The house has been slaughtered. (Or, reflections on Slaughterhouse-Five)

So I finished Slaughterhouse-Five. I don't feel like I really wrote enough entries to justify already finishing my blog... Oh well!

The book was...interesting. It's hard to tell whether it was Vonnegut's writing style and humor were the key factors in pulling me through the book, or if it was the plot. Wait, never mind. I'm pretty sure it was Vonnegut's writing style and humor. In fact, I'm almost positive, which is ironic considering the plot was what pulled me into the story.

But my detachment from the plot, in my personal opinion, is a representation of the Tralfamadorian way of thinking. That is to say, life is all preplanned. We are on a set path, and we could move around in the 4th dimension and see our death before we experience our first kiss, and none of it would make any difference. I'm going to quote a passage that explains Tralfamadorian books:

"Billy couldn't read Tralfamadorian, of course, but he could at least see how the books were laid out - in brief clumps of symbols seperated by stars. Billy commented that the clumps might be telegrams.
'Exactly,' said the voice.
'They are telegrams?'
'There are no telegrams on Tralfamadore. But you're right: each clump of symbols is a brief, urgent message - describing a situation, a scene. We Tralfamadorians read them all at once, not one after the other. There isn't any particular relationship between all the messages, except that the author has chosen them carefully, so that, when seen all at once, they produce an image of life that is beautiful and surprising and deep. There is no beginning, no middle, no end, no suspense, no moral, no causes, no effects. What we love in our books are the depths of many marvelous moments seen all at one time.'"

So here's a basic layout for the book: Billy Pilgrim is in World War II, and he is tossed around through time, one day seeing his daughter being married, the next day in the bombing of Dresden, the next in a train headed for Dresden, and the next witnessing his own death. Yes, Billy Pilgrim dies 70 or so pages before the book ends. But it's all for naught, because he was always supposed to die that day, and he always would.

Even the bombing of Dresden is a rather melodramatic moment. Billy knows it's going to happen. The reader knows it's going to happen. And when it does, there is no surprise. No suspense. The story doesn't concern itself for what part of Billy's life is the beginning, or the middle, or the end. It's just about the greater picture of what war is like, what life is like, what time is like.

That being said... I found the little snippets and bits of Billy Pilgrim's life rather annoying. He is a man who is crazy. Not in an interesting writing style sort of way, and not in a uniquely-genius-outlook-on-life kind of way, but just in a crazy way. He is so emotionless and thoughtless and boring throughout the story.

But I guess that's how Vonnegut wanted the story written. Or something like that. The whole point of the book is that when you see life like a Tralfamadorian, nothing really matters; cause and effect as we know them are useless. Well, that may be so kind little man in the back of my head, I might say (if I were I crazy [like Billy Pilgrim {Hey, I've already got enough voices in here!}]), but the book was still a bit bothersome to read.

Anyway, that about covers it. My initial reflections at least. Yes, this unbearably long post just consisted of my initial reflections on the book. Fear not faithful readers who, unless you're skipping to the bottom [DON'T DO THAT], have actually read this entire passage, I will update with even deeper thoughts and ideas! Until then, adieu, adieu, adieu.