Post-traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is a central concept in trauma theory. Cathy Caruth's trauma theory in Unclaimed Experience appears to be based on Freud's conception of the subject. To Freud, trauma constituted the consciousness's rejection of a violent or intense event. This rejection is coupled with belated attempts by the mind (latency) to reconcile the conflict through repetitively intrusive flashbacks or dreams. Essentially, Caruth's definition of PTSD is similar; one can argue that trauma theory originated in the foundational intellectual theories behind the science of psychoanalysis.
In light of this, the survivor's testimony becomes a literary and social analysis tool. Freud discovered that survivors of war or soldiers often experienced flashbacks in all their literality (completeness). It is important to note how this type of traumatic memory differs from what is normally characterized as ordinary memory. Basically, traumatic memory is disassociated from the symbolization and meaning that characterizes ordinary memory. Trauma theorists argue that PTSD sufferers cannot adequately express their trauma in normative language; Caruth characterizes the gap between what has been experienced and what is written/said as a type of aporia.
In The Things They Carried and Machine Dreams, the narratives act as both traumatic and ordinary memorials. While it is true that these narratives may constitute war fiction, the larger issue is whether we shall be guilty of cross-transference in characterizing these works as such. In psychoanalysis, cross-transference occurs when the therapist transfers his/her experiences and personal emotions onto the patient.
In terms of these works representing psycho-therapeutic discourse, the narrator is the patient, while we, the readers, are the therapists. If we allow our personal biases to color our judgment of the narratives, then the war survivor is not just at the mercy of the linguistic limitations of his culture but also our individual perceptions.
Instead, it is possible to approach the gap between the war survivor's testimony and our perception of his trauma in a unique way. Trauma theorists argue that the flexibility of literature allows us to accept both the comprehensible and incomprehensible, hence its importance as therapeutic discourse; literature allows for linguistic and cognitive failure or malfunction. Survivors crave acceptance and understanding; in other words, our ability to listen (and sympathize) is more important than whether we accept the basis of the testimony or narrative memorial. When we succeed in accepting the survivor's testimony (however disjointed and incomprehensible to our psyches), we become successful "literary" therapists.
In The Things They Carried, some will argue that Tim O'Brien's narrative is just that: disjointed, non-linear, and often hovering somewhere between reality and magical realism. In the book, he argues that a "true war story is never moral"; instead, it is a stark truth in itself, characterized by its "uncompromising allegiance to obscenity and evil." Let's further compare his statements below:
In any war story, but especially a true one, it's difficult to separate what happened from what seemed to happen.
When a guy dies, like Curt Lemon, you look away and then look back for a moment and then look away again...And then afterward, when you go to tell about it, there is always that surreal seemingness, which makes the story seem untrue, but which in fact represents the hard and exact truth as it seemed.
In many cases a true war story cannot be believed. If you believe it, be skeptical. It's a question of credibility. Often the crazy stuff is true and the normal stuff isn't, because the normal stuff is necessary to make you believe the truly incredible craziness.
Here, O'Brien acknowledges the reality of traumatic memory intruding on ordinary memory. He acknowledges how linguistic limitations can distort truth. He argues that a war story can be true and untrue at the same time; his words reinforce literature as a powerful means for readers to embrace the war veteran's trauma.
Similarly, Machine Dreams also uses testimony as part of its narrative memorial. In the book, Mitchell Hampson's obsession with machines (even after the war) is a testament to his trauma. The war machines and the machines of his post-war concrete factory represent his mechanized, masculine alter-ego. Mitchell feels lost and marginalized without them. The testimonies of his war years and post-war years allow us to explore his conception of masculine identity and security. When he returns from the war, Mitchell has disturbing flashbacks and dreams about bulldozing lifeless Japanese corpses. He doesn't tell the women in his life about his nightmares.
The war machines perpetuate the myth of Mitchell's invincibility; he is dependent on the machines. Additionally, his trauma makes it difficult for him to conceptualize life without them. Phillips's novel also addresses the reality of strained relationships as part of the experience of war veterans who suffer from PTSD. Mitchell's alienation from his wife is evident during his post-war years. When their son, Billy, is reported missing in action during the Vietnam War, the trauma becomes entrenched in the family. For more, please refer to the excellent links below.
Source: Reviewed Works: Unclaimed Experience: Trauma, Narrative, and History by Cathy Caruth; Representing the Holocaust: History, Theory, Trauma by Dominick LaCapra; Worlds of Hurt: Reading the Literatures of Trauma by Kalí Tal; Review by James Berger, Contemporary Literature, Vol. 38, No. 3 (Autumn, 1997), pp. 569-582
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