Challengind Expectations

“What historical a priori provided the starting-point from which it was possible to define the great checkerboard of distinct identities established against the confused, undefined, faceless, and, as it were, indifferent background of differences?” (Foucault) Almost each and every one of us has the same default of resorting to predetermined expectations on whatever we encounter. Whether concerning a country and its customs or a certain type of story and the way it is told, we’re very confident (as far, sometimes, as feeling like experts) in what we know of a subject based on past personal experience in and previously gained knowledge of that subject.

We assume we can predict how a tale will unfold based on what genre it falls under. We do this by relying on memories of texts we had read or films we had seen which were of the genre. Using these, we are able to identify a story in terms of what category it is affiliated to. We have the experience, ergo we know what to expect. “Clearly one needs to encounter sufficient examples of a genre in order to recognize shared features as being characteristic of it.” (Chandler) But, no matter the nature of our assumptions, we must be ready to bend them at any given time in case new knowledge is brought into the fray. An author might surprise us by adding elements to a genre such has had never been used before in that genre. These changes may forever morph our previous assumptions, one might even say evolving them, adapting them to the new elements.

If someone told you you were about to read a war story, you’d probably expect to find dramatic battle scenes; soldiers charging into the field, weapons blazing; a bloody carnage parade; and, of course, triumph over adversity. Upon reading O’Brien, you’ll find nothing of the sort. The three short tales present war stories from a new psychological perspective. He recounts not the conflict, but what happens in between. For instance, what happened when things quieted down (“I remember Mitchell Sanders sitting quietly in the shade of an old banyan tree… I remember Norman Bowker and Henry Dobbins playing checkers every evening before dark…”) or in the aftermath of something truly atrocious. THE MAN I KILLED displays a soldier’s remorse over killing a man in such a realistically detailed yet abstract way, giving us a glimpse of what’s going on in his mind, the jumbled thoughts all running over each other at once, all concerning the man he had just gunned down (“…So yes, maybe a scholar. And for years, despite his family’s poverty, the man I killed would have been determined to continue his education in mathematics”). It put me in a state I didn’t really fully expect to be in upon reading a tale of the war genre.