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Matterhorn
A Novel of the Vietnam War
Karl Marlantes
Mar 2010
Trade Cloth
$24.95 US
($31.50 CAN)
978-0-8021-1928-5 | 9780802119285
0-8021-1928-X | 080211928X
592 pp
16 per carton
Fiction/Literature
FICTION
Literary
Spring 2010
Imprint Rights: W
Title Rights: USCO
Product Safety: Information Not Available
Published by
Grove/Atlantic, Inc.
Atlantic Monthly Press
Description:
Intense, powerful, and compelling, Matterhorn is an epic war novel in the tradition of Norman Mailer’s The Naked and the Dead and James Jones’s The Thin Red Line. It is the timeless story of a young Marine lieutenant, Waino Mellas, and his comrades in Bravo Company, who are dropped into the mountain jungle of Vietnam as boys and forced to fight their way into manhood. Standing in their way are not merely the North Vietnamese but also monsoon rain and mud, leeches and tigers, disease and malnutrition. Almost as daunting, it turns out, are the obstacles they discover between each other: racial tension, competing ambitions, and duplicitous superior officers. But when the company finds itself surrounded and outnumbered by a massive enemy regiment, the Marines are thrust into the raw and all-consuming terror of combat. The experience will change them forever.
Written by a highly decorated Marine veteran over the course of thirty years, Matterhorn is a spellbinding and unforgettable novel that brings to life an entire world—both its horrors and its thrills—and seems destined to become a classic of combat literature.
Excerpt:
Mellas ran forward, throwing himself behind rocks, scrambling across exposed patches, and then lunging again for any sort of cover from the fire pouring down on them. All of his being was wound up in his pumping heart and the rapidly rising heat of the blood coursing through his brain and legs. He ran as he’d never run before—with neither hope nor despair. He ran because the world was divided into opposites with his side already chosen for him, his only choice being whether or not to play his part with heart and courage. He ran because fate had placed him in a position of responsibility and he’d accepted the burden. He ran because his self-respect required it. He ran because he loved his friends and it was the only thing he could do to try and end the madness that was killing and maiming them. He ran at the bunker where the grenades from Jake’s M-79 were exploding, the bullets from the enemy machinegun slamming through the air to his right, whining like tortured cats, cracking like the bullwhip of death. He ran, having never felt so alone and frightened in his entire life.
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