Book list
From Booklist, Copyright © American Library Association. Used with permission.

Larry Heinemann made his initial literary mark with Close Quarters (Booklist 74:22 S 1 77), which featured vivid descriptions of the horrors of Vietnam. Billed as a sequel to that tale, Paco's Story charts the final, near-fatal battlefield experience of one Paco Sullivan, his eventual recovery in a field hospital, and his return to civilian life, in which he encounters the insensitivities of his fellow citizens back in the States (``Them Vietnam boys sure do think you owe them something, don't they?''). With his ``1,000-meter stare,'' Paco takes a job as a dishwasher in a roadside hash house, haunted by his memories of Southeast Asia and the brutality of war. Heinemann's coarse, sometimes poetic imagery ``the moonlit, starlit image of weeds and reeds and bamboo saplings and bubbling marsh slime burns itself into the back of your head in the manner of Daguerre's first go with a camera obscura'' raises his tale above the level of a starkly depressing Vietnam memoir (e.g., Donald Bodey's F.N.G., Booklist 82:309 O 15 85). MAB. [OCLC] 86-19527

Library Journal
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Lone survivor of a Viet Cong night attack that wipes out the 90-plus men of Alpha Company, Paco Sullivan returns to civilian life after much time spent in military hospitals. Narrated by a nameless dead soldier from Alpha Company, this intense, vividly written tale interweaves Paco's infantry days in Vietnam with his Valium- and Librium-soothed afterlife as a dishwasher in a smalltown cafe. This second novel by the author of the critically acclaimed Close Quarters ( LJ 6/1/77) is likewise a very frightening, yet wondrously rendered tale of violent extremes of human behavior. A strongly emotional reading experience, it is highly recommended for collections of serious contemporary fiction. James B. Hemesath, Adams State Coll. Lib., Alamosa, Col. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Library Journal
(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Heinemann's 1986 National Book Award- winning novel tells the story of Paco Sullivan, the lone survivor of a devastating Vietcong attack. His body wrecked and mind shattered, he struggles to put himself back together in the States. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Kirkus
Copyright © Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

As with its predecessor (Close Quarters, 1977), the real achievement of this hip, bitter and ultimately unpleasant novel about a wounded Vietnam vet is in the narrative voice: a nasty rivetingly specific voice belonging to a dead ""grunt"" who's describing (for the benefit of an unidentified listener, ""James"") Paco Sullivan's miraculous lone survival of a bloody jungle firefight and subsequent aimless drifting through a (familiarly) unfeeling, crass America. After narrative disclaimers (""This ain't no war story, James""), Paco's Story begins brilliantly, in Vietnam: Paco is lying wounded in the jungle heat, surrounded by the bodies of his fallen friends. On the third day, a medic (whose life is altered fatefully because of it) finds Paco; and Paco is patched together and sent home. The medic suffers a heart attack; he later becomes an alcoholic who recounts the story of Paco's rescue in bars. This is the last attempt the novel makes at meaning. Henceforth, Paco (about whom we know only that he has no home or family) simply drifts, a collection of scars and badly mended bones, while small-town Americans stare blankly, jeer or lecture at him. For a while he washes dishes at a beautifully described greasy spoon called the Texas Lunch; but nothing much happens to him there, and after a while he moves on. Early chapters here have the urgency and cohesion of formal tragedy. But late chapters let urgency and accumulated tension lapse into a long snarl of bitterness about the legacy of Vietnam--nothing but speeches and affectless, gory memories intended to shock. It's ugly--and too bad. Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Publishers Weekly
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When incoming fire lights up the sky over the good old boys at Fire Base Harriet in Vietnam, the tough soldiers just look at each other and settle in, certain that the nearly 100 of them will die. And all but one are visited by the descending brightness that tears their bodies apart. The ghost of one of these soldiers narrates the story of survivor Paco Sullivan, who lies covered with flies and dirt for two days before being rescued. Badly scarred and limping, he returns to the States and becomes an introspective dishwasher in a small Texas town. This is a well-written, ruminative work in an easy-going, down-home dialect that makes the awful memories of the warthankfullya little bit distant. Heinemann (Close Quarters has a promising talent, but his novel needs a sense of propulsion, not just excellent tales and fine dialogue; and his women should also be more than lusty objects of men's desires. As is, his work is just short of important. (December 1) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved