Powers also questions the romanticized portrayal of the conflict that is made at home. He presents gory scenes of death, evisceration, and decapitation with the same carelessness as an international correspondent reporting a sterile evening news report from her Baghdad hotel balcony. Their truths might be equal, but only if each takes into account the opinions of their target audience and what they are willing to hear andmore importantlybelieve. Powers respects his reader enough to tell him or her a story that, while fiction, is closer to the truth than most stories presented as fact. This is the book’s best decision, though it’s not the only one.
Powers’ book lacks heroes because it focuses primarily on individual survival, which may be his attempt to counteract society’s tendency to categorize the small number of people who fulfill this role. He repeatedly depicts his characters realizing the central tenet of his conflict: that no one can be saved from war, and that everyone can perish in it. Because no one is unique or exempt from harm in a war, bravery is practically unattainable in this work.
In a period when people believe that his generation is serving as a “band of brothers,” Powers presents a nuanced and conflicted friendship between his characters. Bartle despises his sergeant for his innate authority that could demand his death, but he respects him for his competence. Although he knows he can only fail Murph, he still loves him. He and Murph feel sorry for the war dead, some of whom they wronged the previous day out of selfishness. These are brothers in their individual survival, not in their shared survival of the harshness of combat.
As we approached the orchard, a group of birds began to sing from its outer rows. They hadnt been there long. The birds created an inelegant semaphore as they circled above in the ruddy mackerel sky, causing the branches to tremble with their absent weight. I was afraid. I smelled copper and cheep wine. The half-moon, which hung low on the opposite horizon and sliced through the morning sky like a character from a kid’s pull-tab book, was visible even though the sun was up.
The raconteur’s mastery of the details and rhythms leads to an incredible revelation, just like in any well-crafted riddle. Through his poetic, lyrical style, Powers maximizes his control over these rhythms, over his story, and over how and when he wants his reader to hear it. He carefully chooses works from a literary canon that is far beyond his years, and he develops his themes with occasional new and occasionally recurrent themes that are ideal for expressing his points of view. His statements imply a quest for understanding God, deeper meaning, a connection to nature, and the inherent overlap between his understanding of these pursuits and his war. And as a result of his investigation, readers are given amazing passages like these:
The Yellow Ribbon Quotes in The Yellow BirdsThe The Yellow Birds quotes below all refer to the symbol of The Yellow Ribbon. For each quote, you can also see the other characters and themes related to it (each theme is indicated by its own dot and icon, like this one:
A yellow bird perched on my windowsill had a yellow bill. I used a piece of bread to entice it in, and then I smashed his fucking head.
I had been brought up to believe that war was the greatest unifier, drawing people together more than any other human endeavor. Bullshit. One way to save oneself from war is to die. War is the great purveyor of solipsists. How are you going to save my life today? It becomes more likely that I won’t if you pass away.
I didnt want to smile and say thanks. Didnt want to pretend Id done anything except survive.
What would I say? Hey, how are you? theyd say. And I would respond, “It feels like I’m being eaten from the inside out, and I can’t tell anyone because everyone is always so appreciative of meI’ll feel like I’m being ungrateful or something.” Or something like thatI’ll admit that I don’t deserve anyone’s appreciation and that, in reality, they should all despise me for what I’ve donebut everyone still loves me, and it’s getting to me crazy. Right.
It was like just trying to kill everything you saw sometimes because it felt like acid was seeping down into your soul and then your soul was gone and knowing from being taught your entire life that there is no making up for what you are doing, but even your mother is so happy and proud [..] there isn’t any making up for killing women or even watching women get killed, or for that matter killing men and shooting them in the back and shooting them more times than necessary to actually kill them.
A deeper hole is being dug because everyone is so fucking happy to see youthe murderer, the fucking accomplice, the bearer of some fucking responsibility at bare minimumand they all want to give you a pat on the back. As a result, you start to want to burn down the entire country and destroy every goddamn yellow ribbon you see. You don’t know why, but it’s just like, Fuck you. But since you signed up to go, you really
Even our own viciousness was lost on us at this point: the dog kicks and beatings, the searches, and the overall savagery of our presence. Every task involved reciting a page from an exercise book by heart. I didnt care.
FAQ
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