100 Books Like The Infirmary

Imagine seeing a Monarch butterfly suspended in midair—seemingly floating—as you walked down a jungle path as a soldier in Vietnam, but then quickly realizing that it’s no apparition—the butterfly is perched on a tripwire.

These are some of the arresting and unforgettable images from Komunyakaa’s book. I have taught this many times, and students come away in awe. I love how the book touches on soldiering, war, race, and memory—all in all, it interrogates what it means to “remember” the dead.

I love this book because it’s a beautiful and honest reckoning with what it means to serve, particularly as an enlisted American soldier in Vietnam. Weigl focuses on combat, homecoming, the horror faced by civilians, and he does it with a subtle plainspoken language that draws in every reader.

The images are remarkably stark and fresh; each poem also carries an undercurrent of sonic attention, a musicality that limns the harsher moments of the book—hence, that “Song” of Napalm.

I love these passionate and powerful poems by a former Navy SEAL who served in Vietnam.

Hood uses humor, wit, and an attention to the world—both in combat and back home—that’s unlike much “war” poetry out there. He takes us into what he calls “the dark of the word” and brings us out to the light.

Few books capture such a down-to-earth, colloquial, and plainspoken voice—Casey’s book won the Yale Younger Series, and one can see why.

These poems seem elusively simple on the surface, as if a young soldier is just speaking to you at a bar or on a street corner; however, they capture, overall, a cacophony of voices that probe the depths of war, soldiering, humanity, and memory.

As Tom took Basic Combat Training, learning to become an infantryman and kill, his religious beliefs would not allow him to kill. He applied for conscientious objector status, but he wound up in Vietnam where he worked as a clerk at the sprawling Long Binh Post. He is treated as a coward and faces criminal charges, but he keeps his faith. As a Christian, this book helped me come to grips with my military time, not wanting to kill, and fortunately, I never had to.

Randy was a military policeman with the 615th MP Company in Vietnam in 1967, The 615th patrolled the entire Long Binh complex, which was approximately 50 miles around, with over 30,000 men stationed on the post. His letters offered the reader an honest appraisal of the life of a Military Policeman 10,000 miles from home.

I recommend this book because my author friend, John Schembra, and I served together in Vietnam. He drew on his experiences to write a wonderful novel about the Military Police in Long Binh/Bien Hoa during the Tet Offensive in 1968, The reader is taken back to that war with believable characters, historical settings, and a great plot. Reading his book helped me write my story, set during the actual time we were there. He helped teach me how to write.

Before traveling to Vietnam, I read this historical novel that profoundly shaped my experience. Trekking through jungle paths, I felt the emotional horror the author described. I empathized with her isolation upon returning home, rejected as a pariah.

Today’s Vietnam is vastly different, leaving me with complex emotions—understanding both the veterans who served there and the resilient people I met. The book deepened my appreciation for Vietnam’s modern philosophy: always looking forward, never backward- a good philosophy for everyone.

This is a useful book to understand the basic problems and achievements of a socialist country’s move towards a globalized and free market system.

This book is a version of the authors’ previous work published by the South East Asia Institute. As a contribution to the specific theme, it first provides a description of Vietnam’s reforms and development. It also discusses a number of special features of this policy, including outcomes, pro and con analysis, and obstacles. 

This book describes two enduring American conceits so brilliantly that I assigned this book in classes whenever I could. The first conceit is ‘enabling ignorance.’  Could there be a more apt description for how we undermined our own efforts in Afghanistan and Iraq? I love this term. His second concept I love is solipsism.

Baritz uses this to refer to our misplaced notion that inside every non-Westerner is an American just waiting to be liberated by us. I remember a very reserved Pakistani Air Force officer who laughed uncontrollably in class as soon as I suggested that if only we unzipped him, his inner American would burst forth. His mirth perfectly underscored Baritz’s point.