October 7, 2018

SLAUGHTERHOUSE FIVE

Kurt Vonnegut
A near-dead person has the alleged ability to review the entirety of his life as he advances toward that blinding tunnel of light. This novel was the jumbled life assessment of somebody suffered from severe PTSD and traumatic brain injuries. Billy Pilgrim may think he traveled through time, but he may just as well flash back and forth within his own memory during the nano-second right before his death. Much like Dr. Crowe in the movie The Sixth Sense, Billy's version of reality made sense only to him in order to cope with horrific events in his life.

 As a reader, I love to tip-toe on the literary fence that any author planted between their land of fantasy and reality. I can choose to lean on the paradox of fourth-dimension venture of the Trafamadorian aliens or I can choose to blame Billy's experience on those cheap Kilgore Trout science fictions he read. This unambiguity underscored the religious argument of fate and free-will that Billy vigorously debated with the aliens. 

I like certain pieces and bits of this novel; I get the sentiments on war. the absurdity of death, and all the originality with which it was written. However, the fragmented novelty of it escaped my enjoyment and rendered me unable to read it the wholesome synthesizing way that the Trafamadorians read their novels. So it goes.



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