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Saturday, June 21, 2014

Yellow Birds by Kevin Powers

If you haven't had a chance to read Yellow Birds yet, this is one to put on the top of your reading list. The story features two raw recruits--Murph and Bart who her deployed to Al Tafar, Iraq.


Both are from the "sticks," as they call it, and both are searching for meaning and adventure, wrongly thinking they can find that by enlisting.

They fall under the spell of Sargent Sterling, a hero of the first Gulf War. Sterling is a warrior so perfect that commanders want to put him on recruitment posters.  Bart soon discovers Sterling's darker side.

Bart's world start crashing the minute he promises Murph's mother he will look after Murph who is only 18. Sterling immediately tells him the bitter truth: "People are going to die...It's statistics."

Throughout the novel, individuals do not want to be responsible for anyone else. Even though Sterling says these are "his" men--he trains and prepares them for battle--he does not want to be responsible for their psychological state.

After Murph goes AWOL, Sterling and Bart take matters in their own hands. Both become entangled by a futile and morally dubious attempt to "fix" the situation.

The Yellow Birds will soon be a movie. 

I Think Continuously of Those Who Were Truly Great

I think continually of those who were truly great.
Who, from the womb, remembered the soul's history
Through corridors of light where the hours are suns
Endless and singing. Whose lovely ambition
Was that their lips, still touched with fire,
Should tell of the Spirit clothed from head to foot in song.
And who hoarded from the Spring branches
The desires falling across their bodies like blossoms.

What is precious is never to forget
The essential delight of the blood drawn from ageless springs
Breaking through rocks in worlds before our earth.
Never to deny its pleasure in the morning simple light
Nor its grave evening demand for love.
Never to allow gradually the traffic to smother
With noise and fog the flowering of the spirit.

Near the snow, near the sun, in the highest fields
See how these names are feted by the waving grass
And by the streamers of white cloud
And whispers of wind in the listening sky.
The names of those who in their lives fought for life
Who wore at their hearts the fire's centre.
Born of the sun they travelled a short while towards the sun,
And left the vivid air signed with their honour. 

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