Chaos. That’s the only way to explain this book. Absolute chaos. After reading the first paragraph, I was intrigued. After the second paragraph, I wanted to give up. And you probably will, too. My advice: Don’t.
Seen through the eyes of the delusional Billy Pilgrim, war embodies a new meaning in Slaughterhouse 5. With Pilgrim’s character, Vonnegut does much more than describe our society; he puts us right in the middle of our nonsensical brutality, bellyflopping us into our own world, so we experience the full force of our hypocrisy, an overwhelming experience.
A time travelling protagonist makes for a bit of brow-furring at the start, but eventually, I began to understand the twisting format and to yield to its apparent randomness. When I stopped trying to make sense of it all, it started taking shape: it’s not supposed to make sense. The chaos is Vonnegut’s point. He cleverly compels us to look inward by paralleling humans to Tralfmadorian aliens. With that, he forces us to point our accusatory fingers in a new direction: at ourselves. He reveals that we are our own worst enemy by toying with the irony of an American prisoner of war being bombed by Americans, almost mocking our cruelties by showing that we’re really just hurting ourselves.
Although Pilgrim’s questionable sanity and time travelling make Slaughterhouse 5 anything but a quick and easy read, this impactful anti-war novel is worth the beginner’s confusion. The frustration, which is really a frustration with our own society, is what makes this such a masterpiece, so embrace it. And let Vonnegut do what he intended: expose us to ourselves.
Seen through the eyes of the delusional Billy Pilgrim, war embodies a new meaning in Slaughterhouse 5. With Pilgrim’s character, Vonnegut does much more than describe our society; he puts us right in the middle of our nonsensical brutality, bellyflopping us into our own world, so we experience the full force of our hypocrisy, an overwhelming experience.
A time travelling protagonist makes for a bit of brow-furring at the start, but eventually, I began to understand the twisting format and to yield to its apparent randomness. When I stopped trying to make sense of it all, it started taking shape: it’s not supposed to make sense. The chaos is Vonnegut’s point. He cleverly compels us to look inward by paralleling humans to Tralfmadorian aliens. With that, he forces us to point our accusatory fingers in a new direction: at ourselves. He reveals that we are our own worst enemy by toying with the irony of an American prisoner of war being bombed by Americans, almost mocking our cruelties by showing that we’re really just hurting ourselves.
Although Pilgrim’s questionable sanity and time travelling make Slaughterhouse 5 anything but a quick and easy read, this impactful anti-war novel is worth the beginner’s confusion. The frustration, which is really a frustration with our own society, is what makes this such a masterpiece, so embrace it. And let Vonnegut do what he intended: expose us to ourselves.
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