We are what we pretend to be… a review of two of Vonnegut’s classics

 

This is the first time I visited the Kurt Vonnegut Library and Museum in Indianapolis. It felt like a pilgrimage to me. As a lifelong fan of Vonnegut, standing in the heart of the city he called home was surreal. The museum, nestled in a building that seemed as quirky and unassuming as Vonnegut’s own wit, was a treasure trove of personal artifacts, letters, and the original manuscripts of his works that had shaped so much of my thinking.

Walking through the exhibits, I felt a deep connection to the man behind the books that had been my companions for years. Seeing the first edition of *Slaughterhouse-Five*, with its bold, iconic cover, and the typewriter where Vonnegut himself had hammered out the words of *Mother Night*, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of awe and nostalgia. It was like meeting an old friend, someone whose words had guided me through the complexities of life, only to realize that friend was just as complex, just as human, as I had always imagined.

What struck me most was the personal touches scattered throughout the museum — his drawings, the family photos, the letters filled with his trademark humor and biting commentary on the absurdity of the world. It reminded me why Vonnegut’s work has always resonated so deeply with me. He was a master at finding the humor in the bleakest of circumstances, at exposing the absurdity of life while still holding onto a profound compassion for the human condition. Leaving the museum, I felt a renewed sense of connection to his work and an even greater appreciation for the man who had so profoundly influenced my understanding of the world.

These are two of my favorite books. I have read them so many times, yet every time I find a new meaning and walk away with some food for thought.

Mother Night is a darkly satirical novel that explores the murky moral waters of identity, responsibility, and the duality of human nature. The story follows Howard W. Campbell Jr., an American playwright who becomes a prominent Nazi propagandist during World War II. However, the twist is that Campbell is also a secret agent for the United States, transmitting coded messages to the Allies through his vile broadcasts. As you might imagine, this dual role makes his life a tangled mess of ethical contradictions and moral ambiguity.

The novel opens with Campbell languishing in an Israeli prison, awaiting trial for war crimes. He’s a man caught between worlds, literally and figuratively — a traitor to his country and a hero, a Nazi and an American, a lover of truth and a master of lies. The narrative is presented as Campbell’s memoir, written in the spirit of confession or perhaps self-delusion, as he attempts to piece together his fractured sense of self.

Throughout the novel, Vonnegut’s trademark wit and dark humor are ever-present. Campbell’s life story is populated with a cast of bizarre characters, from neo-Nazis who worship him to Soviet agents who want to use him, and even an American who can’t decide if he’s Campbell’s friend or his executioner. Vonnegut uses these characters to poke fun at the absurdities of ideology and the fickle nature of human loyalty.

One of the central themes of Mother Night is the idea that we are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be. Campbell, who pretended to be a loyal Nazi for so long, finds that he has lost sight of who he really is — if he ever knew at all. His attempts to justify his actions, to reconcile the man he is with the man he pretended to be, form the heart of the novel’s moral inquiry.

Vonnegut doesn’t offer easy answers. Instead, he presents a world where right and wrong are often indistinguishable, where good people do terrible things and bad people sometimes do good. The novel leaves readers questioning the nature of evil, the meaning of identity, and whether it’s even possible to know oneself in a world where everyone is playing a part.

Mother Night is a cautionary tale about the dangers of losing oneself in the masks we wear, the stories we tell, and the roles we play. It’s a witty, tragic, and deeply human exploration of the lies we live by — and the truths we can’t escape.

Slaughterhouse-Five by Vonnegut is a masterful blend of science fiction, dark humor, and profound anti-war commentary, all wrapped up in the tragically absurd story of Billy Pilgrim. The novel’s subtitle, The Children’s Crusade, hints at the innocence lost amidst the horrors of war, a theme that Vonnegut, a Dresden survivor himself, explores with biting wit and a deep sense of irony.

The novel follows Billy Pilgrim, an ordinary, unremarkable man who becomes “unstuck in time.” This means that Billy experiences moments from his life in a non-linear fashion, jumping from his mundane post-war existence as an optometrist in Ilium, New York, to his time as a soldier in World War II, to his abduction by aliens from the planet Tralfamadore. Yes, you read that right — aliens. But more on them later.

At the heart of Billy’s story is the bombing of Dresden, a horrific event that took place in February 1945, when Allied forces dropped approximately 3,900 tons of bombs on the German city, reducing it to rubble and killing an estimated 25,000 people, mostly civilians. Dresden, a city known for its beautiful architecture and rich cultural heritage, was almost entirely destroyed, and its residents were incinerated in the firestorm that followed the bombing. Vonnegut, who was a POW in Dresden at the time, survived the bombing by sheltering in a slaughterhouse — hence the title of the book.

Vonnegut doesn’t present the Dresden bombing as a heroic or necessary act of war; instead, he portrays it as a senseless tragedy, an atrocity that serves no purpose other than to highlight the absurdity of human conflict. Billy’s time in Dresden, and his survival of the bombing, become the emotional and moral core of the novel. But rather than directly confronting the horrors he witnessed, Billy copes by becoming a passive observer of his own life, allowing himself to be carried along by the whims of fate and time.

This passivity is exemplified by Billy’s phrase, “So it goes,” which he repeats whenever death or tragedy is mentioned in the novel. It’s a phrase that captures the fatalistic, almost resigned attitude of someone who has seen too much and understood too little. For Billy, and perhaps for Vonnegut as well, “So it goes” is a way of acknowledging the inevitability of death and suffering without getting bogged down by it — a way of accepting the world’s cruelty without letting it destroy you.

Now, about those aliens. The Tralfamadorians, who abduct Billy and put him in a zoo for their amusement, offer a unique perspective on time. They see all moments as existing simultaneously, meaning that every moment, good or bad, always is and always will be. This deterministic view of time allows them to focus only on the good moments, ignoring the bad, which is perhaps Billy’s way of dealing with his traumatic experiences. The Tralfamadorians’ philosophy may seem comforting, but it’s also deeply nihilistic, suggesting that free will is an illusion and that we are all powerless to change our fates.

Vonnegut uses this science fiction framework to underscore the novel’s central themes: the randomness of life, the inevitability of death, and the absurdity of war. The bombing of Dresden becomes a symbol of the senseless destruction that war wreaks on both its participants and its victims, while Billy’s time-traveling and alien encounters highlight the disconnect between the human desire for meaning and the chaotic reality of existence.

But Vonnegut doesn’t let his readers off easy. Despite the novel’s humor and absurdity, *Slaughterhouse-Five* is a deeply serious work that forces us to confront uncomfortable truths about war, memory, and trauma. The book’s disjointed narrative reflects the fragmented nature of Billy’s psyche, and by extension, the psyche of anyone who has experienced the horrors of war.

In the end, Slaughterhouse-Five is as much about the futility of trying to make sense of war as it is about the futility of war itself. It’s a novel that refuses to offer easy answers or tidy resolutions, instead leaving readers with the uncomfortable realization that, like Billy, we are all “unstuck in time,” trying to find our way in a world that often seems incomprehensible and cruel.

Yet, through it all, Vonnegut’s wit and humor shine through, reminding us that even in the darkest of times, there is still room for laughter, for absurdity, and for a deep, abiding compassion for the flawed, fragile creatures that we are. And so it goes.

The annual Library journal, published from 2012 to the present day, is a veritable treasure trove of literary gems. It provides an array of enriching content and is a must-read for all literature enthusiasts. I highly recommend it, especially if you’re a Vonnegut fan, as you’ll undoubtedly find it incredibly enjoyable and insightful.