Reporting For Duty

In his unconventional memoir/diary Just Another Soldier, Jason Hartley paints a fuller picture of himself than most do in such books. His writing, about his tour of duty in Iraq and the training that preceded it, began as a blog, www.justanothersoldier.com (which, incidentally, is an even neater place to visit once you’ve read the book; I wasn’t planning to even look at it until I just typed the web address, and it distracted me from this review for about twenty minutes). He was ordered to take said blog down after being told that it compromised military security and flaunted behavior “unbecoming” of a sergeant. Hartley complied. For a while. The blog reappeared near the end of his tour of duty, after a (rather amusing) execution of “The D.I.E. decision making process: Drink Jim Beam. Intone ‘Fuck it.’ Execute Decision.” This act of rebellion resulted in his demotion, a temporary pay cut, and many, many unpleasant things during his last month in Iraq. Hartley seems not in the least remorseful about it. He shouldn’t be. (I haven’t been able to find any information about what he’s done since returning from his tour in April of 2005.)

The thing that really got me about this book was the extent to which Hartley was willing to tackle the big issues head-on, so that, even if he didn’t have the answers, it was clear that he cared, and that he was thinking. Most memoirs basically follow the pattern, “I did this, and I was just terrible at it, and I did this, and I was really selfish and awful, and I did this other thing, and I was just absolutely fantastic at that, but then I did something else and it was really awful, and….” Hartley is willing to take the wider view, making the book not so much about himself but about the war, and the world. He speaks for every soldier, while simultaneously retaining his own compelling and distinctive voice.

He writes about civilian casualties, how difficult they were at first, how as time went on he became removed from them all. He writes about how, in order to be willing to kill someone, one must be willing to dehumanize the person on the other side of the sights. He follows that declaration up with a short story he wrote from the perspective of an Iraqi, a hypothetical backstory from an ambush they carried out. Open and honest, almost heartbreakingly so, about his desire to make the world a better place, Hartley also doesn’t shy away from the admission that all of those noble urges melt away as soon as he has a grenade launcher in his hands. He tells archetypical stories of valor and courage. He tells stories of drunken escapades and juvenile humor that would sound more in-place if set in a college frat house.

He writes at length about what he calls “The Monastic Order of Infantrymen,” an exclusive, unofficial designation to which he and several of his friends belong. The basic criterion for admission is that one have no significant emotional ties to home: no girlfriend, no wife, no children. He says that this is the only way to go for someone in the army, that if you leave home for a tour of duty, even if your relationships are still extant when you get home, that things will be different; painfully so. He seems really convinced that he’s happy free of any attachments beyond his own sentimentality. At times, though, it is clear that he wishes he had something to come home for.

The moral duality inherent in the entire process does not escape him by a long shot. He’s open and honest and in denial. He’s brave and he’s terrified. He’s serious and carefree and regretful and delighted.

He’s real. And it shows.