Within the writing of Tim O’Brien’s novel, The Things They Carried, he often uses the contradiction of topics or actions to emphasize their importance. He pairs ideas that are centralized around silence and speech to add value to what is said or not said and/or to emphasize the action associated with the silence or speech. O’Brien masters literary elements like mood and tense while portraying the contrast. Although this contrast is present throughout the book, it is most prominent in storylines included in “The Man I Killed”, “On the Rainy River”, and “Speaking of Courage.” The most prominent account in which O’Brien uses speech in contrast to silence to add value to the subject can be seen in the interaction between Kiowa, Tim, and the corpse
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Years after returning from the Vietnam War, the reader witnesses Norman Bowker’s reflection on the death of his comrade Kiowa. As the chapter progresses, we see Bowker’s guilt unfold. He talks of his inaction at the time of the event almost vaguely, as if to distance himself from its end. He circles around the idea of the event as a story, and, as culture goes, stories are meant to be told. O’Brien writes that Bowker “imagined the feel of his tongue against the truth” (136). Bowker creates a sort of outline for his story, that is presented to the reader by O’Brien. He states that he would have “in a soft voice, without flourishes, … told the exact truth” (141). O’Brien also adds to the mood of possibility and pensiveness through the conditional tense of the piece, by talking about what Bowker would have done or said. Bowker empathizes with the father of his friend, Max, previously introduced in the chapter, “who had his own war and now preferred silence”, yet goes on to state that “still, there was so much to say” (141). O’Brien shows the reader the inner struggle of Bowker as he debates finally telling his story versus remaining silent as he has since returning. As he pulls up to a fast food restaurant’s intercom, the reader expects the grand unveiling of the story to the unexpecting employee on the other side of the mic, yet no story ever leaves Bowker’s mouth. Bowker states that his story is “a good war story, he thought, but it was not a war for war stories, nor for talk of valor, and nobody in town wanted to know….They wanted good intentions and good deeds” (143). For this reason, Bowker never tells his story, as there is no captivated audience to listen. “There was nothing to say. He could not talk about it and never would.” (147) O’Brien, as an author, creates a scenario in which Bowker’s inaction on the night of Kiowa’s death is congruent
Years after returning from the Vietnam War, the reader witnesses Norman Bowker’s reflection on the death of his comrade Kiowa. As the chapter progresses, we see Bowker’s guilt unfold. He talks of his inaction at the time of the event almost vaguely, as if to distance himself from its end. He circles around the idea of the event as a story, and, as culture goes, stories are meant to be told. O’Brien writes that Bowker “imagined the feel of his tongue against the truth” (136). Bowker creates a sort of outline for his story, that is presented to the reader by O’Brien. He states that he would have “in a soft voice, without flourishes, … told the exact truth” (141). O’Brien also adds to the mood of possibility and pensiveness through the conditional tense of the piece, by talking about what Bowker would have done or said. Bowker empathizes with the father of his friend, Max, previously introduced in the chapter, “who had his own war and now preferred silence”, yet goes on to state that “still, there was so much to say” (141). O’Brien shows the reader the inner struggle of Bowker as he debates finally telling his story versus remaining silent as he has since returning. As he pulls up to a fast food restaurant’s intercom, the reader expects the grand unveiling of the story to the unexpecting employee on the other side of the mic, yet no story ever leaves Bowker’s mouth. Bowker states that his story is “a good war story, he thought, but it was not a war for war stories, nor for talk of valor, and nobody in town wanted to know….They wanted good intentions and good deeds” (143). For this reason, Bowker never tells his story, as there is no captivated audience to listen. “There was nothing to say. He could not talk about it and never would.” (147) O’Brien, as an author, creates a scenario in which Bowker’s inaction on the night of Kiowa’s death is congruent