Back in the
tumultuous 60s, I tried Kurt Vonnegut, because everyone had one or another of
his books at the ready for spare moments of reading. Cat’s
Cradle, Slaughterhouse Five, and Jailbird
seemed to be popular titles. I read Mother Night, and a little later, Breakfast of Champions, but didn’t care
for them at all. About this time, I
began to develop my love for the works of John Updike, so Vonnegut faded from
my reading radar. Recently, a friend
suggested Cat’s Cradle, and I owe hearty
thanks in that direction.
Kurt Vonnegut was
born in Indianapolis, Indiana in 1922.
He passed away in 2007. He is
known for his dark humor and imagination.
Graham Greene declared, Vonnegut “was one of the best living American
Writers.” I remember him as a writer
everyone read, but no one would admit to owning any of his books.
Cat’s Cradle is a peculiar book in style, structure, and
story-line. About 125 chapters make up
the story, and most are only a page or two.
This fragmented reading can cause some confusion, but large chunks of
the book can be digested in each reading.
The narrator, Jonah, wants to write a biography of a scientist involved
in the Manhattan Project who had peculiar habits at best. He wanted to stay working at a small foundry,
where his numerous patents were shamefully exploited by his employers. He also wanted to work with the construction
of the bomb, but he wanted to work alone.
When he died, his children scattered, and the narrator must track one of
them to a near mythical island in the Caribbean, San Lorenzo. The islanders all adhere to a mysterious, Zen-like
religion, Bokononism, which the dictator has outlawed. The islanders all follow this religion in
secret, because the punishment for practicing it is a slow and painful death on
“the hook.” This tyrant, known as “Papa”
Monzano, is near death, and the heir apparent is Frank Hoenikker, son of
scientist Dr. Felix Hoenikker the subject of the biography. Jonah becomes entangled in the politics and
religion of the island.
Vonnegut, was, to
say the least as peculiar as some of his novels. Sampling his style here might leave my
listeners as bewildered as I was while immersed in the story. Vonnegut’s moments of humor are as dark as a
reader might expect, and those are to be savored. Here is a small sample, so good luck. As “Papa” lies dying, he asks for the last
rites from his doctor, a shadowy former SS doctor. Vonnegut writes, “‘I am a very bad
scientist. I will do anything to make a
human being feel better, even if it’s unscientific. No scientist worthy of the name could say
such a thing.’ / And he climbed into the golden boat with
‘Papa.’ He sat in the stern. Cramped quarters obliged him to have the
golden tiller under one arm. / He wore sandals without socks and he took these
off. And then he rolled back the covers
at the foot of the bed, exposing ‘Papa’s” bare feet. He put the soles of his feet against ‘Papa’s”
feet, assuming the classical position for boko-maru”
(219-220).
Cat’s Cradle becomes another novel I have added to the
list of works which need to be experienced, rather than merely read. Readers tend to two extreme views of
Vonnegut: either, “I read all his books when I was in college; I love him,” or
“Too weird for me!” I now place myself
in the middle of these two extremes. If
you read Vonnegut in the heady days of the 60s – or if you didn’t – he is
certainly worth a re-visit. 5 stars
--Chiron, 10/17/14
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