Volume 26, Number 18 · November 22, 1979
Mod Apostle
By James Wolcott
Jailbird
by Kurt Vonnegut
Delacorte Press/Seymour Lawrence, 246 pp., $9.95
One by one, God snuffs the stars. The light fades from the firmament (reports Kurt Vonnegut in his novels), life on earth becomes a sad carnival, with geeks, clowns, and chimpanzees slogging forlornly through the scattered hay. Citizens are robots, machines; and in Slapstick the Chief Executive is a sedated booby who drapes himself in a shabby purple toga. Even those who crack and go on crazy rampages—like the Pontiac dealer in Breakfast of Champions—are blameless losers, victims of bad upbringings and 'bad chemicals.' Yet in its disarray, the world offers eerie enchantments. Gravity slackens, allowing survivors to sail manhole covers through the air like coins; the Chinese miniaturize themselves and travel to Mars; phosphorescent scarves float through the minds of frightened homosexuals. 'It is hard to adapt to chaos, but it can be done,' Vonnegut observes in Breakfast of Champions. 'I am living proof of that: It can be done.'
Review, 2286 words
To read the full text of this piece, please choose one of the following options:
|
If you are already a subscriber to the Review's electronic edition, please sign in: |
To subscribe to the electronic edition, please press the button below. |
To purchase access to this article for $3, please press the button below. |