I DON'T KNOW BUT I'VE BEEN TOLD

Swaggering yet vulnerable, like a cross between Huck Finn and Holden Caulfield, the unnamed narrator of this gritty, darkly comic debut novel joins the army at the tail end of the 1970s. Like his pals, a bunch of misfit "doper scouts," he joins to escape grinding poverty, prison, or both. Their Fort Bragg scout platoon stands in stark antithesis to the gung-ho, overachieving Special Forces teams in training. Under the loose eye of their "Platoon Daddy"—the only soldier in the group with real combat experience, the mystique of which maintains his rein over his unruly charges—the Recon Dogs, as they are known, enliven their days of peacetime idleness and easy drills by getting stoned as often as possible, burning their paychecks, selling plasma, even burglarizing motels to fund their binges. This leads to trouble when the Dogs are offered cash by a local "entrepreneur" looking to stockpile military ordnance. The story is told in flashbacks by the narrator, 15 years later, following a breakdown and prison sentence. What is ostensibly a story of a young man too sensitive for military life is muddled with its narrator's self-styled comparison with Huckleberry Finn, his mooning over his lost love (a Panamanian prostitute) and his complete inability to come to terms with his situation. What the novel does offer is a frank, often comical look at life in America's peacetime volunteer army; as such, it joins the ranks of stories of military screwups from time immemorial—although few of those offer detailed descriptions of parachute jumps on mescaline. (Apr. 4)

Forecast:Correa, who spent time in the 82nd Airborne Division, has a real-life story to rival the fictional one he tells. He will embark on a five-city author tour and should be an appealing interview prospect.