This was one of the most incredible essays about war I've ever read. At some points I forgot that I was even reading an essay about war, but everything came together in the end.
I think Sandlin was one of the few authors (perhaps alongside Remarque) that could adequately capture the silent resignation into fear (or 'fey' as he put it) that so many people have; my father was one of those people, and while his time at war was something I barely understand and was never told about—probably to shield me—his description of those restless nights dreaming of patrolling Okinawa (or Fallujah, Kandahar, or Kashmir) are something that truely can't be described by the language of peace, or even by people who were not there—like myself.
There's a certain melancholy in the tone of the entire essay, something that I think grips so many people in my generation (and that Sandlin mentions while describing Wagner): the belief that while life continues on as normal today, the world is about to be irreparably changed for the worse; perhaps we'll go to war with China, Russia, Iran, or some other country, but in the aftermath, everything we've taken for granted in life will be completely gone. I think an entire generation of young men now believe that they'll eventually be shipped off to some war and might not return—and if they do, just like Eugene Sledge, the entire world around them will be completely different. And eventually, no one will care to hear about their war stories and their memories of it will fade.
I think Sandlin was one of the few authors (perhaps alongside Remarque) that could adequately capture the silent resignation into fear (or 'fey' as he put it) that so many people have; my father was one of those people, and while his time at war was something I barely understand and was never told about—probably to shield me—his description of those restless nights dreaming of patrolling Okinawa (or Fallujah, Kandahar, or Kashmir) are something that truely can't be described by the language of peace, or even by people who were not there—like myself.
There's a certain melancholy in the tone of the entire essay, something that I think grips so many people in my generation (and that Sandlin mentions while describing Wagner): the belief that while life continues on as normal today, the world is about to be irreparably changed for the worse; perhaps we'll go to war with China, Russia, Iran, or some other country, but in the aftermath, everything we've taken for granted in life will be completely gone. I think an entire generation of young men now believe that they'll eventually be shipped off to some war and might not return—and if they do, just like Eugene Sledge, the entire world around them will be completely different. And eventually, no one will care to hear about their war stories and their memories of it will fade.