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A review by thaurisil
Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut
4.0
I'm amazed that I'm giving this 4 stars. Up to a point, I wanted to quit reading and give it one star.
Vonnegut explained that at fifty, he has been programmed to perform childishly, and that he has written this book to clear his head of all the junk in it. He demonstrated this by doing silly things like drawing a picture of an asshole, devoting a long passage to wide-open beavers, and telling us about the penis sizes of every male in the book. It was hopelessly immature. Other things were funny though. Vonnegut had this tactic of explaining things out of context with a frankness that made the subject seem ridiculous. For example, "The sea pirates were white. The people who were already on the continent when the pirates arrived were copper-colored. When slavery was introduced onto the continent, the slaves were black.” Topics covered this way included American history, racism, advertising, war and violence.
I also enjoyed satires told through Kilgore Trout's stories, Trout is an unrecognized science fiction writer whose works have mostly been published in porn magazines (hence the passage on beavers). He knows little about science, but clearly knows a lot about the world around him as demonstrated by his satirical stories. My favorite was the story of the Barring-gaffner of Bagnialto. Once a year, citizens submit their artwork to the Barring-gaffner, who spins a wheel to decide the value of each piece. One year, a cobbler who submits his first ever painting gets his work valued at one billion dollars.
However these things were all mentioned as tangents, and it annoyed me that Vonnegut wouldn't just get on with the central plot, until I read this:
That was a lightbulb moment for me. Suddenly, I realised that this book was not about Kilgore Trout or Dwayne Hoover or any of the other characters. This book was about Kurt Vonnegut. Dwayne Hoover's descent into schizophrenic madness was a parallel for Vonnegut's experience with depression and his fear that, like his mother, he would develop psychosis. Kilgore Trout's experiences as a writer were likewise reflections of Vonnegut's own experiences.
In the last part of the book, Vonnegut himself was a character sitting in the same hotel lounge as his characters. Though he continued telling the stories of his characters, he made it very clear that he was their Creator, and that they were part of his imagination. For example,
Vonnegut made it clear that there was no reality in his fiction, that all of it was ridiculous. He could control the characters like puppets and nothing they did would matter, because this was a book about him, about what he thought about fiction and writing, and not about the characters.
One of Vonnegut's tactics was to frequently begin paragraphs with "Listen:" and to end them with "And so on." I thought of this as a mark of bad writing until he explained it: “And it is in order to acknowledge the continuity of this polymer that I begin so many sentences with 'And' and 'So,' and end so many paragraphs with '… and so on.'" Vonnegut seemed to be saying that in a world where everything is an endless repetitive cycle, life is meaningless, and fictional characters with seemingly meaningful lives were even more so.
I still don't know what "Listen:" was all about though.
I found it interesting that Vonnegut, in calling himself the Creator for the characters, and frequently referring to the Creator of the Universe, was an atheist. I suppose that making everyone out to be machines with no free will controlled by an external being was a satire, because this untrue scenario showed that the Creator didn't exist. As a Christian, I couldn't help feeling that his ideas came so close to the truth, yet remained so far. For I believe we do have a Creator, but we also have free will, because we were made in His image. Having a Creator doesn't mean that life is meaningless, like Vonnegut implies. Rather it gives life meaning.
Vonnegut explained that at fifty, he has been programmed to perform childishly, and that he has written this book to clear his head of all the junk in it. He demonstrated this by doing silly things like drawing a picture of an asshole, devoting a long passage to wide-open beavers, and telling us about the penis sizes of every male in the book. It was hopelessly immature. Other things were funny though. Vonnegut had this tactic of explaining things out of context with a frankness that made the subject seem ridiculous. For example, "The sea pirates were white. The people who were already on the continent when the pirates arrived were copper-colored. When slavery was introduced onto the continent, the slaves were black.” Topics covered this way included American history, racism, advertising, war and violence.
I also enjoyed satires told through Kilgore Trout's stories, Trout is an unrecognized science fiction writer whose works have mostly been published in porn magazines (hence the passage on beavers). He knows little about science, but clearly knows a lot about the world around him as demonstrated by his satirical stories. My favorite was the story of the Barring-gaffner of Bagnialto. Once a year, citizens submit their artwork to the Barring-gaffner, who spins a wheel to decide the value of each piece. One year, a cobbler who submits his first ever painting gets his work valued at one billion dollars.
However these things were all mentioned as tangents, and it annoyed me that Vonnegut wouldn't just get on with the central plot, until I read this:
“This is a very bad book you’re writing,” I said to myself behind my leaks.
“I know,” I said.
“You’re afraid you’ll kill yourself the way your mother did,” I said.
“I know,” I said.
That was a lightbulb moment for me. Suddenly, I realised that this book was not about Kilgore Trout or Dwayne Hoover or any of the other characters. This book was about Kurt Vonnegut. Dwayne Hoover's descent into schizophrenic madness was a parallel for Vonnegut's experience with depression and his fear that, like his mother, he would develop psychosis. Kilgore Trout's experiences as a writer were likewise reflections of Vonnegut's own experiences.
In the last part of the book, Vonnegut himself was a character sitting in the same hotel lounge as his characters. Though he continued telling the stories of his characters, he made it very clear that he was their Creator, and that they were part of his imagination. For example,
So I made the green telephone in the back of the bar ring. Harold Newcomb Wilbur answered it, but he kept his eyes on me. I had to think fast about who was on the other end of the telephone. I put the first most decorated veteran in Midland City on the other end.
Vonnegut made it clear that there was no reality in his fiction, that all of it was ridiculous. He could control the characters like puppets and nothing they did would matter, because this was a book about him, about what he thought about fiction and writing, and not about the characters.
One of Vonnegut's tactics was to frequently begin paragraphs with "Listen:" and to end them with "And so on." I thought of this as a mark of bad writing until he explained it: “And it is in order to acknowledge the continuity of this polymer that I begin so many sentences with 'And' and 'So,' and end so many paragraphs with '… and so on.'" Vonnegut seemed to be saying that in a world where everything is an endless repetitive cycle, life is meaningless, and fictional characters with seemingly meaningful lives were even more so.
I still don't know what "Listen:" was all about though.
I found it interesting that Vonnegut, in calling himself the Creator for the characters, and frequently referring to the Creator of the Universe, was an atheist. I suppose that making everyone out to be machines with no free will controlled by an external being was a satire, because this untrue scenario showed that the Creator didn't exist. As a Christian, I couldn't help feeling that his ideas came so close to the truth, yet remained so far. For I believe we do have a Creator, but we also have free will, because we were made in His image. Having a Creator doesn't mean that life is meaningless, like Vonnegut implies. Rather it gives life meaning.