I’ve read Elie Wiesel, Victor Frankel, Cory Ten Boom, & Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Somehow, this is the easiest story to take. No doubt because the brutal reality is tempered with not only the seemingly light hearted science fiction, but also with the superficial & banal life of the American bourgeoisie. Yet we never realize that Vonnegut’s not making fun of Billy Pilgrim. He’s contrasting the suffering of war with the luxurious complacency of empire.
Like any good humorist, Vonnegut let’s us forget that this hell was real by making us imagine that it’s fiction. We’re comforted by imagining that the absurdity of his story is fabricated and temporary, when what we don’t realize is, he is only mirroring the permanent absurdity of reality.