After all, it was supposed to happen. As they say on Tralfamadore: “Everything is, and was, and will be happening as it is to happen.”
I have just finished Slaughter-House-Five, and I cannot say that I enjoyed it. But I liked it, I think, and if I didn’t, at least it gave me something horrid to think about. Something irreverent, filling my head with many lewd images. So it goes.
But I have finished it, and that is the main point. It was what I set out to do in the first place, and so it was always going to happen. And it was worth it, because now I can say, “I have read Slaughter-House-Five.”
…but why the teapot?
In A Series of Unfortunate Events, the question is always, “Why the Sugar Bowl?” and I feel like asking that question now, but about the teapot.
It lowered morale for him to steal it. But not for them to steal the other things. And not for the British soldiers to steal the food and resources. And not for the Tralfamadorians to steal the man and woman.
So it goes.
What I admire most about the book is the ability of the man who said “Oz” (that was Kurt. That was him. The only other city he had ever seen was Indianapolis, Indiana [pg. 148]) to tell the story in that disjointed way. There was something heartbreaking about it… and successful, for if a critic can put his finger on the thing and say distinctly, “This is why it was heart-breaking. He did this thing is such-and-such a way to make your heart break just like that,” then he has failed. But Vonnegut has not failed. Not at all.
I cannot put my finger on why, but my heart is hurting. I think it will break for awhile later. Maybe I’m not Tralfamadorian enough.
So it goes.