Chris Kyle was the Navy SEAL who wrote the autobiography American Sniper which in turn was made into a blockbuster movie starring Bradley Cooper. Both the book and even more the movie generated a firestorm of controversy, most of which consisted of mean-spirited and hysterical snarkiness from the usual suspects, self-proclaimed liberals who—and I’m taking this from a consensus of the comments I have read in both mainstream press and online—felt it was wrong to portray the killing of men and women (and in one case—almost—a child) all of whom were trying to kill American soldiers.
This is not the place for a debate about whether or not America was justified in going to war in Iraq and Afghanistan. Instead, what stunned me was to read hysterically angry reviews and comments from people who seemed to have no problem with vastly greater body counts in movies about superheroes and galaxies far, far away, or even inner-city drug-dealing gangstas happily shooting each other in a variety of bloodthirsty and barbaric ways. What seems to have offended so many liberals about American Sniper was the political context of the movie. One writer for Rolling Stone actually began his review by mentioning that he went into the theater primed to hate it. The same writer then defended his own admittedly biased and negative review by saying it was more important for him to be a liberal than to be a journalist, a comment that once upon a time would have gotten any self-proclaimed journalist immediately fired from any self-respecting magazine, which perhaps explains why he writes for Rolling Stone. (To be fair, another Rolling Stone writer, the movie critic, praised the film.) The point is, if a creative work of art (movie, play, book, poem, concert, ballet, painting, sculpture, whatever) can only be judged by how it makes us feel within the framework of our own ideology, then we’re no better than the barbarians who destroy art and antiques that conflict with their distorted religious beliefs, or the pampered little college cupcakes who get hysterical whenever someone disagrees with their personal opinion.
With this in mind, any reader who is not interested in firearms would be well-advised to stop reading now.
Before he was murdered, Chris Kyle was working on a book called American Gun: A History of the United States in Ten Firearms. The book was published posthumously and probably actually finished by his co-author, William Doyle, and his widow, Taya Kyle, but regardless who finished it, it is a very engaging and informative work.
The subtitle is more than somewhat disingenuous in that it has little to do with the history of the United States and much to do with the history of firearms development in America. But that history is fascinating, a combination of an intricate linking of various factors: need; painful learned experience; the natural inventiveness of man and his ability to improve on what already exists; and occasionally a flash of genius that seemingly comes out of the ethers, uninfluenced by anything that already exists. (A good recent example of this would be the Glock, not an American gun, but one that Kyle pays deserved tribute to for both its own merits and its transformative effect on modern pistol design.)
Kyle does many things gracefully in this book. He links one development to the next, showing how A led to B. He lays out just enough history to help us understand the need for improvement that inspired each new step forward. He provides a wealth of fascinating trivia that forms both a background and a context for each progressive step. He shows how each new invention helped the men for whom it was intended, or—in too many cases—how it would have helped the men for whom it was intended if it hadn’t been held up by paper-pushers in Army Ordnance who didn’t have a clue about battlefield realities.
(As an example of fascinating trivia, one of the Army Ordnance deadheads who completely missed the boat on firearms advancement, and thereby contributed immeasurably to the loss of American lives at San Juan Heights and Kettle Hill, was none other than Stephen Vincent Benét, grandfather of the Pulitzer Prize-winning poet of the same name.)
A large part of what makes this little book so enjoyable is the presence of Kyle himself in the words. I have only seen Kentucky long rifles or Spencer rifles in museums, and I’ve never fired an M16 or even held a Thompson machine gun, but Kyle has the ability to convey the perfection of those tools for their specific tasks. Yes, it helps that he and I clearly share certain prejudices (specifically for the Colt Single Action Army .45 and the M1911 .45 Army pistol), but he manages to make understandable the passion that others have for other tools. And more: he makes you feel that you would have greatly enjoyed knowing him. Of course he would be your first choice to stand at your back in a gunfight (or maybe for you to stand behind his back and let him do the heavy lifting) but he also comes across, not just as a hero, but as the kind of guy you would have loved to have a beer with, share a steak and some stories, the kind of decent and courageous guy we could use more of in America.