Recent Reading: Nam and Neuroscience

As noted recently, my recent reading time has been somewhat compromised by devotion to grappling with vegetation and such. I was on a pretty good roll until May came along.

But one setback was my determination to read Matterhorn, reportedly a classic, possibly the classic novel based on the Viet Nam war. I encountered a review in the Times or somewhere recently, and the description and idea it was the work of a NW resident got my interest.

It was indeed a great read. I am not a big fan of war tales. I did read Pharaoh's Army recently, motivated largely by my appreciation for the other Tobias Wolff I have read (another local lad). This was different, besides being far longer. Gripping, gritty, and fascinating, one unusual aspect a blunt handling of the racial division in the Marines:

In 2009, Karl Marlantes was on the verge of publishing a novel he'd worked on for 30 years when a stroke of luck stopped the presses.

Yes, that's right: For the Woodinville author, it was a lucky break when his small West Coast publisher, El Leon Literary Arts, put on the brakes after selling a modest number of copies. Barnes & Noble had selected the book as part of its Discover New Writers program, and El Leon needed some time to find a partner to handle the demand.

So, a year and some editing changes later, "Matterhorn," a definitive novel of the Vietnam War, has finally arrived.

"Matterhorn," which takes its title from the site of a fierce battle that comes at the climax of the book, is written from the same ground's-eye perspective on Vietnam already provided by movies like Oliver Stone's "Platoon" and Michael Herr's book of front-line reporting, "Dispatches."

But it doesn't simply duplicate them. With unrivaled precision, Marlantes, a decorated combat veteran, has spun the fog and filth of war into an engrossing work of fiction.

The story's central figure is Marlantes' alter ego, a small-town Oregon boy and Ivy League grad named Waino Mellas. As a second lieutenant in the Marines, Mellas is serving a 90-day rotation as a rifle platoon commander — a policy that, he ironically observes, suits the ambitions of a young up-and-comer like himself but ratchets up the risk of fatal error by constantly putting newcomers in charge.

But who said anyone was watching out for the grunts? A continual theme in "Matterhorn" is the idea of incompetence from above that's met by cynicism and acceptance from below. As Mellas is told soon after he arrives, "Things have changed since Truman left. The buck's sent out here now."

This is not an easy book to read. Jungle rot turns hands and feet into a welter of open sores. Food is scarce or consists of canned goods so tasteless that the troops sprinkle them with Tang or lemonade powder.

At one point, the members of Mellas' Bravo Company cough and curse as a plane overhead mistakenly dusts them with Agent Orange. As for the truly heart-stopping moments, "Matterhorn" may be too graphic for some readers.

Through all the lost limbs and lost lives, what's most amazing is how the Marines on the ground remain true to their motto, "semper fi" (always faithful).

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I set aside my reading of Proust Was a Neurosurgeon in favor of Matterhorn, due to intense interest in library on latter and knowledge I could renew former.  But this too was a great read, suggesting the numerous insights on human thinking and brain function discovered and revealed by artists of various sorts prior to their explication by scientists. Quite intriguing. I came upon this one via reviews I get daily via Powell's Books:

Publisher Comments
In this technology-driven age, it’s tempting to believe that science can solve every mystery. After all, science has cured countless diseases and even sent humans into space. But as Jonah Lehrer argues in this sparkling debut, science is not the only path to knowledge. In fact, when it comes to understanding the brain, art got there first.

Taking a group of artists — a painter, a poet, a chef, a composer, and a handful of novelists — Lehrer shows how each one discovered an essential truth about the mind that science is only now rediscovering. We learn, for example, how Proust first revealed the fallibility of memory; how George Eliot discovered the brain’s malleability; how the French chef Escoffier discovered umami (the fifth taste); how Cézanne worked out the subtleties of vision; and how Gertrude Stein exposed the deep structure of language — a full half-century before the work of Noam Chomsky and other linguists. It’s the ultimate tale of art trumping science.

More broadly, Lehrer shows that there’s a cost to reducing everything to atoms and acronyms and genes. Measurement is not the same as understanding, and art knows this better than science does. An ingenious blend of biography, criticism, and first-rate science writing, Proust Was a Neuroscientist urges science and art to listen more closely to each other, for willing minds can combine the best of both, to brilliant effect.

Review
His book marks the arrival of an important new thinker, who finds in the science and the arts wonder and beauty, and with equal confidence says wise and fresh things about both.
(Los Angeles Times Book Review)

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