I can't envision an honest war novel that left war in a positive light.
My personal opinion is that if someone writes honestly about war, it will inherently be anti-war.
The war tried to kill us in the spring. As grass greened the plains of Nineveh and the weather warmed, we patrolled the low-slung hills beyond the cities and towns. We moved over them and through the tall grass on faith, kneading paths into the windswept growth like pioneers. While we slept, the war rubbed its thousand ribs against the ground in prayer.
I understood that 'The Yellow Birds' would be a peculiar representation of the experience of being at war. I intended it to be so.
The war came to me in my dreams and showed me its sole purpose: to go on, only to go on.
