Today is 9/11. Tomorrow is 9/12. By 9/19, I hope to be at the end of Chapter 88 of Cat’s Cradle, which comes on page 131 of the American Library edition. I hope to see you there, where “…he was no good at facing the public, and neither am I.”
The Rabo Karabekian Memorial Deathmarch: Week 2
by bill | Sep 11, 2016 | The Rabo Karabekian Memorial Deathmarch | 13 comments
Claire Minton’s letter is so still-appropriate. I think even the most nationalist Americans don’t deny that we’re hated by many; but they still believe that it’s undeserved, and that although some of it is the nominal level of dislike that all people have for someone somewhere, a lot of it is the result of our superiority. “Americans couldn’t imagine what it was like to be something else, to be something else and be proud of it.”
“It isn’t size that makes a man a pissant. It’s the way he thinks.” True. In my time living in Texas, I met many tall, burly pissants.
If V mounts Julian Castle on a couple of right-angled steel beams in Frank’s house, I’m going to have to put the book down for a few days out of disappointment.
Oh, and: the world would be a better place if as many people were familiar with the word “karass” as are familiar with the word “granfalloon”.
I had forgotten how funny KV is, but once I started reading I also remembered that I didn’t get the humor when I tried to read this as a high school-er. It just irritated me. And now, here I am cracking up over this exchange:
“This is what I’d call a hotel with a real heart. How many hotel owners would take such a direct interest in the comfort of a guest?”
“How many hotel owners have just one guest?”
“You used to have three.”
“Those were the days.”
So my husband and I are sharing the book, and that is not going so well, so I looked it up at the SF Public Library site to see where I can find another copy. I was a little surprised to find that it’s listed as a TEEN book.
I was intrigued by the sort of foot fetish in Bokononism, the “mingling of awareness” achieved by practicing boko-maru. It made me recall my experience years ago with Reflexology, which is supposed to improve ailments in other parts of the body by another person manipulating various areas of one’s feet. Chiropractic claims to help various areas of the body by manipulating the spine, so I suppose manipulating feet is equally tenable?
Of course other religions place importance on feet such as Jesus washing his disciples feet (which some groups still replicate), and Moses being told to remove his shoes by the voice from the burning bush, etc. I think I’d like to try boko-maru just to see what happens.
Couldn’t help but think of The Donald when H. Lowe Crosby says “A pissant is somebody who thinks he’s so damn smart, he never can keep his mouth shut.”
Since Chapter 74 bears the Title Name of the entire story, I thought that it would merit some special attention. Perhaps here it would become crystal clear exactly what KV primarily wants to convey to his readers in this fable.
But the first thing that struck me, having once earned my living as an architect, was the description of Frank’s house, the former home of architect Nestor Aamons, father of the heavenly beautiful and invincibly placid Mona (Mona Lisa?).
The description of the house is a patently absurd concept (typical, I suppose for V):
“It straddled a waterfall; had a terrace cantilevered out into the mist rising from the fall.”
But this fantastic concept is exactly the “parti” of Fallingwater, Frank Lloyd Wright’s brilliant residential masterwork, built in Stewart Township, PA in 1935. It was designated a National Historic Landmark in 1966, three years after the publication of Cat’s Cradle. Could have V have created this implausible image purely from his imagination had he not seen Fallingwater?
But I digress. We reach the meat of the subject at the end of Chapter 74, where little Newt tries to explain the hundred-thousand-year multi-cultural tradition and essential meaning of his painting of the Cat’s Cradle: “No damn cat, no damn cradle.” So much for the significance of a thousand centuries of traditional parenting efforts.
In Chapter 76 Julian Castle is initially introduced as a “saint” in the eyes of the narrator, who has come on a magazine assignment to write about him. But this saintly man surprises him with a satanic-sounding quote: “Man is vile, and man makes nothing worth making, and knows nothing worth knowing.”
By these and numerous other examples, I am persuaded that the central theme of Cat’s Cradle is that our lives are essentially meaningless. The author’s view of reality seems to be totally nihilistic. There have not been, and probably will not be, any heros or actions to admire in this tale. Bokononism will offer no refuge.
Bummer. Until I started reading Cat’s Cradle, I believed myself to be a serious skeptic and dedicated cynic. Vonnegut has made me see that, in truth, I’m a regular Pollyanna.
I actually have some experience with boko-maru, and it does in fact work.
Enjoyed:
– V’s sense of timing as he dishes out on the mark punch lines, reveals tenets of Bokononism, and lands the characters on San Lorenzo in unexpected ways.
– the evocative word coinages. Their mere sound often lets you in on their meaning: a “granfalloon” hardly made me feel fuzzy and warm.
– Bokonon’s definition of maturity, which describes my husband to a tee: “Maturity,” Bokonon tells us, “is a bitter disappointment for which no remedy exits, unless laughter can be said to remedy anything.”
No damn cat, no damn cradle – said Tyrion Lannister, er Newt. (Can’t you just hear the slight lisp? Tyrion has defined dwarf for our era.) But that was also my kernel of truth.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t find anyone to care about in this nihilistic satire. Got engaged intellectually – it’s Vonnegut – but not emotionally. Bokonism turned me off right from the start – had a much easier time w Dune’s theocracy – and all I could think of was Boko Haram. I’m hoping the next one has some character development.
Onward!
I’m the worst, and so far behind already. This is how Tech Week goes, I guess. I shall catch up!
It’s odd for me to see that people think of this book as nihilistic. Certainly, on a rational level, this is entirely reasonable. But for some reason, however dark the subject matter, I find reading Vonnegut uplifting.
To be sure, he doesn’t sugarcoat the ugly truth (if indeed that’s what it is; let’s posit for the sake of argument that it is). Even so, something about the humor and humanity with which Vonnegut writes makes me feel hopeful. The sheer fact of continuing to create and communicate in the face of the abyss indicates that the artist, however pessimistic about the ultimate result, wishes to fight on. (See also: David Bowie.)
There’s also, of course, the fact the Vonnegut was clinically depressed on and off for his whole life. Certainly this enters into one’s worldview. But however gloomy his professed beliefs, he tried in his small way to increase the amount of compassion in the world. There’s some inspiration in that, surely?
Bill: I certainly don’t consider it nihilistic, for the exact reason you state: the humor and humanity in his writing. And Bokononism seems to be his humble way of dealing with the abyss, however cynical and ridiculous it is, right down to its origin story, which we read this week.
My criticism for this week, though, was that I felt like we spent too long on that plane ride, without enough payoff. The indexing chapter was fantastic though, and we DID get payoff for the final entry: “xylophone virtuoso”.
Also, there really was a Meade Lux Lewis, as mentioned in Chapter 81. The record mentioned, Cat House Piano, was also real and is on Spotify. The song that Angela plays along to, Dragon Blues, is here: https://open.spotify.com/track/2bl7eXFVuEikeb6t1g9Oxl
I’m getting much joy from the little moments that connect this tale to other KV worlds. This time in particular, the reference to the Rumfoord estate in chapter 49, drawing a line of string to Winston Niles Rumfoord, from Sirens of Titans.