The non-linear format of events creates for the reader a look into what the Tralfamadorians try to describe to Billy; they see the world as a collection of moments, and they see these moments all at once. They have no concept of time:
"I am a Tralfamadorian, seeing all time as you might see a stretch of the Rocky Mountains. All time is time. It does not change. It does not lend itself to warnings or explanations. It simply is. Take it moment by moment, and you will find that we are all, as I've said before, bugs in amber" (86).
The disorganized collection of Billy's memories and his life in the present create has exactly this effect for us; we see his life like the Tralfamadorians see the world. We lose the sense of time and sense of linearity that we usually have to guide us through most novels. Furthermore, we lose all interest in the book for purely plot-driven events. Instead of worrying about who will die and who will survive--we already know, of course--we are simply reading because we want to see the entire picture. There's no doubt it my mind that Vonnegut did this on purpose, meaning for us to look at the story of a life in a totally different way.
So then, what do we make of the fact that this unique narrative also seems to advocate the fact that there is no sense in worrying or trying to change the future? The Tralfamadorians are very clear that they do not have a concept of free will:
"'If I hadn't spent so much time studying Earthlings,' said the Tralfamadorian, 'I wouldn't have any idea what is meant by "free will." I've visited thirty-one inhabited planets in the universe, and I have studied reports on one hundred more. Only on earth is there any talk of free will'" (86).
Just as we know that Edgar Derby will die at Dresden, we know we cannot change it and must simply accept it. The Tralfamadorians' way of thinking, which emphasizes this way of looking at the world, seems to rub off on Billy; his recurring "So it goes" phrase seems to remind us that there is nothing that can be changed: "When a Tralfamadorian sees a corpse, all he thinks is that the dead person is in bad condition in that particular moment...Now, when I myself hear that somebody is dead, I simply shrug and say what the Tralfamadorians say about dead people, which is 'So it goes'" (27). This creates a seemingly disheartening picture of the world, though. No matter what anybody says to us, we are still going to believe that there is a reason to live; if we truly believed that we have no free will and there is nothing to be done about anything, we would all most likely have serious psychological trouble. Truth is, we, as humans, have trouble grappling with the idea that our lives are useless. (Just like in The Stranger, when Merseult says "It doesn't matter," we may agree that it makes some sort of sense, but we do not truly believe it.)
When we compare all of these aspects of Vonnegut's writing coming together to create a fairly pesimistic view of the world to the message he seems to be sending about the bombing of Dresden, it's easy to get confused. The two sound like they're making totally conflicting points. At the beginning of the book, Vonnegut makes it clear that the bombing of Dresden is important and that we should all know about it. He writes, "It wasn't a famous air raid back then in America. Not many Americans knew how much worse it had been than Hiroshima, for instance. I didn't know that either" (10). Clearly, if Vonnegut decided to write Slaughterhouse-Five, there must be something significant about it. It's not as if we can simply shrug it aside with a "So it goes," right? I really don't think Vonnegut is saying that. There is a reconciliation between Billy's/the Tralfamadorians' way of thinking and the fact that the air raid of Dresden is not something to be overlooked. I think it lies in that Vonnegut is showing us the affects of what going to war can have on individuals; after they see and know so much, feelings of helplessness are largely inevitable. Therefore, war veterans may find comfort in thinking about the world in a way that makes death seem like just another part of life--which it is, but we tend to not think of it as such because it's very hard for humans to have that kind of nonchalance about something they feel does matter.
1 comment:
Lots of good stuff here. At a simple but important level, you're right that the paradox of free will we experience as readers isn't fundamentally different from how any book works--or any memory, for that matter. We go over the same narrative elements over and over, but everything always turns out the same. In fiction, we see people who believe they have free will acting to affect their circumstances, but we know that they will always do what they do, and the outcome will always be the same. The moment, quite literally, is structured that way.
Same with a memory, traumatic or otherwise. Whenever Vonnegut (or Billy) goes back to contemplate the experience of Dresden, it always turns out the same. The value in going over this familiar ground isn't in drawing a character who can affect the course of events, but rather finding the small moments of redemption amid such horrific circumstances.
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