Time-Travel Twins (Fraternal)

NOTE: This is inspired from Jonah Koslofsky's comparison of Slaughterhouse-Five to a Captain America comic, in the vein of being "unstuck in time". In this case, I'll be tackling the time-travel similarities and differences between Vonnegut's postmodern novel and Kindred.

In a lot of ways, it seems that Kindred and Slaughterhouse-Five are near opposites on the postmodernist spectrum. Both attempt to depict human suffering in extremely different ways; Vonnegut separates us so far from Dresden with irony and ridiculous tangents that we realize how hard it is to accept, while Butler gives readers a hearty wake-up-slap in a brutally unflinching display of slave life. And yet, Butler was not present for any era of American slavery, while Vonnegut was absolutely present for the firebombing, but cannot bring himself to write too honest an account. Finally, for consecutive books in the class to exhibit time travel subplots, they deal with the plot device in remarkably different ways.

One way that the two time travelers compare and contrast is the actual "traveling pattern" that they both have. As we are immediately told in the main plot of Slaughterhouse-Five, Billy Pilgrim has become unstuck in time. His whole life is a non-linear hodgepodge of events that he is constantly aware of (he is certain of his own death and of those around him, so it goes) and knows that he CANNOT change any of them. The time-travel is never dramatized; being cognizant of every minute detail in his life renders the temporal changes meaningless to him. Kindred's Dana deals with a similar non-voluntary transportation, but the setup is completely reversed. Dana will only travel to a specific period in the 19th century that she wasn't alive in, during which her ancestors are coming of age. She lives in constant fear of her personal future as well as her whole world's, as she is uncertain of whether or not her actions in this period will alter the course of history before her own time. Whereas Billy is certain of all aspects of his temporal life, Dana's position makes her unsure of her past, present and future. This tendency seems to reflect each author's experience with their writing material; Vonnegut's character is just as certain about Dresden as himself, while Butler, just like Dana, only knows what she has researched in the present day.

Next, partially due to Kindred's more modernist narrative structure, time-travel is dramatized in slightly different methods between the two stories. Vonnegut uses it to dance around his actual anti-war sentiments and real-life experiences, because his own emotional attachment is a bit too strong to describe up front. There seems to be no conflict due to the unbounded time-travel mechanics, but the emotional impact of Slaughterhouse-Five is eventually realized by the reader; Dresden sucked so bad that Vonnegut can't even do it justice, and he has (as has Billy) constructed this alternate reality with aliens to distract himself from it. Kindred's emotional impact however is reliant on in-your-face slave era brutality, which is undoubtedly effective in showing the horrors of the time.

So yeah, time-travel has some similar narrative impact on each books, but it's the journey, not the destination, that really differs in these cases. Man, who doesn't love good time travel books?

Billy's Bunkness Bums Me Out

Even in the internal world of Slaughterhouse-Five, I'm pretty sure the science fiction sections are all in Billy Pilgrim's traumatized, banged up mind. This is my personal opinion - I actually have no clue what other History as Fictioners have made of these sections. Either way, I believe that the overwhelming evidence of Billy's madness strengthens the mental and emotional impact of the Dresden firebombing. Here's why.

Let's start off with some nice clues as to how Billy formed the Tralfamadore narrative in his head, and how it so starkly differs from reality. We've talked about a few of these in class. The first aspect that led me to believe Billy to be bunk was his noted fascination with Kilgore Trout. While in the hospital with Eliot Rosewater, the narration mentions that both "found life meaningless, partly because of what they had seen in war", and "were trying to reinvent themselves and their universe. Science fiction was a big help" (101). In conjunction with specific plot summaries of Trouts work provided later in the novel, which have to do with fourth-dimensional creatures, human zoos, and extra-terrestrials, one can see very clearly how Billy has filled in his terrible memories with a new fantasy. Other details involving Tralfamadore and his real-life seem to deliberately link up with this theory. Right after making love on Tralfamadore to Montana Wildhack (a random porn star he sees in an adult shop later in the novel), he appears back in his bed, having "had a wet dream about Montana Wildhack" (134). Along with other associations he makes, like the prayer on Wildhacks locket being present in his optometry office, and his visible signals of some mental trauma (kicking and whimpering during nightmares in his boxcar, to the annoyance of his fellow soldiers), the argument seems heftily supported. But why is that so important? Why do I, Ethan Simmons, feel especially bummed out at the end of this novel?

By making an extreme, meticulously constructed alternate reality for Billy, Vonnegut shows how horribly inconsolable the terrors of war can be, so much that Pilgrim has to go to another planet to even cope with his experiences. When you think about it, Tralfamadorian ideology is built to aid Billy's psychological suffering; passing off the tremendous death he's seen by "focusing on the good stuff." So it goes, right?

I'll admit, this vision of the novel makes it quite a bit more depressing, but I doubt I'm the only one that holds these notions. I'm interested to hear how you guys have interpreted the science fiction aspect. It's been an active point of discussion for the past week.  

Biff, Flipped

One tangent us folks in third hour haven't delved into much during discussion is the white characters in Mumbo Jumbo. We've touched on their individual eccentricities, but little has been done to create a cohesive logic between all of the Caucasian characters. My theory starts with the goal of Mumbo Jumbo as a whole (at least how I see it): exposing real-life social dynamics through extreme irony. In the world of Reed's novel, he flips racist preconceptions by making most of black characters protagonists and most of the white characters antagonists of some sort. One shining example is the hilariously named Biff Musclewhite, whose actions and behaviors mirror those nasty early twentieth century stereotypes of African-Americans while he is a privileged white man.

Upon his entrance into the novel, Biff exhibits exaggerated sexual desire, much like negative stereotypes constructed about black men in the early twentieth century. His inner monologue is distracted by "the beauty, the enchanting body" of Charlotte as she accompanies a magic act, so much that he literally needs to be snapped out of it by Schlitz (44). Later on, the description of him kissing Charlotte in their apartment resembles an account of sexual attack. 

"The Major springs from his lying position and suddenly grips Charlotte's long arms at the same time pinning her against the sofa's back and kissing her violently(...)Patting her hair and smoothing her dress, she is released from the Major's vice-like hold." (108)

Next, Musclewhite absolutely displays conniving, violent, and evil behaviors that were stereotyped upon African-American males in his time period. From his emotional manipulation of Thor Wintergreen to his consecutive murders of Berbelang and Charlotte, this is perhaps the stereotype he embodies most fully, and his actions continue the theme of racial-role-reversal.

Although Musclewhite might not entirely be this exact mirror of black stereotype, certain qualities that define his character make the role-reversed irony effective and convincing. Perhaps the other negative behaviors unfairly associated with black males are present in other white characters, such as the bumbling Hinckle Von Vampton and Safecracker Gould. Nonetheless, if this placement of stereotypes is intended by Reed, it exposes racist interpretations more clearly through a flipped white canvas. 

The Postmodernist Recycling of History from Mumbo Jumbo and....National Treasure? Yeah, Mostly National Treasure

"Well, I don't know, National Treasure could have a place in postmodernist history!" 

-Mitchell, 3rd period, February 5th 2016

National Treasure is not your typical historical drama. In fact, it escapes most categories of film besides "Nicolas Cage" film: action movie chosen seemingly at random starring one of Hollywood's most unusual A-list actors. The film is famous for it's stretches of the imagination, featuring several tangentially-related out-of-context historical figures and events pieced together into one streamlined conspiratorially-based hamfest. There's plenty of fleeting fun to be had, but beyond many pieces of historical trivia, there is no modernist idea of history to be found. But strap up your Mitchell goggles, because National Treasure is actually an in-depth study in postmodernist history!

Let's think about what postmodernism is for a second. What we've discussed in class is an "attack" on modernist principle, a diverging from previous set conventions that is aggressive and self-aware. In the context of historical fiction (which National Treasure sort of pretty much is) we've explored the many different uses of historical fact in our postmodern literature, which usually boils down to recycling these realities and preconceptions and putting them to a different narrative. The movie in question passes with flying colors in these regards. Ben Gates (played by Cage), the titular treasure-hunter of the film, goes on a quest to find the "national treasure" a secret entrusted to his family by the oldest signer of the Declaration of Independence, Charles Carroll. The only clue given is "the secret lies with Charlotte". Gates, also a cryptologist, traces the clue back to the Arctic ship the Charlotte which leads to a heist and following lemon-juicing of the Declaration of Independence, which eventually takes his ragtag mystery gang to the Liberty Bell and some other crap Ben Franklin did. And then they find it! Where was I? Oh yeah, postmodern cinema. This entire movie takes the ideas of historical context and research, crunches it up, and kicks it out the nearest window. All historical points of interest are trivialized and fitted into a new, complex narrative, that suits to entertain viewers and leave all the other malarkey by the wayside. But I guess we can't really PROVE that the Declaration of Independence has some invisible ink on the back, right? It sounds stupid at first, but National Treasure takes a self-aware stand against the boring, plodding versions of American history through it's massive unbelievability. Hey, speaking of conspiracy theories, postmodern American history, and new narratives, remember Mumbo Jumbo?

The reason that Mumbo Jumbo and National Treasure are actually long lost cousins is their insistence on postmodernly recycling certain historical events to fit a broader, differing, brand new story. Warren G Harding might be simply known as one of the worst presidents we've ever had, but what if he was actually the work of a secret Wallflower Order, the anti to the anti-plague of Jes Grew in the early 20th century? "Of course not!", a filthy modernist exclaims. But the hip postmodernist nonchalantly adds: "Yeah, why not dude? And while we're at it, has anyone lemon-juiced the Declaration of Independence, to like, check for a special message?" 

 

The Significance of The Little Boy

Perhaps the most mysterious supporting character in Ragtime is the son of the novel's nuclear family: Little Boy. The precocious youngster is rarely elaborated in comparison to character's such as Mother, Father, or Younger Brother, but is nonetheless present for most of the important events pertaining to the family. Additionally, his basically confirmed psychic powers Doctorow decided to bestow him multiply the questions about this kid. The ultimate questions draw from these points; is the Boy being treated as an ironic plaything for Doctorow, or will he/has he affected the story in any significant way?
The child's extrasensory abilities are first called into question during the opening pages of the first chapter. The little sailor boy on the porch of a typical American home has "conceived an enormous interest in the works of Harry Houdini" (8). And just like that, Houdini crashes right in front of them! We discussed the pure coincidence of this incident in class, but brushed it off as another "Doctorow messing with us" type situation. But with his apparent ability to move things with his mind in chapter 15, and his startling prediction of Father taking him to see the New York Giants, it has become clear that this kid has some actual powers. But what has he really done with them? So far, in the course of the story, basically nothing. He warns Houdini to "warn the Duke", but we can surmise that Ferdinand's assassination still occurs since Harry barely acknowledges the comment (11). In other words, no evidence has been shown that the Boy can "That's So Raven" the family, or the world, of any problems through his abilities.
Assuming this "useless" clairvoyance stays the same throughout the novel (who knows though), the actual significance of the Little Boy becomes unclear. He seems to be very sweet during his care of Sarah's baby, and he expresses no contempt for any characters, but neither of those qualities advances his character's agency or impact. One theory could be that his psychic powers are used to shave off any seriousness of this novel, just being another random thing that Doctorow throws in to detach the reader from his story. A less cynical view would be that the boy stands to observe all the changes washing over early 20th century life, with his foresight standing for the ever-approaching future. So yeah, what do you guys think? Has his role been set in stone, or is it too early to even analyze his impact?