How does the structure of Dear America work to maximise the emotional impact on the reader?
As a compilation of various letters written by a range of participants in the Vietnam War, one could expect Dear America to be erratic and detached in its depiction of the experience. However, the editor, Bernard Edelman, has been able to structure a selection of letters into a format that works to maximise the emotional impact of the text on the reader. He presents multiple narratives with the polyphony of voices at his disposal, allowing the reader to understand the diversity of feelings and opinions that people have felt in terms of the Vietnam War. By maintaining a focus on the soldiers as the central characters in the text, he highlights the raw reality of their combat experience to heighten the reader’s awareness of the physical and psychological toll this war exacted all around them.
The arrangement of letters in Dear America is very calculated. They are positioned in such a way as to make the reader empathise with the situation of the soldiers. Edelman comments, ‘chapters suggested themselves…into a sequence that would relate a year’s tour in Vietnam’. The chapter titles work on a metaphorical level to show the reader that the soldiers are involved in an intimate, humanistic relationship with the war. From their first encounters as ‘Cherries’ they travel through a series of pivotal moments akin to those of a disastrous romantic relationship. As a ‘cherry’ George Olsen comments to Red, ‘…I really loused up…I was afraid’. A little time later, in ‘Humping the Boonies’, he reflects that during a battle he found ‘The whole thing…morbidly fascinating…I was never scared…which scares me now’. Yet, further into the text, in ‘Beyond The Body Count’, the fact that it ‘is so very easy to kill in war’ makes him ‘more afraid [than] you’ve ever been in your life’. The likening of the soldiers’ encounters in Vietnam to the ups and downs of a volatile romance and the loss of innocence that is associated with that certainly achieves Edelman’s goal to ‘amplify the human dimensions of Vietnam experiences’. The fact he has been able to do this enables the reader to transpose their own knowledge of human suffering towards the situations of the soldiers so as to better understand their experiences.
To further enhance the reader’s ability to connect to the situation of the Vietnam War emotionally, Edelman has decided to include photographs within the compilation of Dear America. Photographs by Larry Burrows, Mark Jury and Edelman appear on the front cover and at the beginning of each chapter right before an introductory exposition that works to set the scene for each selection of letters. For the most part the photographs provide a human face for the reader to consider as they encounter the letters that follow. For example, the shot of a grim faced soldier wearing a bullet necklace with a rifle thrown over his soldier is juxtaposed against the peace emblem he sports emblazoned prominently on his helmet. The exposition imparts, ‘Any impression that those who fought in Vietnam were in universal agreement with its justification or its conduct is false’. This introduction to the chapter entitled ‘What Am I doing Here?’ positions the reader to closely sympathise with the ‘frustration’ and ‘bitterness’ a broad section of contemporary society felt towards the West’s involvement in the Vietnam War. Remember, many of the soldiers who fought in Vietnam were there subject to conscription. Edelman has been judicious in his selection of images, consciously choosing a number of pictures that will make readers think of their sons, brothers, nephews, cousins and friends. The reader loses objectivity as they read each letter with a personal response, imagining someone they love and know being in the position of the letter writer.
Edelman has ensured the human cost of the war is reiterated throughout the entirety of the text. An amalgamation of voices that are both fleeting and enduring in the text work to exhibit to the reader the fickle nature of war and how, whether a soldier survived service or was killed in action, their legacy of pain and anguish continues. Edelman does not ignore the voices of those left at ‘home’ or for whom home was Vietnam. The juxtaposition of three letters by first time fathers within the chapter ‘We Gotta Get Out Of This Place’ rams home to the reader the extent of despair that war can render to whole families. The poignancy of the last letter written by Marine 2Lt. Tyrone Pannell to his ‘Dear Tracey’ who ‘More than anything I want … to know me and love me’ wrenches at the reader’s guts. When they read in the biographical notes that ‘He was killed on 30 November 1965…24…Tracy…[is] now a student at Stanford University’ they put themselves in her shoes, imagining the impact of the loss of one’s father on someone’s life. The reader is further extended by Edelman’s choice of letters to consider the plight of the South Vietnamese. Though there is much denigration of the Vietnamese and the ‘invisible enemy’ by some soldiers, numerous letter writers express concern for the civilians. One soldier tells his Ma, ‘There are a few kids … with no parents … I hope that’s one reason why we’re here, to secure a future for them. It seems to be the only justification … for the things that I have done!’ Edelman has been able to expose the reader to an array of characters through the relationships the soldiers maintained and discussed in their letters. As the reader deals with the text they are involved in these relationships and become witnesses to the sorrow that has manifested due to the war and continues to echo ever since. In fact, they are employed by the text to be an element of that sorrowful echo.
Furthermore, in Dear America Edelman has incorporated within the overarching plot some sub-plots particular to certain soldiers to ensure the reader is taken on a narrative journey that can deliver to them the level of emotional impact that is needed to in some way grasp an understanding of the traumas endured. The letters and a dream list written by Alan Brudno during his seven and half years being held as a prisoner of war have been presented in the text as photocopies of the original. These are the only letters presented in such a way and it is obvious Edelman expects the reader to connect to Brudno on a special level. In between Brudno’s letters to his wife and his dream list, Edelman shares his biographical details. He reveals to the reader that ‘four months after his release and one day before his 33rd birthday, Major Brudno committed suicide’. This delivers an affronting emotional blow to the reader, especially as it occurs in the latter stages of the text. By this stage the reader has established a closeness with the soldiers through the contact they have had in reading their personal letters home. The disclosure of a suicide at this point catches the reader at a time when they will be most vulnerable to the grief such news elicits. Edelman also manipulates the reader’s feelings in the case of Fred Downs. Downs is the author of multiple letters to his wife Linda. His letters strongly convey his love for his family. He writes, ‘When it got bad, I thought of you and the kids and it got better’. Edelman uses the biographical notes on Downs strategically, feeding the reader new details about his life as they read through his letters. This works to heighten a sense of disbelief and grief when, at the end of his second last letter, they are told Fred and Linda have ‘since divorced’.
The letter by Eleanor Wimbish to her dead son Bill, features as the epilogue to the text. Edelman has exhibited it as a stand alone letter to enhance the impact it makes on the reader and finish the compilation with a moving ending. The letter takes the reader ‘home’, after the war, and leaves them to consider how, as one soldier put it, ‘The Vietnam war will never end’. The photograph accompanying the epilogue is the only one in the text that is not a portrait, instead it is of some of the many names that adorn the ‘Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington’. Wimbish’s letter was discovered left next to her son’s name on the wall. The magnitude of the death toll is exemplified to the reader by this image, then the ‘World of Hurt’ that the war has created is entrenched in the reader’s psyche through Wimbish’s address to her son. She ponders, ‘…I wonder if anyone ever stops to realize the that next to your name, on this black wall, is your mother’s heart…broken…when you lost your life in Vietnam’. At this query the reader is drawn to commiserate with Wimbish, they are aware of and share in her pain. Though it is not only her pain they are drawn to recognise. Due to Edelman’s placement of the memorial image, they are subtly led to acknowledge the breadth of grief established by the Vietnam War.
The structure of Dear America is deliberately designed to maximise the emotional impact of the text on the reader. Edelman organises the text to exploit the emotional vulnerabilities of readers. Though it is a text that falls into the war genre Edelman makes it accessible by ensuring the human element of the conflict is at the fore of the representation. Poetry by the soldiers adds to this, one expresses, ‘We suffer in agony, as women, In labour. But we die with the birth, for Our child is war’. Readers are able to convey their own life experience alongside the stories of the soldiers. Though it might rarely be comparable to the ordeals of the soldiers it enables them to sympathise and view their torment with compassion.
As a compilation of various letters written by a range of participants in the Vietnam War, one could expect Dear America to be erratic and detached in its depiction of the experience. However, the editor, Bernard Edelman, has been able to structure a selection of letters into a format that works to maximise the emotional impact of the text on the reader. He presents multiple narratives with the polyphony of voices at his disposal, allowing the reader to understand the diversity of feelings and opinions that people have felt in terms of the Vietnam War. By maintaining a focus on the soldiers as the central characters in the text, he highlights the raw reality of their combat experience to heighten the reader’s awareness of the physical and psychological toll this war exacted all around them.
The arrangement of letters in Dear America is very calculated. They are positioned in such a way as to make the reader empathise with the situation of the soldiers. Edelman comments, ‘chapters suggested themselves…into a sequence that would relate a year’s tour in Vietnam’. The chapter titles work on a metaphorical level to show the reader that the soldiers are involved in an intimate, humanistic relationship with the war. From their first encounters as ‘Cherries’ they travel through a series of pivotal moments akin to those of a disastrous romantic relationship. As a ‘cherry’ George Olsen comments to Red, ‘…I really loused up…I was afraid’. A little time later, in ‘Humping the Boonies’, he reflects that during a battle he found ‘The whole thing…morbidly fascinating…I was never scared…which scares me now’. Yet, further into the text, in ‘Beyond The Body Count’, the fact that it ‘is so very easy to kill in war’ makes him ‘more afraid [than] you’ve ever been in your life’. The likening of the soldiers’ encounters in Vietnam to the ups and downs of a volatile romance and the loss of innocence that is associated with that certainly achieves Edelman’s goal to ‘amplify the human dimensions of Vietnam experiences’. The fact he has been able to do this enables the reader to transpose their own knowledge of human suffering towards the situations of the soldiers so as to better understand their experiences.
To further enhance the reader’s ability to connect to the situation of the Vietnam War emotionally, Edelman has decided to include photographs within the compilation of Dear America. Photographs by Larry Burrows, Mark Jury and Edelman appear on the front cover and at the beginning of each chapter right before an introductory exposition that works to set the scene for each selection of letters. For the most part the photographs provide a human face for the reader to consider as they encounter the letters that follow. For example, the shot of a grim faced soldier wearing a bullet necklace with a rifle thrown over his soldier is juxtaposed against the peace emblem he sports emblazoned prominently on his helmet. The exposition imparts, ‘Any impression that those who fought in Vietnam were in universal agreement with its justification or its conduct is false’. This introduction to the chapter entitled ‘What Am I doing Here?’ positions the reader to closely sympathise with the ‘frustration’ and ‘bitterness’ a broad section of contemporary society felt towards the West’s involvement in the Vietnam War. Remember, many of the soldiers who fought in Vietnam were there subject to conscription. Edelman has been judicious in his selection of images, consciously choosing a number of pictures that will make readers think of their sons, brothers, nephews, cousins and friends. The reader loses objectivity as they read each letter with a personal response, imagining someone they love and know being in the position of the letter writer.
Edelman has ensured the human cost of the war is reiterated throughout the entirety of the text. An amalgamation of voices that are both fleeting and enduring in the text work to exhibit to the reader the fickle nature of war and how, whether a soldier survived service or was killed in action, their legacy of pain and anguish continues. Edelman does not ignore the voices of those left at ‘home’ or for whom home was Vietnam. The juxtaposition of three letters by first time fathers within the chapter ‘We Gotta Get Out Of This Place’ rams home to the reader the extent of despair that war can render to whole families. The poignancy of the last letter written by Marine 2Lt. Tyrone Pannell to his ‘Dear Tracey’ who ‘More than anything I want … to know me and love me’ wrenches at the reader’s guts. When they read in the biographical notes that ‘He was killed on 30 November 1965…24…Tracy…[is] now a student at Stanford University’ they put themselves in her shoes, imagining the impact of the loss of one’s father on someone’s life. The reader is further extended by Edelman’s choice of letters to consider the plight of the South Vietnamese. Though there is much denigration of the Vietnamese and the ‘invisible enemy’ by some soldiers, numerous letter writers express concern for the civilians. One soldier tells his Ma, ‘There are a few kids … with no parents … I hope that’s one reason why we’re here, to secure a future for them. It seems to be the only justification … for the things that I have done!’ Edelman has been able to expose the reader to an array of characters through the relationships the soldiers maintained and discussed in their letters. As the reader deals with the text they are involved in these relationships and become witnesses to the sorrow that has manifested due to the war and continues to echo ever since. In fact, they are employed by the text to be an element of that sorrowful echo.
Furthermore, in Dear America Edelman has incorporated within the overarching plot some sub-plots particular to certain soldiers to ensure the reader is taken on a narrative journey that can deliver to them the level of emotional impact that is needed to in some way grasp an understanding of the traumas endured. The letters and a dream list written by Alan Brudno during his seven and half years being held as a prisoner of war have been presented in the text as photocopies of the original. These are the only letters presented in such a way and it is obvious Edelman expects the reader to connect to Brudno on a special level. In between Brudno’s letters to his wife and his dream list, Edelman shares his biographical details. He reveals to the reader that ‘four months after his release and one day before his 33rd birthday, Major Brudno committed suicide’. This delivers an affronting emotional blow to the reader, especially as it occurs in the latter stages of the text. By this stage the reader has established a closeness with the soldiers through the contact they have had in reading their personal letters home. The disclosure of a suicide at this point catches the reader at a time when they will be most vulnerable to the grief such news elicits. Edelman also manipulates the reader’s feelings in the case of Fred Downs. Downs is the author of multiple letters to his wife Linda. His letters strongly convey his love for his family. He writes, ‘When it got bad, I thought of you and the kids and it got better’. Edelman uses the biographical notes on Downs strategically, feeding the reader new details about his life as they read through his letters. This works to heighten a sense of disbelief and grief when, at the end of his second last letter, they are told Fred and Linda have ‘since divorced’.
The letter by Eleanor Wimbish to her dead son Bill, features as the epilogue to the text. Edelman has exhibited it as a stand alone letter to enhance the impact it makes on the reader and finish the compilation with a moving ending. The letter takes the reader ‘home’, after the war, and leaves them to consider how, as one soldier put it, ‘The Vietnam war will never end’. The photograph accompanying the epilogue is the only one in the text that is not a portrait, instead it is of some of the many names that adorn the ‘Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington’. Wimbish’s letter was discovered left next to her son’s name on the wall. The magnitude of the death toll is exemplified to the reader by this image, then the ‘World of Hurt’ that the war has created is entrenched in the reader’s psyche through Wimbish’s address to her son. She ponders, ‘…I wonder if anyone ever stops to realize the that next to your name, on this black wall, is your mother’s heart…broken…when you lost your life in Vietnam’. At this query the reader is drawn to commiserate with Wimbish, they are aware of and share in her pain. Though it is not only her pain they are drawn to recognise. Due to Edelman’s placement of the memorial image, they are subtly led to acknowledge the breadth of grief established by the Vietnam War.
The structure of Dear America is deliberately designed to maximise the emotional impact of the text on the reader. Edelman organises the text to exploit the emotional vulnerabilities of readers. Though it is a text that falls into the war genre Edelman makes it accessible by ensuring the human element of the conflict is at the fore of the representation. Poetry by the soldiers adds to this, one expresses, ‘We suffer in agony, as women, In labour. But we die with the birth, for Our child is war’. Readers are able to convey their own life experience alongside the stories of the soldiers. Though it might rarely be comparable to the ordeals of the soldiers it enables them to sympathise and view their torment with compassion.
What does juxtaposition mean?
ReplyDeleteVery nice! Thanks for the ideas :)
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