The Quiet American

“These were the open legal methods, but legality was not essential in a country at war.”

In a country at war, the fighting is so fierce on both sides that the traditional rules and expectations of society break down. Fowler understands the legal methods available to the police, but he understands that since the country is locked in a military conflict, legality has become a relative term. Violence is so prevalent, and he—as an Englishman in a French colony—has so little status that he cannot rely on colonial laws to keep him safe when the colony itself is facing an existential threat.

“I was a correspondent; I thought in headlines.”

Fowler likes to think of himself as detached and objective. His job, however, has imbued him with a tendency to view the world through a certain lens. He conceives of the world as though it were a giant newspaper, with certain stories gaining prominence. When he experiences something, he attempts to reduce his experience to a declarative headline. Fowler’s worldview is influenced by the media but as a creator rather than a consumer, thinking about how he can convey what he has learned to the rest of the world.

“Am I the only one who really cared for Pyle?”

At this point in the novel, the audience knows that Alden Pyle is dead. The audience does not yet comprehend the pivotal role that Fowler played in Pyle’s assassination. As such, his bitter reflection on his relationship with Pyle is self-interested. He wants to assure himself that he truly cared about Pyle to soothe his guilt.

“Perhaps he was studying sex, as he had studied the East, on paper.”

Noticing a book about the mechanics of sex on Pyle’s bookshelf, Fowler wryly mocks Pyle’s academic tendencies. The two men are opposites, with Fowler learning from experience while Pyle learns from textbooks. Pyle’s book collection encourages Fowler to dismiss him as a romantic rival and as a commentator on political events in Vietnam, believing that Pyle’s book learning is irrelevant in both cases.

“I am a bad dancer too, and I hadn’t the unselfconsciousness of Pyle.”

Fowler’s initial interest in Pyle stems from his empathy for their shared flaws. As the older man, Fowler understands how these particular flaws are exposed in this foreign country. Learning to live in Vietnam has been, for Fowler, learning to navigate and hide these flaws, a skill that Pyle has not yet managed. Fowler likes Pyle because, in the American, he recognizes a younger, less cynical version of himself.Fowler’s initial interest in Pyle stems from his empathy for their shared flaws. As the older man, Fowler understands how these particular flaws are exposed in this foreign country. Learning to live in Vietnam has been, for Fowler, learning to navigate and hide these flaws, a skill that Pyle has not yet managed. Fowler likes Pyle because, in the American, he recognizes a younger, less cynical version of himself.

“He has youth too.”

For the first time, Fowler makes a comparison between himself and Pyle. For all the pity and protectiveness he feels toward the American, he realizes that Pyle has certain qualities that he cannot match. Pyle is a younger man. While this might make him more naive than Fowler, there is no way for Fowler to reverse the passage of time. Pyle can become more cynical; Fowler cannot become younger. Now, Fowler is forced to reckon with the idea of Pyle not only as a rival but one in possession of resources that Fowler cannot match.

“Is confidence based on a rate of exchange? We used to speak of sterling qualities. Have we got to talk now about a dollar love?”

Fowler grew up in the last gasps of the British Empire. Throughout his lifetime, fueled by two World Wars, the British Empire crumbled from a global hegemon into a fading force, replaced by America as the dominant superpower. Fowler feels this on a personal level, as though the younger American has arrived to replace him. Pyle’s confidence grates not only on a personal level but on a patriotic level, reminding Fowler that he and his country belong to the past. This is presented through figurative language here—just as Fowler fears being replaced by Pyle, the American dollar is replacing the pound sterling of Great Britain.

“I was to see many times that look of pain and disappointment touch his eyes and mouth, when reality didn’t match the romantic ideas he cherished, or when someone he loved or admired dropped below the impossible standard he had set.”

Fowler’s protective attitude toward Pyle is quickly ebbing away. He replaces it with a spiteful desire to undermine Pyle’s naive optimism, taking pleasure in pointing out the negative consequences of Pyle’s beliefs. Fowler is not educating Pyle or helping him; he is sneering at him. The more he sneers, however, the more he realizes how little power he has to hurt Pyle.

“Every ten kilometers there was a larger fort manned by a platoon of Legionaries, Moroccans, or Senegalese.”

The nationalities of the French colonial troops illustrate the breadth and absurdity of the French colonial project. A European nation is sending troops from North and West Africa to fight against Southeast Asian people who would like their own independence. The French themselves make up the officer class while using one set of colonial subjects to pacify another. The French are not bureaucrats in the traditional sense. Their management skills involve the deployment of violence from one hemisphere to another, offering globetrotting bloodshed in the name of wealth extraction.

“They sucked in the rice and stared back and said nothing.”

As Pyle and Fowler spend the night in the guard tower, the two Vietnamese guards ignore the abstract political debate and focus on eating their rice. They say nothing. Their silence is symbolic. They are focused on the immediate practicalities of existence such as staying alive and eating food. Meanwhile, the European and the American individuals are free to engage in high-minded justifications or critiques of a political situation that does not materially affect the lives of the Vietnamese guards. The contrast in action indicates the stakes of the conflict. The colonizers are desperate for an academic, nebulous justification for their violence, while the colonized are seeking survival and self-determination.

“I thought how strange it was that men of my profession would make only two news lines out of all this night—it was just a common or garden night, and I was the only strange thing about it.”

Fowler contextualizes his life-or-death situation by imagining his death as a newspaper report. By reducing himself to column inches with his professional mindset, he comes to understand his place in the universe. While he is facing an existentialist threat on an individual level, his life has little value in terms of broader society. His life, as illustrated by the self-written report of his death, is worth little more than two lines.

“I have no politics.”

Fowler takes pride in his objective, supposedly apolitical stance. He is a cynic, and as such, he wants to distinguish himself from people with ideologies and interests. This apoliticism, however, is inherently political since his privileged status as a European is what allows him to maintain his neutrality. He believes that he is above politics, morality, and other expressions of naivety, but this belief shows his refusal to reflect on how his existence as a European man in Vietnam both embodies and perpetuates the politics of imperialism. Fowler does have politics; he simply refuses to admit to them.

“I knew I was inventing a character just as much as Pyle was.”

Fowler criticizes Pyle because he does not truly know Vietnamese people or culture, but he equally does not truly know Phuong. He has invented an Orientalized version of her that suits his cynical view of love. According to Fowler, Vietnamese women like Phuong are incapable of love or emotional pain. He invents a version of her who melds perfectly with his flaws to avoid guilt on his part. Neither man truly loves Phuong; they have fallen in love with invented versions of her that do not match.

“It was as though she were being taken away from me by a nation rather than by a man.”

The love triangle between Pyle, Fowler, and Phuong represents the colonial situation in Vietnam. The old European powers (represented by Fowler) and the coming American powers (represented by Pyle) tussle possessively over Vietnam (represented by Phuong). In this situation, the colonial powers presume ownership. Rather than allowing Phuong (or, by extension, Vietnam) to make her own decisions, Fowler and Pyle argue among themselves and resent each other without taking a moment to reflect on their actions. The symbolism of their love triangle turns Fowler’s resentment toward Pyle into resentment of everything American. For her part, Phuong does not note a meaningful difference between the two men. They view this as childlike, but she doesn’t see the point of choosing between two men who treat her like an object.

“I knew I could do what was necessary, but I was so much older—I felt I had little energy left to reconstruct.”

Fowler’s rivalry with Pyle affects him badly because everything is a reminder of his mortality. By his own admission, Fowler has endured the end of many relationships. At the end of each, however, he is a little older. While he may be more practiced at forgetting and moving forward, Pyle’s youth reminds him of the relentless passage of time. He may be able to forget more easily, but he now has less time available to find love again.

“None of this stuffy colonialism.”

In his office, Joe dismisses the “stuffy colonialism” of the past. The rising American presence and the ebbing French presence in Vietnam are both examples of colonialism, but the American version differentiates itself from the past. Joe, emblematic of America, cloaks the colonial project in cutting-edge modernity. He believes that the aesthetic differences between the stuffy European colonialism of the past and the new American colonialism of the present make them fundamentally distinct. At the same time, Joe—like other colonialists—pays no heed to the interests of the colonized people. He barely remembers Miss Hei’s name, for example.

“You know better than I do that we can’t win.”

Trouin knows that the French military campaign is doomed. There is no way to win the colonial battle because the respective desires of the different sides are not equal. Trouin and the other French people are fighting for a colonial project; the Vietnamese are fighting for their freedom. Even though he knows that the war cannot be won, Trouin fights anyway. He invents motivations, such as his belief that he is fighting for all of Europe, as a means to justify his involvement in a war he cannot win. He desperately needs this motivation; otherwise, he must confess that he is killing people for no reason.

“Indeed, I knew exactly where she would be at this time of day.”

The city, like Fowler’s thoughts, is haunted by Phuong. After she leaves Fowler, he attempts to keep away from her. He hopes that by avoiding the sight of her, he can avoid the emotions she invokes. By conditioning his physical movement on Phuong’s location, however, he is tacitly building his life around her. Rather than fleeing from her, he is basing everything he does on her memory. Fowler is not allowing himself to forget; he is forcing himself to remember.

“He was seeing a real war for the first time.”

Pyle has learned about political theory from textbooks. His belief in the idea of a Third Force has led him into an alliance with General Thé, an alliance that has led to the bomb attack in the busy square. The dead civilians are the “real war” (215), the consequences of theoretical decisions made in back rooms. Fowler forces Pyle to look at the victims as a demonstration that these theoretical decisions affect people in violent ways. Pyle is shocked.

“He’s the man you are looking for, Vigot. He killed Pyle—at long range.”

Fowler blames York Harding for Pyle’s death. The theoretical ideas about a supposed Third Force led the naive young Pyle into a situation that he could not possibly comprehend. Like a young troop sent to the front, Pyle is a kind of cannon fodder. He has been armed by ideology rather than a military, but this serves the same colonial purpose.

“Everything was as it had been before Pyle came.”

Fowler examines the items in his apartment. Since Phuong has returned, everything is back as it once was. In a physical sense, Pyle has left little impact on Fowler’s life. He can return every object to its place, but he cannot undo the guilt that he feels. The physical space is now incongruent with the emotional space of the apartment. Everything is the same, yet everything—in an emotional sense—is now irretrievably different.

“At least they won’t hate us like they hate the French.”

In the aftermath of the bombing, Pyle has not abandoned his delusion. He is still basing his beliefs on his textbook learning rather than actual experience of Vietnamese culture. The French will lose the war, he believes, and the Americans will step into the void. This relationship will be different, he is certain, though he has no foundation for this other than his academic theories. Pyle’s misguided belief is indicative of the doomed fate of every colonial occupation to eventually fail and every new colonial occupation to convince itself that—somehow—this time will be different.

“You wouldn’t get the accent right.”

Fowler offers to write Granger’s articles, allowing Granger to return home to his sick son. Granger declines, as Fowler’s English tendencies will be obvious in the prose. Fowler’s “accent” is his jaded worldview (245), which contrasts against the typically “naive” and optimistic American perspective that was defined by Pyle. Fowler could not write like Granger nor Pyle, just as he could not see the world through their eyes. Fundamentally, the men know that they are not the same.