“I was a victim of a series of accidents, as are we all.”
Sometimes, I feel like the only person in the world who has
a hard time loving Vonnegut. It’s not that I don’t enjoy any of his work—Slaughterhouse-Five
and Mother Night both got positive reviews here—but there’s a part of me that
feels like his grandfatherly tone and clever prose disguise a worldview that is
empty, or at least shallow. Sirens of Titan did nothing to abuse me of that
notion; although I enjoyed it, it’s by far the worst Vonnegut I’ve read.
The plot jumps everywhere, but in a nutshell, it follows a
man named Malachi Constant, who has been marked by the universe to serve an
important purpose. He’s informed of his destiny, although not of the purpose
itself, by Winston Rumfoord, a man who’s gotten unstuck in time and space, not
unlike Billy Pilgrim, and knows how everything shakes out. Malachi, in the
course of the book, goes from the richest man in the world, to a nameless grunt
on Mars, to an accidental pioneer on Mercury, and finally back to earth. It’s
difficult to talk about the issues I had with the book without spoilers, so
SPOILERS.
Upon returning to earth, Malachi finds that he has become
the figurehead of a new religion, one which sees the universe as a series of
accidents. In a series of incidents orchestrated by Rumfoord, Malachi parallels
Christ’s entry into Jerusalem and subsequent betrayal, although he is merely
sent to another planet to live, rather than crucified, along with his unwilling
wife and weird kid. Once on the planet, Malachi meets a Tralfamadorian named
Salo who’s been stranded for years, waiting on a replacement part for his
spaceship, a part that just happens to be Malachi’s son’s good luck charm.
In the end, we learn that Malachi’s entire existence—in fact,
earth’s whole existence—has been orchestrated by the Tralfamadorians to get
Salo his missing piece. This might work as a sort of punchline, although no one
would want to spend a whole novel getting there, but Vonnegut doesn’t take that
tack. Instead, Malachi’s existence, which has been more or less pointless, is glossed
with probably the book’s most famous quote:
“The worst thing that could possibly happen to anybody would be to not be used for anything by anybody. Thank you for using me, even though I didn't want to be used by anybody.”
Keep in mind, Malachi has just learned that his entire life
was predetermined for him by an alien race so that he could play the part of a cosmic
UPS man, and he accepts it peacefully. I realize that Vonnegut is the patron
saint of humanism, and there’s a very strong subtext to the novel that what
made Malachi’s life worthwhile was not simply being a pawn of the universe but
in the things that he did throughout his life. This, however, is undercut by
Malachi’s complete lack of choice in the matter—he was a puppet, he didn’t lead a particularly happy life, and he had no choice in the
matter. To his credit, Vonnegut acknowledges this at the very end of the novel,
when Malachi dies and is given, by Salo, a hallucination of Heaven—but it's a cold comfort, an ending as
empty as Malachi’s life.
3 comments:
This is my roommate's favorite. Is it bad beyond being kind of condescending?
It's just sort of empty to me. It's well-constructed and funny, but it just felt like empty literary calories.
If someone sympathized with the worldview, I suppose they'd probably like it a lot more. Every Vonnegut I've read was a lot better though.
Post a Comment