrator had not known Curt Lemon very well, and what he had known “was not impressive” (82). Curt often played it tough and was constantly posturing, but “it’s easy to get sentimental about the dead, and to guard against that I want to tell a quick Curt Lemon story” (82).
While working an area of operations along the South China Sea, an Army dentist is helicoptered in to do some work on the soldiers. His setup is minimal. As they sit waiting, Curt begins to get anxious. When someone asks what is wrong, Curt says “that back in high school he’d had a couple of bad experiences with dentists. Real sadism, he said. Torture chamber stuff” (83). He declares that he will not see the dentist, but when his name is called, Lemon stands and goes into the tent. He faints before the dentist touches him. He is so embarrassed when he wakes up that he doesn’t talk to anyone else. Instead, he can be heard “cussing, bawling himself out” (84).
That night he sneaks into the dental tent, wakes up the dentist, and complains of a toothache. The dentist can’t find anything wrong, but Curt insists, and the dentist yanks out a completely healthy tooth: “There was some pain, no doubt, but in the morning Curt Lemon was all smiles” (84).
Rat Kiley has a “reputation for exaggeration and overstatement” (85), yet insists on the truth of this story. Before he joins Alpha Company, Rat is assigned a medical detachment near the village of Tra Bong. He sees casualties before shipping them out to hospitals in Chu Lai. It is a relatively relaxed working atmosphere. He has access to beer, three meals a day, and sleeps under a tin roof. The site is surrounded by wire but otherwise not secured. Green Berets use the compound as a base of operations but mostly keep to themselves.
The outpost rarely sees much action: “On occasion, when casualties came in, there were quick spurts of activity, but otherwise the days flowed by without incident, a smooth and peaceful time” (88). One evening, while drinking, an officer jokingly proposes that they “bring in a few mama-sans from Saigon, spice things up” (88). Although it is mostly a joke, one medic named Mark Fossie begins taking the idea seriously, and six weeks later, his girlfriend arrives at the outpost on a supply shipment helicopter. She’s “[a] tall, big boned blonde. At best, Rat said, she was seventeen years old, fresh out of Cleveland Heights Senior High. She had long white legs and blue eyes and a complexion like strawberry ice cream” (89). Her name is Mary Anne.
During dinner, Fossie explains that it had not been especially complicated to fly her out from Cleveland. Fossie and Mary Anne had dated since elementary school: “From the sixth grade on they had known for a fact that someday they would be married” (90). They sleep together in one of the bunkers along the perimeter and stay side by side for the first two weeks. The medics feel envy. Mary Anne is attractive: She wears cut-off jean shorts and boosts the men’s morale. She becomes interested in her surroundings and the details of the outpost. Although it is very dangerous to do so, she gets Fossie to take her to the neighboring Vietnamese village. On the way back, as Fossie tries to explain the dangers of ambushes and guns, she goes for a swim in the Song Tra Bong.
When casualties come into the outpost, Mary Anne isn’t “afraid to get her hands bloody” (93). She learns how to perform small procedures and seems to become a different person. She falls “into the habits of the bush. No cosmetics, no fingernail filing” (94). She learns how to use an M-16. Her relationship with Fossie changes.
One night, she doesn’t come in. Fossie wakes Rat in the middle of the night, suspecting she is sleeping with someone. Rat checks the men’s tents but doesn’t find her. It turns out she is out on ambush with the Green Berets. She returns to the camp after sunrise with the Green Berets, her face is black with charcoal. After that evening “there was a strained, tightly wound quality” (99) to the way Fossie and Mary Anne treat one another. Although they seem happy from a distance, there is something “tentative and false” (99) to their relationship. After the third week, Fossie arranges to send Mary Anne home, but she disappears with the Green Berets again and doesn’t return for three weeks.
The morning after she returns, Fossie stations himself outside of the Special Forces area where she is staying. Rat brings him some food as he waits into the afternoon, and then late into the night. A strange form of music is playing and someone can be heard singing. Fossie finally enters with Rat and Eddie Diamond right behind. Inside, there is music and candlelight in conjunction with a powerful stench of blood and flesh, and the head of a black leopard in the corner. The narrator says, “[t]he background music came from a tape deck near the circle of candles, but the high voice was Mary Anne’s” (105). She is wearing a necklace of human tongues and tells Fossie that she feels alive in Vietnam. Rat helps Fossie back outside.
Much later, after Rat leaves the outpost, he hears that “one morning, all alone, Mary Anne walked off into the mountains and did not come back” (110). No body or equipment is ever found. Fossie “was busted to PFC, shipped back to a hospital in the States, and two months later received a medical discharge” (110). According to the Green Berets, Mary Anne “was still out there somewhere in the dark” (110).
In “How to Tell a True War Story,” the tension between Factual and Emotional Truth comes to the forefront. The narrator lists several ways to distinguish a true war story from a false one: “In any war story, but especially a true one, it’s difficult to separate what happened from what seemed to happen” (67). He explains that “[i]n many cases a true war story cannot be believed” (68) and “[y]ou can tell a true war story by the way it never seems to end” (72). The truth, the narrator suggests, is more difficult to find in a war story.
One way to measure the truth of a war story involves whether it “makes the stomach believe” (74). Making the stomach believe, however, is different from telling the literal truth, which is demonstrated in a few ways. For example, the narrator tells an impossible story in which a dead man jokingly says, “Story of my life, man” (80). Though the story is impossible, the narrator calls this “a true story that never happened” (80). What he seems to be suggesting is that the truth, in some cases, is more effectively revealed through fiction, exaggeration, or humor than in the straight telling of a real event.
Like many of the stories in The Things They Carried, “The Sweetheart of the Song Tra Bong” is a story told on at least two levels. On one level, there is the story of Mary Anne, who flies from Cleveland Heights to Vietnam and becomes immersed in the war. But the story is also about Rat Kiley’s telling of the story. Just as Norman Bowker is the source of the story about the mysterious music in the woods in “How to Tell a True War Story,” Rat is the teller of the story in “The Sweetheart of the Song Tra Bong.” And just as Norman is suggested to be an unreliable narrator, so too is Rat: “Rat had a reputation for exaggeration and overstatement, a compulsion to rev up the facts, and for most of us it was normal procedure to discount sixty or seventy percent of anything he had to say” (85). In this way, Rat’s story illustrates what the narrator says earlier about truth, primarily, that a true war story “makes the stomach believe” (74). Rather than focus on the literal facts, Rat wants to “heat up the truth, to make it burn so hot that you would feel exactly what he felt” (85).
“The Sweetheart of the Song Tra Bong” is also a story about the craft of storytelling. Rat repeatedly pauses while telling the story of Mary Anne: “Rat had a tendency to stop now and then, interrupting the flow, inserting little clarifications or bits of analysis and personal opinion” (101). Mitchell Sanders, listening, critiques such pauses, telling Rat to get out of the way and let the story tell itself, “[b]ut Rat Kiley couldn’t help it. He wanted to bracket the full range of meaning” (101). Since the narrator often pauses throughout the telling of this and other stories to insert additions and clarifications and descriptions it could be said that he too wants “to bracket the full range of meaning” (101), just as Rat does.
By Tim O'Brien
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