Poetic Prose

"How do you generalize? War is hell, but that's not the half of it, because war is also mystery and terror and adventure and courage and discovery and holiness and pity and despair and longing and love. War is nasty; war is fun. War is thrilling ; war is drudgery. War makes you a man; war makes you dead." (p. 77)

This passage appears to me to be nearly a poem. With "war is..." as the refrain, I believe in poetic form the passage would look something like this:

How do you generalize? 
War is hell, but that's not the half of it,
because war is also mystery and terror 
and adventure and courage and discovery
and holiness and pity and despair 
and longing and love. 
War is nasty; war is fun.
War is thrilling ; war is drudgery. 
War makes you a man; war makes you dead.

I enjoy the way the repetition gives this passage a different sort of fast paced rhythm that slows at the middle and then speeds up again at the very end. I think these lines more or less summarize the feelings of many on war, although it is ironic because more often than not, when one thinks of war, one doesn't see any beauty in it, only evil and pain and suffering. O'Brien expresses a different view of war, one of interest, beauty, even of love. However, in the end, he comes to the same conclusion as do all, that "war makes you dead." These simple words bring all of the poetic rhythm to a dead halt, a standstill. It is odd that after such a long list of words, more or less without violence, O'Brien's conclusion to this paragraph is the pure and simple truth. The  truth that war is violence, it may do many things, but its root and core will always be violence, destruction, and death. This seems to me to be the root lesson that O'Brien intends to teach throughout the novel. There are things beyond a war, but it will always be war. We must always be able to see all side but never forget the essentials. That is a truly inspiring thought.