Norman Bowker's loneliness in "Speaking of Courage" could be almost felt. The whole chapter is an apostrophe, as he holds conversations about how he almost won the Silver Star for valor with Sally and his father, people who are not there. As he drives through his hometown, I found it pitiful that he described it as a "place [that] looked as if it had been hit be nerve gas, everything still and lifeless, even the people. The town could not talk, and would not listen" (page 137). The tone of this whole chapter is somber and lonely, leading up to Bowker's suicide. He feels like no one will listen as he goes through the drive-through or describes his father as someone "who had his own war and who now preferred silence" (page 141).
"The field was boiling," "he heard the valves of his heart," "the smell," "bubbles where Kiowa's head should've been." What a nightmare! These men see so much and then must return home to a town or city clueless of their struggles; "they wanted good intentions and good deeds" (page 143) not descriptions on the smell or death of a friend. Valor is the only thing Norman Bowker thinks the people will care about; therefore, everything else is pointless.
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