Product Description

A Purple Heart is the token honor given to soldiers for their wounds. It makes them heroes. It is the title that Nina Berman has given to her photographs of American soldiers gravely wounded in the Iraq war, who have returned home to face life away from the waving flags and heroic send-offs. The images are accompanied by first-person interviews with the soldiers, who discuss their lives, reasons for enlisting, and experience in Iraq. They provide a glimpse into the myths of warfare as glorious spectacle through the minds of young men desperate to believe in the righteousness of their actions.

One soldier explains that he always wanted to be a hero. He thought the military would be fun--he would jump out of planes. He never imagined it could be ugly until he saw Saving Private Ryan. He is now a cripple, doped up all day on pain medications, flat broke, with one kid and another on the way. Another soldier describes how he called a recruiting station after watching an MTV-style commercial for the Army on TV. An immigrant from Pakistan, he was given his citizenship following his injury. It's a fair trade in his mind: a leg for an American passport.

Berman's photographs are accompanied by essays from Verlyn Klinkenborg, a New York Times editorial page writer, and Tim Origer, a Vietnam veteran and former Marine who fought in the Tet offensive and returned at age 19, an amputee. Essays by Verlyn Klinkenborg and Tim Origer. Paperback, 8 x 8 in. / 176 pgs / 100 color.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #981425 in Books
• Published on: 2004-08
• Released on: 2004-08-01
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Hardcover
• 96 pages

Customer Reviews

A very personal book
I read through the other reviews of Nina Berman's Purple Hearts posted here, which all glow, until I got to the very first one, which gives the book one loney star. Obviously, the "truth" of photographs can be experienced very differently by different people.

To post a review of a book one has never even seen here on a book review site is curious, ridiculous and a dogmatic political act, the very tar with which the "reviewer" pretends to paint Berman. The review, such as it is, parrots the now very weary and increasingly diluted words "patriotism" and "heroes" with the now prerequsite sense of insult and outrage. One of the more remarkable things about the photographs (which are available to see when actually looking at the book) is how dispassionate they are. That is, removed of the photographer's own passions. You simply see the physical manifestation of the damage to each soldier. And that is their power. Viewers are left to imagine what kind of peace each of these formerly anonymous casualty figures will be able to make with the war that will be with them the rest of the days of their lives. Don't the best books rest in one's hands more as questions than answers?

This is a subject very close to me. I am a photographer who has worked in combat zones, as has Nina Berman, but in the end I was attacked in the United States by a half-dozen young men and nearly kicked and stomped to death. Like some of the soldiers in this book, I suffered a traumatic brain injury, which in my case left me unable to walk or to recall three simple numbers recited by my speech therapist. Like everyone else with a brain injury my emotions were no longer completely under my control and I would begin crying for no reason at all.

But I soon understood that there were reasons to cry. The worst thing about being injured by violence is how lonely it is, something survivors can recognize when we see it in each other's eyes. If you stare into the eyes of the wounded people on these pages you might see it yourself. When we are called heroes or "inspirations to everyone we meet" (only if we are fortunate enough to have a support system that will help us help ourselves back on our feet), we hear empty words spoken by people who think that surviving is something glorious.

What Nina Berman has done is to unflinchingly expose the human flesh that suffers along behind a comforting, fluttering, star spangled curtain. In that way, Berman's photographs ask each viewer if we, as a nation of very diverse people, are prepared to make peace with what each one of the people in this book has lost in war.

Extraordinary
I would guess that the person who wrote the above review hasn't actually SEEN Nina Berman's extraordinary book of photographs. If she had, I doubt that she would have questioned Ms. Berman's utmost respect for the injured American soldiers returning from Iraq. The public has been unnecessarily shielded from seeing the result of this war: mangled bodies, amputated limbs, shock and sorrow on the faces of those brave souls who have been sent to fight. Berman's images, as well as the soldier's own words, are difficult to take in. Yet, I was surprised to read that a good number of those profiled in the book are very proud of their service and regret having to leave the armed forces. One soldier even says it was the best experience of his life; the picture shows him with one leg. I think it is inaccurate to suggest that Berman doesn't understand these soldier's courage and patriotism. She does, indeed. And she has the pictures to prove it.

PURPLE HEARTS, Back from Iraq - a must see
Nina Berman has unflinchingly brought to print and life - the courage and heroism of American soldiers returning from serving their country in the latest war on Iraq.
The images are harrowing, the narrative essays enlightening. Ms. Berman's treatment of this reality with dignity and clarity shines through the unsettling pictures and words of men and women who will be forever changed by the near death they encountered.
Ms. Berman's important book respectfully illuminates the broad spectrums of patriotism and heroism, which take many shapes and perspectives. She gives visibility and voice to those who often go unheard and denied.
Her work is a gift - a courageous exercise in capturing what many may not have the courage to see - because of the questions provoked. "PURPLE HEARTS, Back from Iraq" offers us the possibility to briefly (and safely) encounter one reality of war's impact on the very human participants. We should be so very thankful.