No Damn Cat, and No Damn Cradle

The next phase of Vonnegut's book concerns the narrator's adventures in San Lorenzo, the obscure Caribbean island that is home to Bokononism, three skyscrapers, one modern hospital, one hundred fewer martyrs for democracy, and a dictator. It is decided by the narrator that "God, in His Infinite Wisdom, had made the island worthless" (125). Vonnegut uses the opportunity to make several statements including an accusation of terrible crime upon the Spaniards and other conquerors, a ridicule of inquisition, the announcement of the world's insubstantiality and a lament of the fickle history of tradition as exemplified by the cat's cradle. This post is an exploration of Vonnegut's messages in this part of the book.

Castle Sugar is a company that controlled the island for about forty years before WWII. They abused the native population, seizing ninety percent of the island's infertile and dead land in a neoliberalist frenzy, seeking a haven free from taxation. The islanders have endured many hardships before, however. The Spaniards "burned a few natives for entertainment and heresy, and sailed on" (125). This is a direct satirical assertion by Vonnegut on the subject of colonization and conquest. His demonization of the Spaniards reflects reality and invokes within the reader a sense of deep crime. His addition of heresy as a secondary crime, an afterthought to the entertainment of the Spaniards, declares slyly that accusations of heresy were used by the Spaniards for entertainment. The Spanish were not alone in their prosecution, though. Of one thousand and four hundred dead natives who helped build the island's fort, "about half are said to have been executed in public for substandard zeal" (126).

The meeting of the narrator with his interviewee presents an interesting symbol as the Hoenikker family reunites on the haunted island. It is at the house of the hospital's architect where the meeting is held. Above a waterfall on the cantilevered deck at night, he narrator examines a painting beside the snoozing artist. Vonnegut describes for us quite vividly the masterpiece: "It consisted of scratches made in a black, gummy impasto. The scratches formed a sort of spider's web" (164). This is incredibly rich to decompose and analyse but Vonnegut steps in front and attacks it for us, as he is wont to do. He continues to add "I wondered if they might be the sticky nets of human futility hung up on a moonless night to dry"  (164). his is the latest in a set of injections that appear throughout the book. Perhaps Vonnegut is an author with low self esteem who seeks immediate attention for his ideas.

The configuration of a "cat's cradle" about the hands

Another habit of the author's is to reduce circuitous assertions and complex themes into brief and grave statements that are employed to convey the ideas. These take some getting used to, but are a comfortable addition to the writing style of Vonnegut as it accommodates the truncating and wild path of the plot. Of these statements, Newt's declaration that there is "No damn cat, and no damn cradle" comes as only a small shock after the immediate foreshadowing concerning the history of the "crazy" game and insists that there is no deeper meaning in many traditions (166). This vaguely nihilistic mindset is amplified incredibly by Julian Castle, disgruntled heir to the failed sugar company, who screams "So this is a picture of the meaninglessness of it all? I couldn't agree more!" and throws the painting off of a wet cliff (168). These instances are incredible as they build an atmosphere for Vonnegut's book. An atmosphere of possibility and fantasy.