Cat's Cradle, by Kurt Vonnegut

It is confusing why they always label Kurt Vonnegut a Science-fiction writer. Yes, his stories contain sci-fi elements, but they’re always little more than cheesy rhetorical devices. In Breakfast of Champions the only thrusts in the direction of science-fiction are the numerous references to the terrible writings of Kilgore Trout dotted around the book; they’re more like parodies of sci-fi than the real stuff, used as a way to get unusual ideas across by dressing them up in the most ridiculous clothing imaginable. This is exactly the same with Vonnegut’s alien ‘Tralmalfadorians’ from Slaughterhouse 5 – which are not so much a fantastic ‘Woah, what if there was a society like THIS!’, or a clever Star Trek way of getting across insightful comments about our own world, as they are about creating a really bad joke to make fun of the human race. It’s never made clear whether the Tralmalfadorians (I could be misspelling it, but I don’t think it matters) are actually real, or just the fevered imaginings of the protagonist – their inherent ridiculousness and the way they’re interacted with suggests the latter, but even so, they’re a relatively minor part of the whole book. Vonnegut’s work is always firmly grounded in the world of 20^th century America.

          In Cat’s Cradle our token sci-fi throw-in is a substance called ‘ice-nine’, and unlike the previous examples mentioned, this time the sci-fi stuff actually has a bearing on how the book progresses. ‘Ice-nine’ is a chemical that can instantaneously freeze water solid, an ice with a melting-point of one hundred and thirty degrees Fahrenheit – it matters not how much water and how little ‘ice-nine’, as just one sand-sized grain could freeze an entire ocean in a single moment. And, considering that each ocean is connected to every other ocean, and each ocean connects to countless bays and seas, and is fed by an interconnected series of rivers pouring into it all; you get the picture. ‘Ice-nine’: Caution, do not get wet!

          I think the science behind this idea is dodgy, but then I do not consider Vonnegut an actual science-fiction writer. He’s too warped for that. This is a book that was written at the height of the Cold War, a book about the end of the world –  a strange and disturbing end it is too.

          Like all of Vonnegut’s work I’ve so far sampled, the plot, characters and setting are paper-thin and can’t be deconstructed or examined satisfactorily – all attempts to do so will be disappointing. The characters are mere sketches, the setting little more than a backdrop, and the plot not especially worthy of note – while in this book Vonnegut doesn’t actually go whole-hog post-modern on us by telling us the ending at the beginning, there’s no harm in knowing that it’s a book about the end of the world – something that is hinted at all the way through. The characters, plot, setting and themes all mix together to create a potent little cocktail that is greater than the sum of its parts. After reading this book I felt quite nauseous, not because of any intense goriness or especially horrific imagery that appeared in it – Vonnegut’s not that sort of writer – but as though I had ingested something not altogether beneficial to my health. Would I recommend it to try? Not if you want a cosy bed-time story that warmly reinforces everything you believe in and tells you ‘it’s all going to be okay.’ But then, why would anyone want to read a book about the unsalvageable brokenness of mankind? It’s either going to make you feel morbidly depressed, or you’re going to try everything in your power to reject everything it says and run crying and screaming into another camp.

          Or you could just say it’s a stupid, retarded book written by a delusional and pessimistic mind. Which is no more than a way of rephrasing the previous point.

          I however prefer to say that it is worth reading this sick little comic-tragedy, if only because there’s nothing quite like it in the world. Vonnegut has his own way with words, and to experience them will only ever cause you to grow as an individual – the reason we read in the first place. I still think that Slaughterhouse 5 is better, because though both are equally soul-rending, Slaughterhouse is somehow more... human about the way it presents itself. As bad as it gets in Dresden and beyond, at least it seems there is some kind of sputtering little LED of human decency and emotion lurking in the souls of some of the characters, and the protagonist has an actual heart beating inside him; whereas in Cat’s Cradle we feel that the people are in too bad a shape to save themselves. The world is destroyed by a simple thing, brought about by simple human weakness. There is no resistance possible, and the people aren’t worth saving.

          Anyway, I haven’t even said anything about the plot yet. So, it’s a first-person narrative from a guy, Jonah, who was writing a book about the development of the atomic bomb. He decided to research the life of one of the ‘Fathers’ of the bomb, Dr Felix Hoenikker, now deceased, and so attempts to get in touch with his three children: Newt, Frank and Angela. The story is broken up into very short sub-titled chapters with an average length of two pages, and in his meandering account Jonah slips in references to the religion of Bokononsim, a little-known cult from the island of San Lorenzo, which he for some reason adopts after the events he’s describing. As he delves further into the mystery of Dr Felix Hoenikker he learns of ‘ice-nine’, and is drawn by chance to the Caribbean island republic of San Lorenzo. Here, Jonah comes face to face with Bokononism and the end of the world occurs.

          Okay, so the plot isn’t great when summed up like that, and about half the book seems to be about this constructed religion of Bokononism, its principles and, for want of a better word, its beliefs. Like the Tralmalfadorians of Slaughterhouse 5, Bokononism is a strange construct used to convey some radical and crackpot ideas by dressing them up in the silliest clothes imaginable – it exists by saying that their entire religion is a pack of lies, something that no other human religion has ever admitted before. Its principles are to simply: ‘Live by the foma* that make you brave and kind and healthy and happy’ (*harmless untruths. Cat’s Cradle, Penguin, pg. xvii), and then launches into these various foma, or harmless untruths; the most important notion being the interconnectedness of certain human beings regardless of racial, national or mental divisions, in something called a karass. I won’t try to explain any more because that’s what the book is for. 

If you want to bite the bullet, then go right ahead; nobody’s stopping you. Though I can’t say any more about Bokononism, I will at least end this review on one of its more enlightened concepts; a ritual whereby two people touch the bare soles of their feet together:

“        What I had seen, of course, was the Bokononist ritual of boko-maru, or the mingling of awareness.

          We Bokononists believe that it is impossible to be sole-to-sole with another person without loving the person, provided the feet of both persons are clean and nicely tended.

          The basis for the foot ceremony is this ‘Calypso’:

                   We will touch our feet, yes,

                   Yes, for all we’re worth.

                   And we will love each other, yes,

                   Yes, like we love our Mother Earth.                    ”

          [Excerpt from Cat’s Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut. Penguin. Pp.112-113]

Bibliononism

Vonnegut, Kurt. Cat’s Cradle. Penguin Classics: St. Ives. (1965 [First Published 1963])