832 O’Brien, Tim
mind of Paul Berlin, recounting an improbable
escape from war, the rest of the story is rooted in the
wartime reality of boredom and random violence. In
both the imagined world and perhaps actual world
of the war, Berlin’s ideas about heroism are persis-
tently shaken. References to combat medals, valor,
and strength remind the reader that the romantic
notion of wartime sacrifice and success may yield
to a more basic notion of what it means to be a hero.
In chapter 2 of the novel, Berlin stands watch
at the observation post and begins to consider the
desertion of Cacciato. He thinks about Cacciato’s
flight and wonders whether it was “courage or igno-
rance, or both” that made the young soldier think he
could make a trek from Vietnam to Paris. “Was it
even possible,” Berlin wonders, “to combine courage
and ignorance?” This question in itself gets to the
heart of Berlin’s—and the reader’s—contemplation
of heroism. A war is supposed to be the proving
ground for heroes, and the traditional notion of a
hero involves conscious, purposeful action in the
face of danger. Berlin is all too aware that he lives in
a world of confusion and ignorance of “what hap-
pened and what might have happened,” which rules
out an easy path to heroism.
Before the war, Berlin’s notions of being a sol-
dier might have leaned toward the traditional or
romantic. Once in Vietnam, he tries to imagine a
heroic return to his home in Fort Dodge, where
he would step down from the train, “brush off
his uniform and be certain all the medals were in
place,” and look his father in the eye with pride.
Berlin attempts to hold on to this fleeting image
of heroism. Even as he experiences the boredom of
the war and the intermittent fear, he believes in the
possibility that somewhere inside himself there was
perhaps a “chemical maybe, or a lone chromosome”
that would allow him a moment of valor. Heroism is
something, Berlin begins to feel, that must be inher-
ent, partly because he cannot reconcile the image of
his own success with his own uncontrollable fear.
Despite this—irrationally or hopefully—he is sure
that “there was a Silver Star twinkling somewhere
inside him.”
While heroism as pure force of will does not fit
with the reality of Vietnam, neither does the genetic
option. If heroism is strictly biological, it is almost
as random as the deaths that are listed at the start
of the novel. The places where Berlin does manage
control or courage in the real world of war offer
a much more ordinary and modest view of hero-
ism. His “only goal is to simply live long enough to
have a goal”—a seemingly less than heroic aim. In
fact, even in his imagined expedition to Paris, as he
watches Stink Harris empty his rifle into the sides of
a water buffalo, he shows willpower only in his “rare
courage to peek.” This action, so small and seem-
ingly inconsequential, at least represents something
conscious, something that is an outward exhibition
of his power over fear. But even if fear is overcome
and the daily job of the war is accomplished, the
effort, like clearing a tunnel, may lead to more
deaths than it prevents. Why, through effort or biol-
ogy, should this fear be overcome in the first place?
In his thoughts, Paul Berlin moves away from a
belief in heroism. He understands that the time he
came closest to winning a Silver Star was the time
that Bernie Lynn instead won the medal by going
down to clear a tunnel and dying in the process. The
purpose of being a hero escapes Paul Berlin. When
his companion Sarkin Aung Wan asks him earnestly
who Eisenhower was, Berlin replies, “Nobody . . . A
hero.” The word is no longer significant. At the same
time, one of the novel’s final scenes, the final con-
frontation with Cacciato at a hotel in Paris, offers
one final possibility for being a hero. Before the
group enters Cacciato’s room, Oscar hands Berlin a
rifle, saying, “heroes first.” Seconds later, “the shining
Silver Star was gone,” and all romantic heroism has
vanished. But this moment in the novel is the place
where Berlin, in his imagination, tries to face the
truth about what happened during his time at the
front—what happened during the real hunt for Cac-
ciato. By the end of the novel, heroism is exemplified
in the mental act of finding a way to face the truth.
Brian ChanenSur vIvaL in Going after Cacciato
The opening of Going after Cacciato is a matter-of-
fact list of the soldiers in Paul Berlin’s platoon who
have died. From the men who have died of fright to
those who died in tunnels or in undescribed ways,
these men are the people Berlin knows who did not
survive. The focus, however, quickly shifts to the