Review | In the Weeds by Mark Ozeroff
In the Weeds is Mark Ozeroff’s second war-time novel. Follow the link to learn more about the first.
In the Weeds gives a personal look at what combat PTSD can do to a person. How the trauma of war changes an individual into a powder keg, and how the transition from combat to civilian life can be tricky, if not impossible. No matter where vets go after their time in battle, they carry the weight of personal loss, personal damage, and nightmares of what transpired while in the weeds.
In the Weeds follows Air Force pilot Menachem “Slats” Jakov Kisov, who, upon watching a crop duster dump its load on a field of corn at the age of four, knew he wanted to fly. Seizing the opportunity to make his dream a reality, he enlists in the Air Force and demands they put him in the cockpit. Being short of able bodies, the Air Force acquiesces his request, and Slats becomes a forward air control (FAC) pilot, marking enemy combatants on the ground with phosphorous before calling in the big guns.
While the novel’s stint in Vietnam is short, we are introduced to two lingering characters who make lasting impressions on Slats. The first is R&R, a wry-humored black pilot who knows his way around a guitar and who has a penchant for smoking the reefer. It’s here that Slats turns his cheek on drowning his sorrows in liquor for the tranquilizing lure of sensimilla. The second pivotal character is Meat, the biggest guy in the platoon. Meat’s time in the book is short. Not everyone survives war, and Slats takes Meat’s death hard, tacking his devil-may-care outlook into the red as a result. He starts to take more chances during his missions, ultimately getting shot down and injured.
Slats’s easygoing disposition makes it appear that adjusting to life outside of war is a breeze. He strides back into his hometown of Farth, Florida, and slides right back into flying without missing a beat. Slats finds friendship and assistance from aging vets from WWII who get him back into the air, the only real place he feels free. Ozeroff makes nods to how civilian life can be uncomfortable and, at times, downright painful for vets suffering from PTSD, but most of this information comes in the form of subtext. Slats rents a barn from Jelly, a kindhearted older black woman, and prefers to sleep with his plane out in the dust than in a real house. His temper flares at the slightest hint of injustice, and his mouth gets him into some deep trouble with the local law enforcement. Seeking the adrenaline rush of war, Slats takes a high-paying job smuggling weed into Florida from a small isolated island in the Caribbean. However, any mental pain Slats may feel is downplayed and deflected by witty banter.
The flying aspect of the novel is rife with technical jargon, and my heart began to sink during the first chapter as I muddled through. However, like a dutiful big brother, Ozeroff took my hand and led me through the tough stuff, and before I knew it, the jargon melted into the background and didn’t bother me again. I’m still not completely sure what “trimming” means or what in the world pulling numerous notches of flaps does to an airplane. I even looked it up, and I’m still not sure. I’m also not worried about it.
The presentation of this novel is one of absurdity, following the trail cut by Joseph Heller’s Catch-22. Much like Catch-22, shit gets real towards the end, and we realize that war is insane, those involved in declaring it is insane, those who are thrust into it go insane, and underneath it all is nothing but destruction and grief.
Slats learn the hard way that dangerous people are everywhere, and poking deranged individuals may lead them down a path of no return. There were moments in In the Weeds that took my breath away. The twists and turns of the characters’ motivations were, at times, without logic and beyond my comprehension. Then I’d turn on the evening news and be hit with similar stories of insanity. In the Weeds gave the feels more than once, and I found myself reaching for the tissues so often I lost count.
Slats may seem cool, but the reality is that he’s just as broken as any other vet suffering from PTSD. The difference between him and his fellow soldiers is that he’s found peace while flying. Even if that means carting a literal ton of weed over the Atlantic. Hey, man, you do you.
At the end of the day, In the Weeds is a fantastic piece of historical fiction. Ozeroff’s characters are honest, flawed, and 100 percent real. His dialogue, while a little unrealistic at times, remained true to the characters and their motivations. Overall, In the Weeds was a joy to read.
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I could get very used to receiving reviews like yours, Cynthia. You “got” Slats, something that really floats this writer’s boat. Thank you so much for the effort involved in putting together a fine review (right down to a link of the previous novel). Much appreciated.
Good. I’m so happy you like it. I hadn’t head anything for several days after posting it and started to doubt myself.
I really wanted to talk about Slats as a hero too. I had this whole anti-hero slant, but it just ran too long. Slats is a modern day hero. His moral compass is set to that of a soldier’s morality which leads him to do some villainous stuff. Yet every act is justified and applauded. He made me gasp a few times with his actions, but in the end, I had to shrug and say, “It was either them or him. He did what he had to do.” No one can fault him for surviving and rescuing the people he loves.
I look forward to reading Days of Smoke soon. It’s already queued up in my ereader.
I just checked the date on this review, July 28. It did not show up on my feed until late last night. Odd. Y’know, even now I’m unsure myself whether Slats is a hero or anti-hero. He helps friends, but his methodology sometimes is a mite…rugged. And to any pilots out there, you shouldn’t fly around with a lit joint in your hand (even if you resemble Denzel Washington).
I look forward to your reading SMOKE, with a protagonist that seems at odds with himself, a Nazi with a conscience.
That’s why I tagged you in the tweet. Things like this get swallowed by the void that is the Internet.
The point I ended up making in my deleted paragraph was that Slats is a hero in the modern sense. He has a developed sense of right and wrong. You’re right when you agree with him and wrong when you threaten his family. Being a soldier changed his concept of life and it made it easy for him to make tough decisions most of us wouldn’t be able to make. He isn’t perfect or without flaws. He’s an everyday guy trying to live his best life in a world of hardship and unfair realities. I’d say he’s doing a pretty good job.
Also, I meant to mention the tropical storm naming convention. I didn’t know that in 1953 the US began using female names to track storms. It wasn’t until 1978 that they began switching back and forth between male and female names. I thought it had always switched between genders. Now that I know the truth, it doesn’t surprise me. Much like Slats comment on women, the idea that ruthless tropical storms and hurricanes should bear female names reflects the sexism of the era. I’m not sure if the storm slats dives into is after 1978, but it’s right in the ballpark.
I’ve spent much time in the Netvoid. Sometimes, I feel like I’m in e-purgatory.
Vets do seem able to cut through the crappola and see what’s important and what isn’t. Might be they tend to make good presidents in times of crisis. It’s definitely why they make good characters.
Back in ye olde days, they used to have more prosaic names — my mother was a baby during the Great Storm of 1935. But by the 60s, hurricanes were all female (I strongly suspect that meteorologists were…not). There wasn’t much of what I’ve come to call political correctitude goin’ on.