Like the hero of All Quiet on the Western Front, the narrator of this bitter, honest account lives the agony of the common soldier. Blood . . . C rations . . . disease . . . courage . . . whores . . . marijuana . . . battle . . . boredom . . . and fear. The confusions of his monk’s cell traded for the harsh truths of a country with villages known as “Dogpatch” and villagers as “dogs.” A slice of hell where nearly new boots are always available outside the surgery door. To survive, a man must first kill the terror within—or he hasn’t a prayer. Not since Johnny Got His Gun has a book so clawed at the reader’s senses, screaming from the page—this is it . . . war . . . This is real
When I was 14 I had a paper route and I loved Wednesdays because that was trash day and that meant the streets were lined with gifts just for me. Suburbanites seemed to love to empty their bookshelves on a weekly basis. I collected all of the James Bond novels, "The Sensuous Man" (A frickin' killer manual for a clueless horny teen, though the "act like your choking on a hot dog to meet a woman" trick reeked of LOSER even at 14), "I Am Legend" and "North Dallas Forty" to name a few. The one book from my paperboy days that I still have is Philip Kingry's Vietnam War novel, "The Monk And The Marines". This novel, written by a former volunteer medic for the Marines, along with "Slaughter-House Five" and "Dispatches" opened my teenage eyes to what war really is.
The book is long out of print, but you can still find a banged up copy here and there on the internet and I don't think Kingry wrote another novel.... a shame.