TIMEQUAKE by Kurt Vonnegut milrev by corey mesler

TIMEQUAKE by Kurt Vonnegut
milrev by corey mesler

TIMEQUAKE by Kurt Vonnegut Putnam ($23.95) Kurt Vonnegut is a genuine institution in contemporary American writing, a national treasure. With his previous eighteen books he has carved out a unique place in our collective conscious; we recognize a passage from Vonnegut, with its cool resignation in the face of modern absurdity, as readily as we recognize a film by Fellini or a piece of music by Gershwin. More than once, and with good reason, he's been called our, that is the twentieth century's, Mark Twain. Timequake is Vonnegut's latest fictional petard, and, he insists herein, his last. It is really a book about his inability to write a novel called Timequake. Apparently, a novel by that name was scheduled for release over a year ago, but the author shelved it because it "did not work,...had no point...and never wanted to be written in the first place." Instead he went back and concocted autobiographical pieces which do and do not blend smoothly with pieces of the shelved novel, re-told some old jokes, and threw it all in the blender of his unique sensibility. The result is a strange creature indeed, part memoir, part Kilgore Trout novel, part clearance sale. Why is a Vonnegut work so delightful? Here's a quote from this highly quotable book's very first page: "I say in speeches that a plausible mission of artists is to make people appreciate being alive at least a little bit. I am then asked if I know of any artists who pulled that off. I reply, 'The Beatles did'." It is this sort of offhand wit mixed with high calling which makes Vonnegut indispensable. For the record, a timequake is a rift in the space/time continuum which, in this case, causes the entire planet to relive a ten year span from 1991 to 2001. That is, everyone must do everything they've done for those ten years over again, with full knowledge that they are trapped in a protracted deja vu. It's an invention of Kilgore Trout's, of course, and, here, Trout and Vonnegut exist side by side, confederates, as it were, although Trout is a creation of Mr. V. Vonnegut's readers will understand. Vonnegut's method is to take a theme, in this case repetition, and, like a skilled musician, work it and rework it, wringing it for all its wisdom, poetry and metaphor. And, as in most of the author's novels, there is a catch-phrase used, as he says, "as a grace note," to punctuate his fictional riffs. Like "poo-te-weet" in Slaughterhouse Five, here he utilizes "whatever" and "ting-a-ling." He even offers a beautiful word for this device: appoggiatura. And, here is Vonnegut, a noted atheist and avowed humanist, on some of God's works: "No matter what is doing the creating, I have to say that the giraffe and the rhinoceros are ridiculous. And so is the human brain, capable, in cahoots with the more sensitive parts of the body...of hating life while pretending to love it, and behaving accordingly." In the autobiographical slices offered here (and they make up a large percentage of the finished product) the author explains his predicament, and what led to this manticore-like book, this way, "I have this ailment not unlike ambulatory pneumonia, which might be called ambulatory writer's block. I cover paper with words every day, but the stories never go anywhere I find worth going." This is an apt epigram for Timequake, which walks around and around, like a haunted insomniac, producing little whirlpools of bright invention with salient passages about the author's life and work, all adding up to a non-narrative. The Kilgore Trout fragments left over from the first version do not cohere; the whole consequently, willfully, perversely does not make a novel. There's no forward movement, but unlike a motionless shark, the fishy experiment does not die. It is still an oddly moving work. It is hard to be disappointed in a book so full of wit and observation, a book which makes you laugh out loud and read passages to your companion. Vonnegut is just so darn smart and funny. But, Timequake is lesser Vonnegut. It belongs, I'd say, in the middle of the pack with his books of essays and Galapagos, not as bad as Slapstick, and certainly not on a par with his finest work, Slaughterhouse Five, Mother Night, Jailbird or Cat's Cradle. Still, even with his burners on low, Kurt Vonnegut is a hoot and a valuable elder statesman. Corey Mesler

COREY MESLER has published in numerous journals and anthologies. He has published two novels, Talk: A Novel in Dialogue (2002) and We Are Billion-Year-Old Carbon (2006), a full length poetry collection, Some Identity Problems (2008), and a book of short stories, Listen: 29 Short Conversations (2009). He also has two novels set to be published in the Spring of 2010, The Ballad of the Two Tom Mores (Bronx River Press) and Following Richard Brautigan (Livingston Press). He has also published a dozen chapbooks of both poetry and prose. He has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize numerous times, and two of his poems have been chosen for Garrison Keillor’s Writer’s Almanac. He also claims to have written, “In the Year 2525.” With his wife, he runs Burke’s Book Store, one of the country’s oldest (1875) and best independent bookstores. He can be found at www.coreymesler.com.