Denis Johnson's relationship with God is tenuous. His collection of short stories "Jesus' Son" is fragmented and harrowing. For Johnson, faith is never straightforward. "Jesus' Son" is a difficult read, as is "Tree of Smoke," Johnson's first novel in nine years. By the time you realize how difficult the latter is however, you are half way through and there is nothing that can make you put it down. "Tree of Smoke" is fraught with religion, but it is hard to understand or locate God's place in Johnson's devastatingly human account Vietnam.
The novel does not need much more than its environment and its place in history to be compelling, but Johnson does not let the mere horror of the war carry the narrative. There is a full cast of characters in "Tree of Smoke," and each one is bursting with his and her, though mostly his, own demons.
The merits of survival are ambiguous under these conditions. The loneliness and wasteland of humanity almost begs self-destruction, or at least a suspended sense of self. Although the latter can be, and is, repeatedly found between the legs of a prostitute or in a sea of booze, ultimately there is no salvation.
There are varying degrees to which the C.I.A. operatives and soldiers buy into the war. Colonel Francis Sands is a Kurtz-like figure, a man around whom fantastic and even hopeful myths are spun. His life is Vietnam and he is brilliant and powerful. "Dangerous, but not to women and children" is how Kathy, the only woman who is allowed some dimension by Johnson, describes him. He is the epicenter of Johnson's plot, but this in no way situates him and his complex designs as a unique instance. It is evident that Colonel Sands is only one of many men who have made the war their own personal game.
The divide between Skip Sands the C.I.A. operative and Skip Sands the boy is startling. Determining which is real is almost impossible. It becomes increasingly evident that Skip does not know himself. He is among those who are struck by the fantastical aspects of his uncle, Colonel Sands. He does not follow Colonel Sands' schemes blindly and is coldly conscious to his flaws. The fact that Skip goes where he leads nonetheless speaks both to the colonel's magnetism as well as to the skewed rubric of judgment that becomes logical in war.
What cannot be avoided in this novel is that any entrance into Vietnam leaves its participants bereft of a place in the world. It is impossible to return, insanity to stay. The Houston brothers, who have volunteered for the army because there is no other way out of their lives, eventually yo-yo between prison and minimum wage jobs, while the upper level officers either embroil themselves further in a war that has officially ended or wind up vaguely unhappy in their cushioned lives.
The threads of the plot are hard to untangle. Johnson is tracking a whole constellation of lives and their relations to each other are often muddied by changes in location and time. While the inability of the reader to precisely follow all of the author's moves may seem like a pitfall of the novel, it ultimately works as a method of immersing the reader into the same environment of confusion and false security that the characters are embroiled in. What is hard fact in Saigon is hearsay in the ironically named Cao Phuc.
The layers of betrayal and shrouded truths are miles thick in "Tree of Smoke." The conclusion solves no problems and the closest one gets to answers are vague inferences. With all the films, photos, documents and books about the tragedy and inhumanity of Vietnam there is a fervent and understandable desire to beg for silence. Haven't we heard enough?
"Tree of Smoke" is a realization of the continued need to parse and grieve and trouble over Vietnam. One does not need to look far to comprehend its pertinence.