Let’s play the game of Don Mariano, a character in Leonardo Sciascia’s novel The Day of the Owl.
According to that old mafia Padrino, humanity is divided into five categories: Men, of which there are very few, then Half-Men, few and still decent. Then there are the Pigmies, who are like children trying to be grown-ups, and the “pigliainculo”, the losers, passed over by everyone. Last place is taken by the “quaquaraquà” who, as the name’s sound suggests, are like ducks in a pond, and whose lives have no point or meaning.

To start this game, the player has to be prepared to put himself out there. Only then is the game on. Jon Krakauer, the writer and journalist known for his non-fiction books such as “Into Thin Air” and “Into the Wild”, has put himself out there, placing himself among the half-men or even the “quarter-men”, half of a half-man, but perhaps he’s unconsciously thinking of the quarterback in American football to lessen his limitations (the quarterback is after all the most important man on the pitch).
For Krakauer, Men are people like the protagonists of his books. Especially the last one: Pat Tillman, an American football player who left his career and enlisted to go to Afghanistan, where he was killed in a friendly fire incident. His story is told in the book Where Men Win Glory: The Odyssey of Pat Tillman.
«He walked the tightrope between opposites. He was full of contradictions and doubts but he accepted them. He managed to control them. Once he had chosen his path, he followed it all the way» Krakauer tells me. Then he quotes Emerson: “Always do what you are afraid to do”.

As you can see, this game can become very dangerous. But the risk isn’t physical. «Taking risks is easy, especially when you’re young» says Krakauer, who has taken his fair share and almost put an end to his human adventure on Everest. Real danger is finding yourself on murky ethical ground, giving in to pride, losing yourself in that theatre of shadows where honour and courage may just be a front for arrogance and egocentricity. Where men would like to be men, but little by little slip into the lower categories. This is, in Krakauer’s view, what happened to General McChrystal, “a man of great skills, who would not normally compromise his principles to get results”, but who appears to have done just that when he allegedly concealed the real cause of Tillman’s death for personal ambition.

It’s an even more dangerous game for those that tell the story of these Men: they move in treacherous territory, where they need to walk a fine line between demons and influences, where it's easy to fall into moralising or even abuse. As Nietzsche wrote: "if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you".

This also happened to Sebastian Junger, another American reporter known mainly for The Perfect Storm. His latest work is Restrepo, a multimedia operation that relates the life of a platoon of American soldiers in a remote Afghan outpost. It's a powerful, epic work of extraordinary complexity. A work which embodies what the philosopher James Hillman called a terrible love of war, where one is pushed into a “martial state of the soul”. This is why Junger was accused of writing about war “as if it is a storm at sea, a force of nature that is ... put on earth to test men’s strength, wits and courage. Junger’s view of war is a purely apolitical one, a timeless condition of man”.

Junger, even more than Krakauer, is open to contradictory, even unsettling, interpretations. But both are testaments to total, uncompromising journalism. In the end neither Krakauer nor Junger, nor even a thousand heroes’ faces can be pigeon-holed into Don Mariano’s game. Maybe this is the real solution to the game. Don’t play it.