Any author can describe a scene. Some authors can make a reader feel emotion – but few, very few, can transport the reader to the place they describe. Kristin Hannah is one of the rare authors with the gift of cinematic storytelling. In her book The Women, Hannah whisks readers away into the life of the main character Francis “Frankie” McGrath, a nurse in the Army Nurse Corps during the Vietnam War.
As I read of Frankie McGrath’s treatment of patients in hospitals, I felt as though I was there. I felt fear, genuine fear, when the lights flickered out in 71st Evacuation Hospital in Pleiku and the mortars rained down. I heard the wounded cry out, the doctors shout, “Expectant,” knowing a patient will soon die, thoracic surgeon Jamie operate on dead and dying servicemen, and the nurses running around, trying to manage it all. The Women is an overwhelming piece of history – at times slow and full of prose, at times fast and rough – a literary masterpiece that drags the reader into an unvarnished Vietnam War.
The main character of The Women, Frankie McGrath, comes from an archetypical wealthy American family. The family is dead set in patriarchal traditions. Though her brother Finley McGrath serves in the Navy, Frankie’s father would not dream of a woman of the family in military service. Frankie’s father’s prized “hero’s wall” honors the men who fight for the United States. The wives get a photo on the wall with their husbands – not alone, but with their man – and nothing else.
The book has interesting dichotomies that, while subtle, are also present everywhere. Frankie is expected to be a proper lady by her family. In the military, she is a soldier – someone with abilities to save others, not to behave in a ladylike way. The military orders Frankie to wear typical women’s clothing as she transfers to Vietnam, but when she arrives, she is confronted with the fact that no one cares what she wears and that her dress – the clothing she was ordered to wear – is woefully inadequate for the demands of the humid jungle.
At war, Frankie sews up patients and keeps them alive – back in the States, she is told she is not properly trained to do anything but change a bedpan. Soldiers ignore the reality of who served in Vietnam again and again. “There were no women in Vietnam,” says the US Dept. of Veterans Affairs. Yes, the very organization formed to help former service members denies women’s participation in the war. This is so wrong that, as a reader, I wanted to scream at the receptionist. Hannah does that repeatedly in The Women. When Jamie, an effervescent character and love interest of Frankie’s, is mortally wounded, I felt anguish and anger that he was there in the first place. When a civilian spit in Frankie’s face as she returned to the country, I was furious.
These emotions, though, don’t feel like they’re mine. They’re Frankie’s. Hannah spins a web of story that sends the reader deep into Frankie’s life, and only her life. She doesn’t bring up the “babykiller” arguments of war protestors. She does not question if service is honorable. There is no question when Frankie returns to the country that she should be celebrated as a war hero – but when neighbors ask where she was? Her father tells them that she studied abroad. This is so painfully wrong that Frankie almost laughs – but the wave of indignation that saturates the pages is righteous and not dismissible. It’s also in contrast to how he celebrated the service of her brother Finley. Again, this is a recurring theme in the book; women in the military are not appreciated for their service.
It is almost as if two different authors wrote the book. In the United States, Hannah’s sentences are verbose and languid. The story flows a bit like honey – slow and smooth, with no sense of hurry. Hannah places the reader at parties and in the daily life of the American upper class, but never in situations of conflict. When Frankie flies on a troop carrier to Vietnam, though, everything immediately morphs. Where before writing was full to bursting with prose, it becomes hurried – almost as if there is no time to describe the places she goes. The reader is more informed than ever, but it feels as though no one can grasp the whole of the war. When soldiers go into the hospital, the book doesn’t describe how they were hurt. It only details Frankie’s efforts to save them.
Frankie meets men she grows to love; they die. Or, they only come back years later, and even then only to complicate, not improve, Frankie’s life. When she returns to the United States, everyone’s lack of acceptance of her service is almost too much to bear and she drunkenly crashes a car. Only after she enters rehab does everything finally calm down again, and the book ends with a catharsis; her father accepts that Frankie is a hero. She just doesn’t care anymore.
Hannah restrains from teaching the reader a specific lesson; perhaps it is up to you to determine what her message was. Maybe Frankie wants people to believe that war is wrong, because she serves in an organization of Veterans Against the War – but she volunteered to fight in it. So is the message to serve one’s country? You’ll have to find out for yourself by grabbing a copy of The Women – and experiencing its awesome power – now. You won’t regret it.
