Life is a tale told by an idiot--full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Graham Green’s The Quite American is one of those rare, indescribable pieces of literature that works its inexplicable magic on the reader leaving him or her with a lasting sense of having experienced, not just read, something truly great. The novel works on so many different levels summing up geopolitical ethics, raw human emotion ranging from murder to romance, and the struggle for a differentiation between good and evil – a differentiation that remains unstable in the realms of politics and human emotions. The backdrop is a war torn Vietnam, the story is one of conflict but not just the conflict of war --- who’s right and who’s wrong --- who’s the hero and who’s the enemy --- but of two men and their representations of two idealisms that, in the end, are proven by an ever cynical Green to be fatally flawed. The story is multi-layered, plot piled on subplot, ranging from a simple triumvirate of unrequited love to terrorism in the name of democracy to colonialism disguised behind neutrality. Simply told, this is a tale that has it all. Each reader will find his or her niche in the tapestry of the story, coming away with old idealisms spun in a modern light, exposed by the harsh rays of realism to enlighten the reader and make him or her truly think, not just about politics, or even about the rights and wrongs of what has become known as a debacle of a war, but about the essence of human nature and just how far you can “justify” doing “the right thing.”

At this point, I feel that a confession is necessary: I hate politics, fuss whenever my parents turn to what I not so kindly call “that odiferous pile of excrement” called the news channel, and I roll my eyes like only a teenager can whenever anyone mentions politics interjecting that politics are boring and only suitable for people who still think rock music is not “hip” --- so when my history professor forced me to read this, I got my poison pen humming and ready --- only to discover that despite my desire to hate this novel, I loved it. Not only did I love it, but it actually opened my eyes, changed my perspective on a wide spectrum of topics. Yes, the novel is about Vietnam, on the surface, but beneath the top story is a deeper one, the history of mankind. This isn’t boring old politics, not the way Green presents it, this is the human drama or tragedy. This is what happens when idealisms clash, when “Third Forces” promise naïve youth freedom and really offer death, oppression, and terrorism. This is how the world works, whether or not it’s pretty, it’s true. Green’s book is a slap in the face to stupid know-it-alls like yours truly. No, life isn’t black and white and sometimes when people misunderstand, when emotion gets in the way, when governments promise things, when arrogant, jaded journalists sit on the fence too long --- people get hurt, countries get hurt, the world gets hurt. And here’s the kicker, here’s the thing that Green wanted the viewer to walk away with, it’s still happening and it won’t stop. There are none so blind as those who will not see. Everyone should be forced to read this.

And, for the sentimentalists among you, those who like a bit of romance stirred in with lashings of murder and mayhem that necessitates modern geopolitical alignments, Green delivers here too, but not in the way you think. Like the war, the romance is a grand form of symbolism too. The women, Phuong, like her people is torn between two warring devils, the weary colonialists, battle hardened and satisfied by their opium pipes and liquor, and the crashing enthusiasm of the neocolonialism labeled under the guise of democracy. Phuong, deliberately a silent figure, a shadow of a fleeting specter has, like her people given in to the sickness of war and is simply looking for the option that is, at least, most conducive to her current situation. We so often forget, don’t we, how war (real war, living in it daily where the bombs aren’t exploding on TV but in your backyard) can desensitize, devastate, and destroy that purportedly indomitable spirit that we humans claim but so often seem to lack when the chips are down. With every word, every pen stroke and period, Green wills you to think and think hard. He won’t paint you the pretty picture you want to see, but he will paint you a picture that you can never forget.

But, on a more shallow level, the novel posses that certain charm that all audiences ranging from the dedicated bibliophile to the infrequent reader, applaud --- tension mixed expertly with a brew of unpredictability and volatile emotions which, like a mad scientist’s most favored project, is sure to explode in a glorious conflagration of a conclusion leaving the reader slack jawed and wide eyed. Add to this a brilliantly evocative writing style and a penchant for emotional shock value, and the intoxication of the brew rivals that of the Vietnamese’s prized opium. Bravo once again Green, you have succeeded in not only making the reader think, but in keeping them captivated as well! Who could ask for more?

The characterization is superbly implemented and, like the withering Phuong, Fowler and Pyle (our two warring anti-heroes) are as flawed as their idealisms. Unbeknownst to each, they are symbols for their dying systems. Neither character is especially sympathetic because, in real life, real people aren’t always quite so perfect as these fictionalized paragons that the public have come to expect. We have no Anita Blake, fraught with minor flaws but otherwise strung with a stream of superhuman perfections and a super sensitivity to ethicality and a penchant for saving the world without messing up her hair. We have real people who are believable and while we love them at times, we hate them at other times because in them, we see a mirror image of what is wrong with us. This is real characterization because like real people, Fowler and Pyle have real dilemmas, real problems, real personality flaws, and real emotions. We bleed for them and we hate them at the same time. Like real people, they are inherently flawed and, to varying extents, deluded by what they want to hear. The burning question is, will either of them wake from this stupor in the end? Perhaps so, but what tangle of thorns will this awakening necessitate. In this lies the beauty and the tragedy of the conclusion.

But, alas, one caveat, one hairline flaw in an otherwise stellar production: Green presumes that the reader has a great degree of prior knowledge concerning the vying factions in Vietnam during the Vietnam War. I was prepared to read about America’s struggle against the guerrilla forces of the Viet-Cong, not about “The Third Force,” the French involvement, the Cadoists, the communists, and various other political factions that paraded before my confused eyes. However, from context details, background guessing, and a burning adoration of the novel, I was able to piece together the essentials.

Green also relied heavily on implication, forcing the reader to deduce from context clues and guarded conversations which character was aligned with the communists, the cadoists, the Third Force, or otherwise. The obvious problem with such an approach is that the reader’s “guessing” might be utterly fallacious, invariably leading to confusion and the occasional bought of frustration. Luckily, this “flaw”, if one wishes to put such a harsh label on such a classic work, is only as detrimental as the reader allows. It really all depends on how much you, the reader, personally know about the various affiliations, both terrorist and otherwise, in Vietnam at the time and how much background information you are willing to research. Needless to say, a history enthusiast will get far more out of the novel than someone like myself. But, considering that my political knowledge is about as highly developed as that half-dead shrub at the end of your driveway, and that I was still able to comprehend the “big picture” Green presented, this minor blemish need not deter future readers.

To end my review, at the ending of my review, I can only simply state that what Green so eloquently, so compellingly, so emotionally presented was no mere story, a paperback meant to be read before bed and then tossed in the corner forgotten until the next moment of tedium, but this is another To Kill a Mocking Bird another book that will change your perspective. My history professor did me a great service and I would like to pass on the gift. Unequivocally recommended to everyone. A must read that will never leave you.


Countess_Eva


I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; A stage where every man must play a part, And mine is a sad one

The review title and above quote was taken from William Shakespeare (who really just stole the idea from me)