Can Anti-war novels bring about a rethinking and actually prevent war?
"God grant me
The serenity to accept
The things I cannot change,
Courage
To change the things I can,
And wisdom always
To tell the
Difference." (The Serenity Prayer, Reinhold Niebuhr)
Can a book permeated with death and destruction make you laugh and leave you flummoxed at the same time? Yes, it can. Here I present to you, Slaughterhouse 5 ( or The Children's Crusade, A Duty-Dance with Death), by Kurt Vonnegut, published in 1969. Vonnegut warps our perception of time within the first few pages, to such an extent that we cannot distinguish where reality ends and fiction begins; or whether the current part of the novel is narrated by the writer himself, or the supposed hero, Billy Pilgrim. Vonnegut states in the very first page that the war events described in the book really did take place, but that he has changed the names of all persons implicated. He talks about death in all its forms, beginning with the cruelty to Christ, to the atrocities of the bombing of the German town of Dresden; death due to natural causes and death in times of war,even the death of the novel, all drenched in morbid, sardonic humour. Yes, humour. I do not recollect what I expected from this well-known work, but it certainly wasn't this: an unbelievably matter-of-fact take on the Second World War, by a war veteran, no less.
Apart from muddling the time frame and creating a narrative within a narrative - Vonnegut posits Billy Pilgrim as a fellow soldier of his in the war, with the latter as central character through most of the story - the author introduces an extraterrestrial landscape where humans are unheard of, and their activities, especially mating, is lapped up by the creatures of this alien planet, Tralfamadore. These creatures regard Time as an interminable flow, where only the pleasant moments of one's existence stand out, and death is but a temporary pause in the eternity of life. All moments are predestined, and actual reality transcends human understanding. There is such a thing as a fourth dimension, where those whom we consider dead are still alive.
The reader has to peruse closely, for there are recurrent motifs (somewhere a dog barked, the smell of roses and mustard gas, "so it goes" after each death, "Farewell and hello",etc)pertaining to war and the absurdity of the notions of chivalry and glamour commonly attached to it. Though the bombing of Dresden is said to be more heinous than that in Hiroshima, Vonnegut only rarely zooms in on the gory scenes of violence and mostly remains a detached spectator and chronicler of true events. The narrative is often cinematic too, especially the scene where he watches the movie regarding American bombers in the War, backwards. In the end, Billy extrapolates that everybody, even Hitler, becomes a baby and creates a perfect Adam and Eve.
There will always be men who will never cease killing until they themselves are killed. And there will also be those who yearn for world peace. In between, there exist the people who couldn't care less, whose humdrum lives go on despite war being waged just beyond their city's borders, comfortable in their blissful bubble of ignorance. Whatever man does, does not matter in the cosmic calendar. Mankind may arrogantly presume that they have the power to discover and transform the universe, but ultimately the maxim of Charles Darwin shall prevail: Those who adapt shall survive, and the others will perish.
Whatever its demerits may be, for the reader who perseveres to the last page, this novel stands testament to the fact that there is no glory in war, where men are brainwashed and labelled as soldiers, a blind eye is turned upon mass killing by the concerned authorities, and innocent civilians become mere numbers on paper, so easily forgotten.
Is that all a human life is worth?
Does war actually serve some noble purpose, as its perpetrators claim?
More importantly, can novels such as these, with their anti-war stand, make us think twice before we commit further crimes against our very nature?
These are relevant questions in these times of re-arising jingoism, religious fanaticism and the long-predicted, impending Third World War for water.
I choose to quote Camus in this context:
"Every act of rebellion expresses a nostalgia for innocence and an appeal to the essence of being."
The rest I leave to you, dear reader.
The serenity to accept
The things I cannot change,
Courage
To change the things I can,
And wisdom always
To tell the
Difference." (The Serenity Prayer, Reinhold Niebuhr)
Can a book permeated with death and destruction make you laugh and leave you flummoxed at the same time? Yes, it can. Here I present to you, Slaughterhouse 5 ( or The Children's Crusade, A Duty-Dance with Death), by Kurt Vonnegut, published in 1969. Vonnegut warps our perception of time within the first few pages, to such an extent that we cannot distinguish where reality ends and fiction begins; or whether the current part of the novel is narrated by the writer himself, or the supposed hero, Billy Pilgrim. Vonnegut states in the very first page that the war events described in the book really did take place, but that he has changed the names of all persons implicated. He talks about death in all its forms, beginning with the cruelty to Christ, to the atrocities of the bombing of the German town of Dresden; death due to natural causes and death in times of war,even the death of the novel, all drenched in morbid, sardonic humour. Yes, humour. I do not recollect what I expected from this well-known work, but it certainly wasn't this: an unbelievably matter-of-fact take on the Second World War, by a war veteran, no less.
Apart from muddling the time frame and creating a narrative within a narrative - Vonnegut posits Billy Pilgrim as a fellow soldier of his in the war, with the latter as central character through most of the story - the author introduces an extraterrestrial landscape where humans are unheard of, and their activities, especially mating, is lapped up by the creatures of this alien planet, Tralfamadore. These creatures regard Time as an interminable flow, where only the pleasant moments of one's existence stand out, and death is but a temporary pause in the eternity of life. All moments are predestined, and actual reality transcends human understanding. There is such a thing as a fourth dimension, where those whom we consider dead are still alive.
The reader has to peruse closely, for there are recurrent motifs (somewhere a dog barked, the smell of roses and mustard gas, "so it goes" after each death, "Farewell and hello",etc)pertaining to war and the absurdity of the notions of chivalry and glamour commonly attached to it. Though the bombing of Dresden is said to be more heinous than that in Hiroshima, Vonnegut only rarely zooms in on the gory scenes of violence and mostly remains a detached spectator and chronicler of true events. The narrative is often cinematic too, especially the scene where he watches the movie regarding American bombers in the War, backwards. In the end, Billy extrapolates that everybody, even Hitler, becomes a baby and creates a perfect Adam and Eve.
There will always be men who will never cease killing until they themselves are killed. And there will also be those who yearn for world peace. In between, there exist the people who couldn't care less, whose humdrum lives go on despite war being waged just beyond their city's borders, comfortable in their blissful bubble of ignorance. Whatever man does, does not matter in the cosmic calendar. Mankind may arrogantly presume that they have the power to discover and transform the universe, but ultimately the maxim of Charles Darwin shall prevail: Those who adapt shall survive, and the others will perish.
Whatever its demerits may be, for the reader who perseveres to the last page, this novel stands testament to the fact that there is no glory in war, where men are brainwashed and labelled as soldiers, a blind eye is turned upon mass killing by the concerned authorities, and innocent civilians become mere numbers on paper, so easily forgotten.
Is that all a human life is worth?
Does war actually serve some noble purpose, as its perpetrators claim?
More importantly, can novels such as these, with their anti-war stand, make us think twice before we commit further crimes against our very nature?
These are relevant questions in these times of re-arising jingoism, religious fanaticism and the long-predicted, impending Third World War for water.
I choose to quote Camus in this context:
"Every act of rebellion expresses a nostalgia for innocence and an appeal to the essence of being."
The rest I leave to you, dear reader.
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