So It Goes.

I believe the first time I read this book was about two or three summers ago; my goal of that particular summer had been to read some "classic" (read: serious) literature. I knew nothing about it more than its name and that one of my counselors from camp had read a book by the same author. I checked it out from the library and got right to work.

At first, it met my expectations perfectly. War, firebombings, veterans growing old- this is the stuff of the serious and stuffy novels which I had set out to read. Once the Tralfamadorians arrived, however, my preconceived notion of the book went right out the window, and landed plop on the sidewalk outside. But therein lies the problem. My preconceived notion didn't go right out the window. It lingered, causing my brain to be intensely puzzled at every passing chapter. Slaughterhouse Five was supposed to be a serious book, serious but good. While it was well-written, it was only serious in some parts, the other parts somberly comical. Better said: it gave the illusion of being serious all the way through. But how serious can one be about aliens and being "unstuck in time"? I finished the book, of course, but was left with a very strange impression, and one that I wanted to refine with a rereading. However, as I am apt to do, I got busy and had no time to do so.

Fast forward a couple of years to about a month or two before today. I am browsing audiobooks because I am preparing to drive up and surprise visit my friend in Pennsylvania. And what to my wondering eyes should appear? But Slaughterhouse Five, sans tiny reindeer. So I bought it, reminding myself that it's not as serious as I thought it was, reminding myself to clear my mind before starting. 

Of course the man reading the audiobook has a beautiful voice, and I speed through it, between the drive to PA and back and the train ride to and from Philly. Quite possibly the coolest part of the listening experience: afterwards, there was an interview with Kurt Vonnegut himself, followed by a short audio clip of him reading the beginning of the novel. Anyone can read another persons work and sound good, but there is nothing quite like the author reading it as he intended it to sound. 

Onward and upward, to the actual content of the book (no spoilers, I promise). To begin with, it was quite thought-provoking. Not only did it portray a face of war that usually isn't portrayed, but it also juxtaposed that next to a culture that didn't view death as a bad/sad/constant thing. Both elements were interesting alone, but took on a different meaning when paired.

What face of war isn't usually portrayed, you ask? The face of the unheroic hero. The soldier who hopes he dies, who doesn't want to be in the war in the first place, who looks ridiculous and not at all "like Frank Sinatra or John Wayne". The soldier who marches in combat boots painted silver, and only continues to survive for two reasons: through random fortunate circumstances, and because he is the main character.

All I will say of the Tralfamadorian view of death is to quote the book. (From chapter 2, so if it spoils anything, it won't spoil much.

The most important thing I learned on Tralfamadore was that when a person dies he only appears to die. He is still very much alive in the past, so it is very silly for people to cry at his funeral. All moments, past, present and future, always have existed, always will exist.They can see how permanent all the moments are, and they can look at any moment that interests them. It is just an illusion we have here on Earth that one moment follows another one, like beads on a string, and that once a moment is gone it is gone forever.
When a Tralfamadorian sees a corpse, all he thinks is that the dead person is in bad condition in the particular moment, but that the same person is just fine in plenty of other moments. 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." The Tralfamadorians can look at all the different moments just that way we can look at a stretch of the Rocky Mountains, for instance.

It's such a strange view on death, and one that is difficult to adapt your mind to, difficult to start using. I've tried, and it works sometimes, although I haven't really had deaths that are world-shattering to apply it to. But it's a different view than what we are always taught about death. It's not a bad thing; it simply is. So it goes.

Poo-tee-weet.