The ThingsThey Carried

Eric M. Simpson

Mrs. Sharon Aiken

English 1102

July 19, 2011

CISD

            In Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried, O’Brien attempts to convey to the reader how vitally significant storytelling is. In his attempt,
O’Brien tells stories in a variety of ways. O’Brien not only shares his own anecdotes, he also weaves in other’s stories. Enthralling the reader, O’Brien retells stories originally told by Mitchell Sanders, Rat Kiley, Jimmy Cross and Norman Bowker.

            Mitchell Sanders tells two stories. Sanders’ first story is “a quick peace story” (O’Brien 35) about a “guy” who goes AWOL. The AWOL story is brief, but reportedly, it gives O’Brien “a quick truth goose” (O’Brien 35). In O’Brien’s relaying of the story, Sanders is smiling as he tells the story about a person who goes absent without leave, shacks up in Danang with a nurse, gets whatever he wants—whenever he wants it, and then one day leaves the nurse and rejoins his unit. Mitchell’s story ends with the person explaining to his “buddies” the reason that he left the nurse and returned to combat. Mitchell quotes the person saying, “All that peace, man, it felt so good it hurt. I want to hurt it back” (O’Brien 35). O’Brien expresses his doubt about the validity of Sanders’ story; nevertheless, O’Brien explains it as being “all relative” (O’Brien 35) in the context of war.

            Next, Sanders tells a story about a six-man patrol that goes up into the mountains. O’Brien introduces Sanders’ story about the six-man patrol with, “In many cases a true war story cannot be believed” (O’Brien 71). O’Brien‘s introduction to the story includes descriptions of the situation and the scenario under which he himself heard the story. According to O’Brien’s presentation, the setting in which Sanders tells his story influences the affect the story has on the listener. O’Brien is in a foxhole, it is near dusk, peaceful, so quiet the river “moved without a sound” (O’Brien 71), and a patrol into the mountains is planned for the next morning. In telling the story, in order to ensure that O’Brien understands that the purpose of the six-man patrol unit going into the mountains was to “just lie low and listen for enemy movement” (O’Brien 72), Sanders stresses certain points. Sanders elaboration is detailed enough to convince the listener that the patrol unit was ‘spooked’ by what they heard in the mountains. Sanders knows that what he is telling is unbelievable, but he wants O’Brien “to feel the truth, to believe by the raw force of believing” (O’Brien 74). Sanders proceeds to tell O’Brien that the patrol unit loses control, calls in air strikes, and essentially obliterates the mountains with firepower and incendiaries. Sanders’ story continues with details of how, even after the mountains had been vaporized, the patrol unit can “still hear it” (O’Brien 75). Climatically, Sanders’ story ends with the patrol unit returning to base camp, being confronted by a colonel who wants explanations, and then the members of the unit responding by only staring at the colonel and thinking, “you don’t even want to hear this” (O’Brien 75), before saluting him and walking off. O’Brien’s recollection of the story includes details about how Sanders works his yo-yo while telling the story, and about how frustrated Sanders is “at not quiet getting the details right, not quiet pinning down the final and definitive truth” (O’Brien 76). Of course, there has to be a moral to Sanders’ story. In this case, there are two. Later in the night, Sanders’ moral is, “Nobody listens. Nobody hears nothin’…you got to listen to your enemy” (O’Brien 76). The next morning, after confessing that he had made up a few things, Sanders’ moral is, “That quiet—just listen. There’s your moral” (O’Brien 77). O’Brien follows Sanders’ story with his comment that a true war story “makes the stomach believe” (O’Brien 78).

            Rat Kiley’s war story, “Sweetheart of the Song Tra Bong”, swirls “back and forth across the border between trivia and bedlam, the mad and the mundane” (O’Brien 89). Although Kiley swears to O’Brien that his story is true, O’Brien knows about Kiley’s tendency to exaggerate. Knowing that anything Kiley said has to be discounted, O’Brien and the other men apparently must enjoy hearing this story nevertheless. O’Brien dedicates about 28 pages of his 246-page book to telling Kiley’s story about Mary Anne. O’Brien’s exhaustive story about Kiley’s experience before coming to Alpha Company is an entertaining story that is probably representative of a fantasy held by many homesick and sexually frustrated members of Alpha Company.

            Lieutenant Jimmy Cross’ story is a love story. Cross shares this story with O’Brien many years after the war when Cross visits O’Brien. Under the influence of a gin-improved mood, Cross tells the story of his re-union with Martha—the love of his life. Cross and Martha’s reunion occurred at a college reunion in 1979. In speaking to O’Brien, Cross expresses that “Nothing had changed. He still loved her” (O’Brien 28). Cross’ story is a recollection of the eight or nine hours he had spent visiting with Martha, and the consistent lack of an ability to gain Martha’s much-desired affection. O’Brien avoids further conversation about Martha until Cross is leaving. Upon leaving, Cross tells O’Brien, “And do me a favor. Don’t mention anything about--” (O’Brien 30). Many readers believe that Cross is referring to Ted Lavender; it is possible that there is more to this story that remains untold.

            Tim O’Brien tells many stories in The Things They Carried, but one story is of particular significance. O’Brien enlightens the reader with a back-story of his own. “On the Rainy River” is, in O’Brien’s words, “a confession” (O’Brien 39). O’Brien says that he has never told this story to anyone. O’Brien says that he is trying to relieve some pressure in telling this story. O’Brien says that it is embarrassing to tell this story. O’Brien’s story about nearly becoming a draft-dodger is sad and interesting. O’Brien states his reason for returning to his home and going to war was “because I was embarrassed not to” (O’Brien 59). The story of “Rainy River” ends with a paradoxical statement as O’Brien says, “I was a coward. I went to war” (O’Brien 61).

             One man of Alpha Company, Norman Bowker, is not recognized as a storyteller. Nevertheless, there is an occasion in which he tells a story about a fellow grunt. Bowker tells about the time that “Morty Philips used up all his luck” (O’Brien 193). However, it appears that Bowker has difficulty in telling the story. Constantly urged-on by Azar, Bowker informs O’Brien about how Phillips had contracted a disease and died. After the war, Bowker does not seem to be able to recover from his Vietnam experiences. Bowker wants to be able to talk; Bowker just cannot bring himself to leave Vietnam in the past. Bowker dreams of being able to tell his father how Bowker had almost earned the Silver Star. Bowker suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) until the day of his death. Presumably, in an effort to relieve himself from his anxieties about the war, Bowker eventually commits suicide.

            Just as Sanders released tension telling his mountain story the night before their patrol into the mountains, and Kiley vented telling of Mary Anne’s adventures, and Cross shared an emotional expression of a grievous relationship with his encounter with Martha,  O’Brien’s sharing his embarrassing back-story was a form of debriefing. Critical Incident Stress Debriefing, or CISD as it is known today, occurs in many forms.

            For O’Brien and some of the men of Alpha Company, storytelling is a way of surviving the present and the past. Storytelling is a method to obtain a catharsis. Storytelling is not just an emotional release; sometimes it is a necessity. The power of storytelling resembles the treatment of constipation. Just as a constipated person sometimes must have a enema to help to relieve the symptoms, sometimes it is necessary to tell a story in order to relieve oneself of the stuff that is bothering them. O’Brien conveys a need to release some stuff that he is suffering. As a matter of necessity, O’Brien performs an act of catharsis much like that which a person who is constipated must initiate. In the end, (no pun intended) the results are the same; the senses become painfully aware when there is relief. Innocence is irrelevant, and cause and effect are just what they are—necessary.