I didn't care for it, either, and for similar reasons. I didn't find the writing style quite as awful as Dannyboy, but it sure wasn't what I'd expect from an author who made multiple pretentious references to reading
The Iliad and
The Stranger in his war-zone downtime.
Mr. Swofford was obviously frustrated by his time in the Marine Corps, but I think his post-Corps education at various socialist-leaning academic institutions colors a lot of his memories.
Most of Mr. Swofford's whining objections revolve around things that anyone who has spent more than a week in the military will tell you are perfectly normal and expected:
Lots of downtime in the military? Yep, ask anybody who served. Boo-hoo-hoo. Beats being shot at.
Lots of stupid make-work details? See above.
War zones are scary? Duh. Ask a combat vet.
Life-saving equipment is sometimes hard to use? Well, that's why we train.
MOPP gear in the desert is uncomfortable? Well, yeah, but I bet it beats the alternative.
War involves hurting and killing other people? I guess he thought the rifles, bayonets, Claymores and grenades were just boot camp party favors.
A couple of his sea stories are very difficult to believe, but I guess he has to have his macho credentials in order. The stories sound like rehashes of everything anyone in any service has heard before:
"Yeah, we went into the local bar and the underachieving, longhaired locals were drunk and pissed at us for being such manly leatherneck warrior studs. So the five of us did ten shots of tequilla each, then beat the crap out of all thirty of the locals at once. The cops gave us a lift home and thanked us for taking care of the problem for them."
"Some tanker was talking at the base camp about some poor grunt's wife he'd slept with before shipping out. Well, it turns out that the cuckolded grunt was playing cards at the same table! What a coincidence, with 500,000 troops in theater! Man, you should have seen that brawl!"
"The first sergeant made us play football in MOPP 4 for an hour in 120 degree heat! Damn TV cameras! Damn first sergeants! But I was tough and stuck it out, even though the rest of the platoon was vomiting into their gas masks!"
"My buddy and I were very upset and couldn't sleep, so we ran the perimeter fence 612 times without stopping -- eight hours straight running, and didn't sleep all night! We were too tough to feel tired the next day."
"I survived the war mentally, but some of my buddies weren't so lucky. It was like VietNam syndrome all over again! They're living with their parents now, listening to Lionel Ritchie records and sleeping in their old twin beds. Or they died in drunk driving accidents that I'm sure weren't really accidents. Or they live in the basements of abandoned houses and can't hold jobs. Or they live in hippie communes in San Francisco and spend every day getting high or finding a fix."
"The Barrett Light Fifty will shoot through nine city blocks, including nursery schools, and Rep. Henry Waxman is a saint for wanting to ban them."
I kept thinking, "What's next, the thousand yard sniper shot in high wind, or buying the special hollow-point bullet for a dramatic suicide?"
Mr. Swofford does no one but himself any compliments in this book. The Corps is horrible because it expects him to fight, as he volunteered to do. President Bush is horrible because he sent soldiers to fight in the desert (for "Big Oil," Mr. Swofford has simple-mindedly decided). His fellow Marines are horrible because they are crude or weak or aggressive or afraid, or maybe just because they've never read
Candide. His parents are horrible because they let him join the Corps. His brother is horrible because he joined the Army and has a cushy job in Germany.
I can't believe this book got high marks from people I normally respect, like Mark Bowden. At least the reviewer in
The Wall Street Journal got it right a few weeks ago, when he panned it. I agree with Dannyboy -- don't waste the money or the time on this drivel.
Mike
