O'Brien, Minton, and Jarrell: Three Dudes That Really Don't Like War

It's interesting (and kind of advantageous) to start off a class having read the first two books assigned. Not only do I get the pleasure of re-reading two quality pieces of literature rich with complex themes and devices, I also get the chance to re-examine these works for details and connections that might have before eluded me. Perhaps I'm just a dimwit, but I'd never before thought that O'Brien's The Things They Carried shared much in common with Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle. How wrong I was. Thematically, these works explore a lot of the same ground, much more than I initially reckoned, what with their metatextual tendencies and the shared notion that war is a despicable exercise in futility. When O’Brien (the character, not the author [or is it vice versa?]) states that “often in a true war story there is not even a point," (O'Brien 78) a vivid portrait of Newt Hoenniker squeaking, "No damn cat, and no damn cradle" immediately comes to the mind. These phrases carry the same sentiments. I'm also reminded of Horlick Minton and his tribute to the Hundred Martyrs to Democracy (Vonnegut 253). O'Brien's portrayal of the soldiers renders them, in the words of Horlick Minton, as children who, "To their everlasting honor and our everlasting shame. . .die like men" (Vonnegut 254). 

Randall Jarrell mirrors these thoughts in his gritty poem “The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner”, a work published in 1945 detailing the pointless death of a ball turret gunner (for those who don’t know what a ball turret is, here’s what I’m talking about.) Jarrell, like Vonnegut, fought in World War II, although I’m sure he and O’Brien would also get along quite well judging by their shared perspectives. Notice the way Jarrell matter-of-factly states, “When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose” (Line 5). As is, this line resembles the detached style O’Brien sometimes takes ons when talking about the death of men. Throw in some humor and you've got a Vonnegut death, albeit a particularly nasty one. Point being, O'Brien, Vonnegut, and Jarrell were all left with a sour taste in their mouths after witnessing firsthand the merciless impracticality of war. Judging by their works, this burden of a taste doesn't idly remove itself.