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1.1: What's Up With Kevin? (Entry #2)
1.1: What's Up With Kevin? (Entry #2)
English 111 O
In-Class Journals
Where to begin? Slaughterhouse Five felt like a mess to me. A big, jumbled,
overwhelming mess of a novel, where nothing seemed to stream together and
everything seemed distant, far-off and preposterous. Vonnegut lays down layer
upon layer of confusion and delusion, and the reader really only is left to try and
figure out the diseased rantings of an old war veteran.
Although I felt so perplexed and almost cluttered by the introductory chapters of the
novel, I felt like I appreciated what Vonnegut was aiming for and how he portrayed
his own fragmented musings. I truly did feel like I was reading a war book, and
venturing into the mind of a crazed person, one conflicted and flighty. The book felt
light in the hand, just as light as Billy likely felt as he hopped from time period to
time period, lightless as a speck of light being glued and unglued to the fibers of
reality.
Vonneguts portrayal of the characters really does create this strange sentiment.
Every character seems distant, almost unapproachable and unreal. The only
character you feel as if you can really resonate with is Barbara, Billys daughter. Her
feelings reflect your own, that none of this is real, and obviously this man is
mentally ill.
Overall, Vonneguts Slaughterhouse Five struck me as incredibly unique and difficult
to comprehend in its simplicity and at the same time its striking complexity. This is
what it is like to be insane.
I found it curious that this passage seemed to correlate with what was said about
Billy earlier, that he has no impact on past, present or future. This is clearly a
Tralfamadorian perception, one where the world is not impacted by his actions,
where everything is devoid of free will or any meaningful action. The moment is the
moment, and everything exists for no seeming reason.
is nothing hurting, when there seems to be a death here that looms? And what does
it mean when Vonnegut says that it would make a good epitaph for him and Billy
Pilgrim?
A natural question that arises, too, then, is what life signifies for every individual.
Can this vision of life really dictate that life faces no consequences? This
Tralfamadorian concept that life is beautiful and is to be taken as a whole, a clump
of happy, beautiful moments is one that is obviously endearing and appealing. But
is it really possible? In war, this grave appears, and the epitaph for mankind seems
to be the same. What will we do, what action will we take, how will we move
forward, or not at all?