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Mother Night
Librarian note: Alternate cover edition for this ISBN can be found here.
Mother Night is a daring challenge to our moral sense. American Howard W. Campbell, Jr., a spy during World War II, is now on trial in Israel as a Nazi war criminal. But is he really guilty? In this brilliant book rife with true gallows humor, Vonnegut turns black and white into a chilling shade of gray with a verdict that will haunt us all.
Mother Night is a daring challenge to our moral sense. American Howard W. Campbell, Jr., a spy during World War II, is now on trial in Israel as a Nazi war criminal. But is he really guilty? In this brilliant book rife with true gallows humor, Vonnegut turns black and white into a chilling shade of gray with a verdict that will haunt us all.
282 pages, Paperback
First published February 1, 1961
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About the author
Kurt Vonnegut Jr.
710 books36.9k followersKurt Vonnegut, Junior was an American novelist, satirist, and most recently, graphic artist. He was recognized as New York State Author for 2001-2003.
He was born in Indianapolis, later the setting for many of his novels. He attended Cornell University from 1941 to 1943, where he wrote a column for the student newspaper, the Cornell Daily Sun. Vonnegut trained as a chemist and worked as a journalist before joining the U.S. Army and serving in World War II.
After the war, he attended University of Chicago as a graduate student in anthropology and also worked as a police reporter at the City News Bureau of Chicago. He left Chicago to work in Schenectady, New York in public relations for General Electric. He attributed his unadorned writing style to his reporting work.
His experiences as an advance scout in the Battle of the Bulge, and in particular his witnessing of the bombing of Dresden, Germany whilst a prisoner of war, would inform much of his work. This event would also form the core of his most famous work, Slaughterhouse-Five, the book which would make him a millionaire. This acerbic 200-page book is what most people mean when they describe a work as "Vonnegutian" in scope.
Vonnegut was a self-proclaimed humanist and socialist (influenced by the style of Indiana's own Eugene V. Debs) and a lifelong supporter of the American Civil Liberties Union.
The novelist is known for works blending satire, black comedy and science fiction, such as Slaughterhouse-Five (1969), Cat's Cradle (1963), and Breakfast of Champions (1973)
He was born in Indianapolis, later the setting for many of his novels. He attended Cornell University from 1941 to 1943, where he wrote a column for the student newspaper, the Cornell Daily Sun. Vonnegut trained as a chemist and worked as a journalist before joining the U.S. Army and serving in World War II.
After the war, he attended University of Chicago as a graduate student in anthropology and also worked as a police reporter at the City News Bureau of Chicago. He left Chicago to work in Schenectady, New York in public relations for General Electric. He attributed his unadorned writing style to his reporting work.
His experiences as an advance scout in the Battle of the Bulge, and in particular his witnessing of the bombing of Dresden, Germany whilst a prisoner of war, would inform much of his work. This event would also form the core of his most famous work, Slaughterhouse-Five, the book which would make him a millionaire. This acerbic 200-page book is what most people mean when they describe a work as "Vonnegutian" in scope.
Vonnegut was a self-proclaimed humanist and socialist (influenced by the style of Indiana's own Eugene V. Debs) and a lifelong supporter of the American Civil Liberties Union.
The novelist is known for works blending satire, black comedy and science fiction, such as Slaughterhouse-Five (1969), Cat's Cradle (1963), and Breakfast of Champions (1973)
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 5,595 reviews
May 27, 2014
The thing I love best about Kurt Vonnegut is that he was both the ultimate cynic and the ultimate humanist. What better character for him to create to embody those views than a Nazi with good intentions?
Howard W. Campbell Jr. was an American citizen who grew up in Germany and became a prominent Nazi thanks to his virulent anti-Semitic propaganda. However, Howard had actually been recruited before the war began to be an American spy who provided vital intelligence to the Allies via codes hidden in his frequent radio broadcasts. Years after the war has ended, Howard recounts the story as he is being held in Israel awaiting trial for war crimes. As he explains what happened before, during and after the war Howard repeatedly touches on the unasked question that haunts his life: Does pretending to be evil in the service of a good cause still make you evil?
I had always felt alone in thinking that his was actually Vonnegut’s best book so I was happy to be validated by the comments of several other Goodreaders sharing the same thought.
Vonnegut’s gift was looking at the world with clear gaze and acknowledging that people were pretty much shit, but still having enough compassion and empathy to look for moments of dignity. He did it with that that unique bittersweet sense of humor that allowed him to write about the horrors of something like the Holocaust and give it a tone of a very wise man shaking his head with a bitter chuckle at a dark, sick joke.
Howard W. Campbell Jr. was an American citizen who grew up in Germany and became a prominent Nazi thanks to his virulent anti-Semitic propaganda. However, Howard had actually been recruited before the war began to be an American spy who provided vital intelligence to the Allies via codes hidden in his frequent radio broadcasts. Years after the war has ended, Howard recounts the story as he is being held in Israel awaiting trial for war crimes. As he explains what happened before, during and after the war Howard repeatedly touches on the unasked question that haunts his life: Does pretending to be evil in the service of a good cause still make you evil?
I had always felt alone in thinking that his was actually Vonnegut’s best book so I was happy to be validated by the comments of several other Goodreaders sharing the same thought.
Vonnegut’s gift was looking at the world with clear gaze and acknowledging that people were pretty much shit, but still having enough compassion and empathy to look for moments of dignity. He did it with that that unique bittersweet sense of humor that allowed him to write about the horrors of something like the Holocaust and give it a tone of a very wise man shaking his head with a bitter chuckle at a dark, sick joke.
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August 8, 2025
‘We are what we pretend to be,' warns Kurt Vonnegut , ‘ so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.’ Vonnegut writes that Mother Night is ‘the only story of mine whose moral I know,’ and launches into a metafictionally framed narrative purporting to be the memoir of Howard W. Campbell, Jr written as he awaits trial in Israel for his work as a Nazi propagandist. The catch is, Campbell was an American spy using his vitriolic antisemetic broadcasts to hide secret codes to the Allied armies. Mother Night is filled with Nazis and various white supremacist groups trying to keep the hate alive in the US, and a whole slew of spies mastermining long cons to achieve their aims. In the middle of all this is Campbell, a man who thinks of himself as apolitical and frequently surrenders his agency to those around him, not even out of self-perseverance but out of something more akin to apathy. Vonnegut probes beneath the ethical dilemmas of war into a deeper investigation on self-agency (or the lack of it), playacting and even love in a darkly comic novel that will haunt you to your core.
‘Oh, God — the lives people try to lead.
Oh, God — what a world they try to lead them in.’
Vonnegut was a master of dark humor, with rather absurdist tales that are still grounded in a bleak realism, his stories not unlike a literary version of Sunday comic strips. Mother Night is one of the darker tales, weaving through Campbell’s past and present and making both the war times and his pathetic post-war existence in New York seem all a tangle of terribleness. Even the American war hero, O’Hara, finds post-war life to be a devastating dud of kids and lame jobs, trying to track down Campbell and make him suffer in order to chase some illusion of former glory. This ends poorly for him, as does really any aim or ambition performed throughout the novel. The idea of pursuing some higher cause where the ends might justify the means seems to leave everyone either dead or dead inside with a trail of disaster left in their wake. Despite all this, the novel is full of Vonnegut’s signature humor, which keeps this a rather boisterous and compelling read even as we wade through the muck of human folly.
‘These pieces of paper were me at one time.’
Memories are key to the novel, hence the literary framing as a memoir that Vonnegut is publishing for us, and the idea of the written word as a way of both keeping record of the past and pursuing a future purpose is central to the narrative. Campbell himself was a playwright of enough acclaim to put him within the society of German elites, which made him a perfect choice to be a spy. His muse was his wife, and without her he is not only unable to create, but the loss of creating indicates the loss of the self. His trunk of his writing he keeps becomes a coffin of sorts:
What is most intriguing is how while Campbell values words and takes pride in his own, his words always bring ruin. His Nazi propaganda goes without saying, but even when his work is stolen and reproduced in Russia does the thief find themselves put to death for Campbell’s erotic journal.
‘This is not who I really am. I am just going along with this on the outside to get by.’
For Campbell, there is the sense that it is only in writing that not only we the reader, but he himself, can glimpse his ‘real’ self. Which is critical to his character, who exists almost entirely externally having no real inward self of self, and each external self is a character of sorts, a playacting. He is repeatedly surrendering his agency to the whims of another, his only compensation to play a role like one he imagines for his plays. Even when he shoots the dog he does it to prove a point, to play a role, more so than taking wilful action. When he meets Wirtanen, he allows himself to be blown on the breeze of history. The novel concerns the question of if his playacted self, the war criminal, reflects the inward self, which we quickly realize becomes a question of if he even has a sense of self.
‘I am an American by birth, a Nazi by reputation, and a nationless person by inclination.’
Campbell is asked at one point if he hates America, which he responds that hating it ‘would be as silly as loving it..It's impossible for me to get emotional about it, because real estate doesn't interest me. It's no doubt a great flaw in my personality, but I can't think in terms of boundaries.’ He frequently describes himself as a ‘nationless’ person, one without loyalties who can be a Nazi and a spy and not feel it matters because it is merely an act. He only feels grounded as a ‘nation of two’ with his wife, who is his muse and only through her does he find a sense of purpose and direction. Vonnegut even writes that another moral to the story is to ‘make love when you can. It's good for you.’
‘Society is more concerned with material possessions than it is with the true love and compassion of another human being.’
Setting aside the toxicity of muse culture and that women seem to only really exist in this book for sexual drives to uphold the narrative of a man, we should question how Campbell’s life of love still does not reflect a sense of self or elicit acts of self-agency.I will admit there are some lovely lines about love, however. He is driven by what he feels is the narrative of love and allowing another person to fill in for his sense of purpose and self. ‘What froze me was the fact that I had absolutely no reason to move in any direction,’ he admits late in the novel. He sees no purpose to anything or a reason to even take agency of his actions, a personality that we can begin to understand why nihilist Resi found him appealing. The great moment of the novel is that his ending is the only time he took matters—and his life—into his own hands.
He is told at one point that he should have killed himself the way heroic action in his own plays would be depicted, which is some fine foreshadowing to boot with the scalding burn. He finds that he can be free, can escape his sins, can return to “normal” life, but also laments that he is too old by that point to make use of the freedom. While he may be evolved from his war crimes, he still must face the inner court of self-reflection: ‘I think that tonight is the night I will hang Howard W. Campbell, Jr. for crimes against himself’ he writes, for once taking agency over himself and passing a judgment the world could not wager. He has betrayed himself and will finally take action and agency over his life, giving himself the romantic death in keeping with his literary beliefs.
In a novel of chaos we have on thread that seems omnipresent and appears like deus ex machina is the influence of Colonel Wirtanan, aka Harold J. Sparrow, aka the Blue Fairy Godmother (the Blue Fairy Godmother also appears in a play in Slaughterhouse-Five). He is the freedom granter when needed but earlier the magic wand wave into being a spy and propulsion into the ranks of the Nazi party. He is also the deal with the devil, the Mephistopheles of the novel. In the author’s note, Vonnegut tells us the title Mother Night is ‘Campbell's; it is taken from a speech by Mephistopheles in Goethe's Faust.’ The quote follows:
In this quote we see Mephistopheles positioning for end times, good and bad obliterated together, and in this novel we see Campbell marketing Germany towards atrocity while also thinking himself to be apolitical and damning both good and bad. Much of the novel, however, shows how even his good intentions of using his propaganda to broadcast secret codes has evil side-effects, from encouraging the holocaust to emboldning hate groups in the US even long after the war. The book shows how he enabled evil and the people who are attracted to it.
The novel is comprised of well-crafted histories of hate leaders and their cohorts telling Campbell they are huge fans and were frequent listeners. They even try to reunite him with his lost wife as a token of appreciation for spearheading their white supremacist causes. This was a hell of a thing to read in the present day.
‘this is a hard world to be ludicrous in, with so many human beings so reluctant to laugh, so incapable of thought, so eager to believe and snarl and hate.’
While navigating a bleak subject matter, Vonnegut maintains the absurdist humor dripped in dread and serious context that he is well known for. Mother Night is a wild rampage through questions of morality and beliefs, extols the beauty and barbs of words, and investigates complicity. There is a lot of interesting aspects going on here, particularly the metafictional framing as found memoir, though also deeper issues of self such as wondering if making him Campbell Jr. and using some childhood biographical details of his own life, Kurt Vonnegut Jr. was making a commentary on his own selfhood. Vonnegut looks at our agency and asks us to interrogate our sense of self and what mark it will leave on the world, and this little gem is one worth investigating.
4.5/5
‘Oh, God — the lives people try to lead.
Oh, God — what a world they try to lead them in.’
Vonnegut was a master of dark humor, with rather absurdist tales that are still grounded in a bleak realism, his stories not unlike a literary version of Sunday comic strips. Mother Night is one of the darker tales, weaving through Campbell’s past and present and making both the war times and his pathetic post-war existence in New York seem all a tangle of terribleness. Even the American war hero, O’Hara, finds post-war life to be a devastating dud of kids and lame jobs, trying to track down Campbell and make him suffer in order to chase some illusion of former glory. This ends poorly for him, as does really any aim or ambition performed throughout the novel. The idea of pursuing some higher cause where the ends might justify the means seems to leave everyone either dead or dead inside with a trail of disaster left in their wake. Despite all this, the novel is full of Vonnegut’s signature humor, which keeps this a rather boisterous and compelling read even as we wade through the muck of human folly.
‘These pieces of paper were me at one time.’
Memories are key to the novel, hence the literary framing as a memoir that Vonnegut is publishing for us, and the idea of the written word as a way of both keeping record of the past and pursuing a future purpose is central to the narrative. Campbell himself was a playwright of enough acclaim to put him within the society of German elites, which made him a perfect choice to be a spy. His muse was his wife, and without her he is not only unable to create, but the loss of creating indicates the loss of the self. His trunk of his writing he keeps becomes a coffin of sorts:
‘I remembered the trunk now, remembered when I'd closed it up at the start of the war, remembered when I'd thought of the trunk as a coffin for the young man I would never be again.’
What is most intriguing is how while Campbell values words and takes pride in his own, his words always bring ruin. His Nazi propaganda goes without saying, but even when his work is stolen and reproduced in Russia does the thief find themselves put to death for Campbell’s erotic journal.
‘This is not who I really am. I am just going along with this on the outside to get by.’
For Campbell, there is the sense that it is only in writing that not only we the reader, but he himself, can glimpse his ‘real’ self. Which is critical to his character, who exists almost entirely externally having no real inward self of self, and each external self is a character of sorts, a playacting. He is repeatedly surrendering his agency to the whims of another, his only compensation to play a role like one he imagines for his plays. Even when he shoots the dog he does it to prove a point, to play a role, more so than taking wilful action. When he meets Wirtanen, he allows himself to be blown on the breeze of history. The novel concerns the question of if his playacted self, the war criminal, reflects the inward self, which we quickly realize becomes a question of if he even has a sense of self.
‘I am an American by birth, a Nazi by reputation, and a nationless person by inclination.’
Campbell is asked at one point if he hates America, which he responds that hating it ‘would be as silly as loving it..It's impossible for me to get emotional about it, because real estate doesn't interest me. It's no doubt a great flaw in my personality, but I can't think in terms of boundaries.’ He frequently describes himself as a ‘nationless’ person, one without loyalties who can be a Nazi and a spy and not feel it matters because it is merely an act. He only feels grounded as a ‘nation of two’ with his wife, who is his muse and only through her does he find a sense of purpose and direction. Vonnegut even writes that another moral to the story is to ‘make love when you can. It's good for you.’
‘Society is more concerned with material possessions than it is with the true love and compassion of another human being.’
Setting aside the toxicity of muse culture and that women seem to only really exist in this book for sexual drives to uphold the narrative of a man, we should question how Campbell’s life of love still does not reflect a sense of self or elicit acts of self-agency.I will admit there are some lovely lines about love, however. He is driven by what he feels is the narrative of love and allowing another person to fill in for his sense of purpose and self. ‘What froze me was the fact that I had absolutely no reason to move in any direction,’ he admits late in the novel. He sees no purpose to anything or a reason to even take agency of his actions, a personality that we can begin to understand why nihilist Resi found him appealing. The great moment of the novel is that his ending is the only time he took matters—and his life—into his own hands.
He is told at one point that he should have killed himself the way heroic action in his own plays would be depicted, which is some fine foreshadowing to boot with the scalding burn. He finds that he can be free, can escape his sins, can return to “normal” life, but also laments that he is too old by that point to make use of the freedom. While he may be evolved from his war crimes, he still must face the inner court of self-reflection: ‘I think that tonight is the night I will hang Howard W. Campbell, Jr. for crimes against himself’ he writes, for once taking agency over himself and passing a judgment the world could not wager. He has betrayed himself and will finally take action and agency over his life, giving himself the romantic death in keeping with his literary beliefs.
In a novel of chaos we have on thread that seems omnipresent and appears like deus ex machina is the influence of Colonel Wirtanan, aka Harold J. Sparrow, aka the Blue Fairy Godmother (the Blue Fairy Godmother also appears in a play in Slaughterhouse-Five). He is the freedom granter when needed but earlier the magic wand wave into being a spy and propulsion into the ranks of the Nazi party. He is also the deal with the devil, the Mephistopheles of the novel. In the author’s note, Vonnegut tells us the title Mother Night is ‘Campbell's; it is taken from a speech by Mephistopheles in Goethe's Faust.’ The quote follows:
’I am a part of the part that at first was all, part of the darkness that gave birth to light, that supercilious light which now disputes with Mother Night her ancient rank and space, and yet can not succeed; no matter how it struggles, it sticks to matter and can't get free. Light flows from substance, makes it beautiful; solids can check its path, so I hope it won't be long till light and the world's stuff are destroyed together.’
In this quote we see Mephistopheles positioning for end times, good and bad obliterated together, and in this novel we see Campbell marketing Germany towards atrocity while also thinking himself to be apolitical and damning both good and bad. Much of the novel, however, shows how even his good intentions of using his propaganda to broadcast secret codes has evil side-effects, from encouraging the holocaust to emboldning hate groups in the US even long after the war. The book shows how he enabled evil and the people who are attracted to it.
‘There are plenty of good reasons for fighting...but no good reason to ever hate without reservation, to imagine that God Almighty hates with you, too. Where's evil? It's that large part of every man that wants to hate without limit, that wants to hate with God on its side. It's that part of every man that finds all kinds of ugliness so attractive....it's that part of an imbecile that punishes and vilifies and makes war gladly.’
The novel is comprised of well-crafted histories of hate leaders and their cohorts telling Campbell they are huge fans and were frequent listeners. They even try to reunite him with his lost wife as a token of appreciation for spearheading their white supremacist causes. This was a hell of a thing to read in the present day.
‘this is a hard world to be ludicrous in, with so many human beings so reluctant to laugh, so incapable of thought, so eager to believe and snarl and hate.’
While navigating a bleak subject matter, Vonnegut maintains the absurdist humor dripped in dread and serious context that he is well known for. Mother Night is a wild rampage through questions of morality and beliefs, extols the beauty and barbs of words, and investigates complicity. There is a lot of interesting aspects going on here, particularly the metafictional framing as found memoir, though also deeper issues of self such as wondering if making him Campbell Jr. and using some childhood biographical details of his own life, Kurt Vonnegut Jr. was making a commentary on his own selfhood. Vonnegut looks at our agency and asks us to interrogate our sense of self and what mark it will leave on the world, and this little gem is one worth investigating.
4.5/5
December 26, 2024
The text of the book is presumably the notes of a supposed war criminal… He is behind bars in Jerusalem…
Ambiguity and ambivalence in everything… Uncertainty… Was the narrator on their side? Was he on our side?
There is an apparent side known to everyone…
And there is a secret side known to no one…
Living the double life had taken its toll… He lost his love… He lost his true identity… He lost his future…
Very strange events and intrigues start brewing around him… History is a steamroller that knows no quarter…
The war and its aftermath made a real mess of all the ideologies.
I am surrounded by ancient history. Though the jail in which I rot is new, some of the stones in it, I’m told, were cut in the time of King Solomon.
And sometimes, when I look out through my cell window at the gay and brassy youth of the infant Republic of Israel, I feel that I and my war crimes are as ancient as Solomon’s old gray stones.
Ambiguity and ambivalence in everything… Uncertainty… Was the narrator on their side? Was he on our side?
I disappeared from Germany at the end of the Second World War. I reappeared, unrecognized, in Greenwich Village. There I rented a depressing attic apartment with rats squeaking and scrabbling in the walls. I continued to inhabit that attic until a month ago, when I was brought to Israel for trial.
There is an apparent side known to everyone…
I earned my keep until the war ended in 1945 as a writer and broadcaster of Nazi propaganda to the English-speaking world.
And there is a secret side known to no one…
I committed high treason, crimes against humanity, and crimes against my own conscience, and I got away with them until now.
I got away with them because I was an American agent all through the war. My broadcasts carried coded information out of Germany.
Living the double life had taken its toll… He lost his love… He lost his true identity… He lost his future…
Very strange events and intrigues start brewing around him… History is a steamroller that knows no quarter…
“Lie down, lie down!” the people cried.
“The great machine is history!”
My love and I, we ran away,
The engine did not find us.
The war and its aftermath made a real mess of all the ideologies.
November 22, 2008
Vastly underrated piece of black comedy, about a World War 2 double agent whose cover is a Nazi propagandist in the style of Lord Haw-Haw. Vonnegut says in the preface that this is the only one of his books where he knows what the moral is. You are what you pretend to be, so be careful about who you pretend to be. For my money, Vonnegut's second best book, running Cat's Cradle very close.
It's not just me - the great Doris Lessing also wrote once that she couldn't quite understand why this book wasn't more famous. Her speculation was that the literary world simply refuses to take anything seriously that is first published in paperback. Now that she's finally received the Nobel Prize, maybe people will listen more carefully :)
May 1, 2025
„Jones m-a prezentat ca pe un om care n-are nevoie de nici o prezentare”.
Un roman subestimat, o comedie neagră. Mult mai bun decît vă închipuiți...
Calendarul arată anul 1961. Howard W. Campbell Jr. se găsește într-o închisoare din vechiul Ierusalim (unde a venit de bunăvoie și nesilit de nimeni), a făptuit crime abominabile și, ca să-și treacă timpul, redactează un memoriu.
Ce s-a întîmplat, de fapt? În timpul războiului, Howard a lucrat în aparatul de propagandă al Germaniei, a compus texte virulent antisemite, pe care le-a citit la radio în emisiuni dedicate americanilor. În treacăt fie spus, Ezra Pound a făcut în Italia cam același lucru. După război, Pound a fost judecat și a ajuns (cu noroc) într-un azil psihiatric. Dar Howard are o „mică” justificare. În timpul războiului, a lucrat (și) ca agent american. Fusese racolat înainte de război de către un anume colonel Frank Virtanen. Prin textele citite la radio, a transmis informații prețioase (nu ni se spune niciodată ce fel de informații) despre dușman. Înainte de a se duce la culcare, președintele Roosevelt însuși îl asculta cu interes și plăcere.
În definitiv, la întîlnirea decisivă cu superiorul său, Howard aflase prețul slujbei sale, făcuse un pact cu diavolul: „Ca să-ți faci treaba cum trebuie, va trebui să te faci vinovat de înaltă trădare, va trebui să-l slujești bine pe dușman. Pentru asta nu vei fi nicicînd iertat, fiindcă nu există nici un truc juridic prin care să poți fi iertat”. Pentru a fi covingător, Howard W. Campbell, Jr. va trebui să treacă drept un nazist fanatic și să intre în cercul strîmt al oficialilor germani. Nu-i va fi greu. Este un histrion înnăscut. Mai mult: s-a căsătorit cu Helga Noth, o actriță, fiica cea mare a șefului poliției din Berlin.
Romanul lui Kurt Vonnegut pune în cauză mai degrabă problema judecății de sine decît a verdictului juridic. Multă vreme după război (mai bine de un deceniu), protagonistul nu-și examinează trecutul. A interpretat perfect un rol, a fost un (fals) nazist foarte credibil și un spion eficient. Frank Virtanen tocmai asta îi reproșează.
Howard a jucat la fel de bine două roluri (de nazist și spion american). Ca nazist ar trebui spînzurat, ca spion ar trebui absolvit de vină și decorat. Misiunea juriului e imposibilă. Dar în fața conștiinței sale, scrutîndu-și viața, Howard constată - abia acum - că a fost un „ticălos abject”, o „scursură”, și că merită cu prisosință o pedeapsă necruțătoare. El însuși va fi cel mai nemilos martor al acuzării.
Declară, în final, că nu mai are nici un chef să trăiască, își va pune ștreangul de gît. Dar nu pentru că e vinovat / nevinovat, ci pentru că, în mintea lui zdruncinată, viața nu mai are nici un sens. Helga a murit de mult. Pretinsa Resi (sora mai mică a soției) a înghițit o pastilă cu cianură. Nu mai are pe cine iubi, nu mai vrea să trăiască singur. Mai mult: a întruchipat răul pur. Merită cu prisosință să dispară. Își va pune ștreangul de gît.
În 1966, fără să ne mirăm prea tare, îl găsim sain et sauf în Iowa City...
January 23, 2020
English (Mother Night) / Italiano
Probably Vonnegut will never be one of my favourite writers. However, I must say that "Mother Night" is a good novel. Howard W. Campbell Junior is an American playwright emigrated to Germany of the Third Reich, become the symbol as well as the radio personality of Nazi propaganda. Campbell Junior brings us his memories from an Israeli jail, waiting to be tried for crimes against humanity.The tragicomic story that comes out gives us totally grotesque characters, motivated by the most diverse ideals. The personal reflection about the war by the author is interesting, and the protagonist's mental paths that define the epilogue of the novel are interesting too.
Vote: 7.
Probabilmente Vonnegut non è e non sarà mai uno dei miei autori preferiti. Tuttavia devo ammettere che Madre Notte è un bel romanzo. Howard W. Campbell Junior, commediografo americano emigrato nella Germania del terzo Reich, simbolo nonché voce radiofonica della propaganda nazista, ci narra le sue memorie da un carcere israeliano, in attesa di essere processato per crimini contro l'umanità. Il racconto tragicomico che ne viene fuori ci consegna personaggi decisamente grotteschi, mossi dagli ideali più disparati. La riflessione personale sulla guerra da parte dell'autore è interessante, e interessanti sono i percorsi mentali del protagonista che definiscono l'epilogo del romanzo.
Voto: 7
August 24, 2020
Spotting Fake News
Fake news did not arise with Donald Trump’s tweets. Propagandists of the Left and the Right have used it since before there was a Left and Right. America has always had a fascist edge. 19th century Nativists, Know-Nothings, Klansmen, Red Shirts, White Leaguers, and Constitutional Unionists invented fake news long before the John Birch Society, Glenn Beck, Lou Dobbs or the alt-Right of Steve Bannon claimed that mass media routinely hide the truth about immigrants, Jews, and Blacks. Fake news has been an American tradition since the first Federalists attacked Thomas Jefferson as a dupe of French radical revolutionaries.
Vonnegut's Mother Night is about fake news from the inside, and what it does to the insides of the man on the inside. Howard J. Campbell, a writer born in America, wrangles himself a job as chief copy-writer for Joseph Goebbels's Nazi Propaganda machine. His American-grown copy about the inhumanity of Jews impresses his boss because it goes beyond even what Nazi ideology had to say about Jewish perfidy. He is promoted to the position of lead radio-broadcaster of the Reich, and therefore tagged as a war criminal after the war, wanted by the Israelis.
But Campbell is a double agent, recruited by the Americans to relay secret messages hidden in his propaganda broadcasts. So, he is protected after the war but not acknowledged for diplomatic reasons. Returned to the United States, Campbell lives for fifteen years an open but shabby life in New York City on a private soldier's salary. Outed by a Soviet agent, he is targeted not just by the Israelis, but also by old soldiers who can't understand what they fought and suffered for but believe that Campbell is the cause of their distress.
Campbell realises that his participation in the creation of fake news requires a certain form of schizophrenia. Therefore, he recognises somewhat too late, one must be very careful about what one pretends to be. He equates his condition to the defective mechanism of the "cuckoo clock from hell". The clock occasionally tells the truth, but only unpredictably as its gears with missing cogs speed up or stop the works.
This mechanical analogy, Campbell says, refers to a mental illness, one which is passed from generation to generation. He's right of course. The fascist tendency is a familial and widespread cultural tradition which has power because it has persisted at least as long as the American republic. There aren't just precedents, there are statutory requirements to support the idea of the conspiracy of the world against the American Way: The Alien and Sedition Acts of 1798, the Jim Crow laws of the American South, the Espionage and Sedition Acts of 1918.
It seems like the prototype of every American right wing populist lunatic from Huey Long to Father Coughlin finds his place somewhere in Mother Night. Groups like The Iron Guard of the White Sons of the Constitution and Moral Rearmament would be ludicrous if they didn't exist. But they do exist at precisely the nexus of religion and right wing ideology, with a little help from the Russians, that Vonnegut foresaw over a half-century ago. Today, these groups, as well as the Russians, seem to be in the ascendancy in the United States from the North Carolina Tea Party to the Neo-Nazi Montanans, and not forgetting the Republican Party.
Campbell finds a kind of salvation in his own disillusionment. One can only hope for similar personal revelations to the mass of Americans who have fallen for the latest version of fake news. But this seems unlikely to Campbell, who notes that:
Check out Trump next time he smiles.
Fake news did not arise with Donald Trump’s tweets. Propagandists of the Left and the Right have used it since before there was a Left and Right. America has always had a fascist edge. 19th century Nativists, Know-Nothings, Klansmen, Red Shirts, White Leaguers, and Constitutional Unionists invented fake news long before the John Birch Society, Glenn Beck, Lou Dobbs or the alt-Right of Steve Bannon claimed that mass media routinely hide the truth about immigrants, Jews, and Blacks. Fake news has been an American tradition since the first Federalists attacked Thomas Jefferson as a dupe of French radical revolutionaries.
Vonnegut's Mother Night is about fake news from the inside, and what it does to the insides of the man on the inside. Howard J. Campbell, a writer born in America, wrangles himself a job as chief copy-writer for Joseph Goebbels's Nazi Propaganda machine. His American-grown copy about the inhumanity of Jews impresses his boss because it goes beyond even what Nazi ideology had to say about Jewish perfidy. He is promoted to the position of lead radio-broadcaster of the Reich, and therefore tagged as a war criminal after the war, wanted by the Israelis.
But Campbell is a double agent, recruited by the Americans to relay secret messages hidden in his propaganda broadcasts. So, he is protected after the war but not acknowledged for diplomatic reasons. Returned to the United States, Campbell lives for fifteen years an open but shabby life in New York City on a private soldier's salary. Outed by a Soviet agent, he is targeted not just by the Israelis, but also by old soldiers who can't understand what they fought and suffered for but believe that Campbell is the cause of their distress.
Campbell realises that his participation in the creation of fake news requires a certain form of schizophrenia. Therefore, he recognises somewhat too late, one must be very careful about what one pretends to be. He equates his condition to the defective mechanism of the "cuckoo clock from hell". The clock occasionally tells the truth, but only unpredictably as its gears with missing cogs speed up or stop the works.
This mechanical analogy, Campbell says, refers to a mental illness, one which is passed from generation to generation. He's right of course. The fascist tendency is a familial and widespread cultural tradition which has power because it has persisted at least as long as the American republic. There aren't just precedents, there are statutory requirements to support the idea of the conspiracy of the world against the American Way: The Alien and Sedition Acts of 1798, the Jim Crow laws of the American South, the Espionage and Sedition Acts of 1918.
It seems like the prototype of every American right wing populist lunatic from Huey Long to Father Coughlin finds his place somewhere in Mother Night. Groups like The Iron Guard of the White Sons of the Constitution and Moral Rearmament would be ludicrous if they didn't exist. But they do exist at precisely the nexus of religion and right wing ideology, with a little help from the Russians, that Vonnegut foresaw over a half-century ago. Today, these groups, as well as the Russians, seem to be in the ascendancy in the United States from the North Carolina Tea Party to the Neo-Nazi Montanans, and not forgetting the Republican Party.
Campbell finds a kind of salvation in his own disillusionment. One can only hope for similar personal revelations to the mass of Americans who have fallen for the latest version of fake news. But this seems unlikely to Campbell, who notes that:
"The dismaying thing about the totalitarian mind is that any given gear, though mutilated, will have at its circumference unbroken sequences of teeth that are immaculately maintained, that are exquisitely machined."
Check out Trump next time he smiles.
May 15, 2018
When most people think of Kurt Vonnegut, the novels Slaughterhouse-Five and Cat's Cradle immediately come to mind. It's a shame that more people aren't familiar with Mother Night, a novel in which Vonnegut explores the nature of moral ambiguity and what high-minded ideals we sacrifice on the altar of war. It's a skillful blend of Vonnegut's trademark dark humor and philosophical musings about human morality as observed through the lens of war. To put it simply, this is some good stuff.
Sitting in an Israeli jail and writing his memoirs, Howard Campbell awaits trial for war crimes as a Nazi in World War II. As Howard himself says, "I am an American by birth, a Nazi by reputation, and a nationless person by inclination" (1). And this is the root of Howard's problem: he has no true identity. As he ruminates on his past, we see how the apolitical Howard was drawn into events that eclipsed the simple life he longed to live as an artist writing plays for his muse and wife, the lovely Helga.
Howard's situation is a unique one. An American who moved to Germany as a child and seamlessly assimilated into German culture prior to any rumblings of war, Howard makes the perfect candidate for an American spy. However, to remain above suspicion, Howard must align himself with the Nazi cause by pretending to be a Nazi propagandist, eventually becoming the voice of the Reich through his radio broadcasts. Through a series of coughs, sneezes, and sniffs, Howard sends coded information out to the Americans at the same time he spews vile invective against the Jewish people.
So what's the problem? He was a good guy, right? That's how it would normally be perceived, but as Vonnegut cautions, "We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be" (v). Maintaining this dual identity weighs heavily upon Howard in the years after the war which robbed him of everything: his family, his friends, his art, and his Helga. Howard excelled as a propagandist--so good, in fact, his father-in-law tells him that Howard, not Hitler and not Goebbels, convinced him to become a Nazi. Howard's American handler even claims Campbell "was one of the most vicious sons of bitches who ever lived" (188). Knowing that it was his words and his voice that convinced so many to hate in the name of God is a guilt that Howard can never alleviate, especially given that his communications with the Americans never took the form of words. He never knew what information he was passing on to the Americans, nor what, if any, good came from it. In the end, he can never be certain if the good he did outweighed (or at least balanced out) the evil his words inspired in the hearts of men. The question is, do pure motivations absolve heinous outcomes? As Howard's past begins to catch up with him, he must confront these questions and try to determine who Howard Campbell has become in the shadow of war.
I think what is most intriguing about the novel is that Howard Campbell is the ultimate unreliable narrator. A man who is skilled with words and at shaping the perceptions of others, it's important to remember that, in this metafiction, it is Howard Campbell writing his own life's story. Even in the end we cannot be certain whether or not we come to know the real Howard Campbell as the resulting narrative may be Campbell's masterwork of propaganda--rewriting his own history with an eye to posterity. Howard Campbell may be a fiction created by the man himself, a constantly shifting personality recreating himself to fit the times in which he lives. After all, we become what we pretend to be.
Cross posted at This Insignificant Cinder
Sitting in an Israeli jail and writing his memoirs, Howard Campbell awaits trial for war crimes as a Nazi in World War II. As Howard himself says, "I am an American by birth, a Nazi by reputation, and a nationless person by inclination" (1). And this is the root of Howard's problem: he has no true identity. As he ruminates on his past, we see how the apolitical Howard was drawn into events that eclipsed the simple life he longed to live as an artist writing plays for his muse and wife, the lovely Helga.
Howard's situation is a unique one. An American who moved to Germany as a child and seamlessly assimilated into German culture prior to any rumblings of war, Howard makes the perfect candidate for an American spy. However, to remain above suspicion, Howard must align himself with the Nazi cause by pretending to be a Nazi propagandist, eventually becoming the voice of the Reich through his radio broadcasts. Through a series of coughs, sneezes, and sniffs, Howard sends coded information out to the Americans at the same time he spews vile invective against the Jewish people.
So what's the problem? He was a good guy, right? That's how it would normally be perceived, but as Vonnegut cautions, "We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be" (v). Maintaining this dual identity weighs heavily upon Howard in the years after the war which robbed him of everything: his family, his friends, his art, and his Helga. Howard excelled as a propagandist--so good, in fact, his father-in-law tells him that Howard, not Hitler and not Goebbels, convinced him to become a Nazi. Howard's American handler even claims Campbell "was one of the most vicious sons of bitches who ever lived" (188). Knowing that it was his words and his voice that convinced so many to hate in the name of God is a guilt that Howard can never alleviate, especially given that his communications with the Americans never took the form of words. He never knew what information he was passing on to the Americans, nor what, if any, good came from it. In the end, he can never be certain if the good he did outweighed (or at least balanced out) the evil his words inspired in the hearts of men. The question is, do pure motivations absolve heinous outcomes? As Howard's past begins to catch up with him, he must confront these questions and try to determine who Howard Campbell has become in the shadow of war.
I think what is most intriguing about the novel is that Howard Campbell is the ultimate unreliable narrator. A man who is skilled with words and at shaping the perceptions of others, it's important to remember that, in this metafiction, it is Howard Campbell writing his own life's story. Even in the end we cannot be certain whether or not we come to know the real Howard Campbell as the resulting narrative may be Campbell's masterwork of propaganda--rewriting his own history with an eye to posterity. Howard Campbell may be a fiction created by the man himself, a constantly shifting personality recreating himself to fit the times in which he lives. After all, we become what we pretend to be.
Cross posted at This Insignificant Cinder
January 30, 2024
4.5 stars rounded up
Who is Mr. Howard Campbell?
We know that he is an American playwright who happened to live in Germany under the Nazi Regime. He could have returned to his homeland but he opted for staying in Germany. Nazi rule did not seem to bother him. But Campbell could well have a serious reason for not leaving Hitler's realm.
In Nazi Germany Campbell worked on the radio, constantly attacking the 'enemies' of the Third Reich and spreading nefarious propaganda. He had risen to fame as a Nazi propagandist.
Some, however, believe that he was a spy who used his radio broadcasts to send coded messages to the Allies. After the war, the US government decided to ignore Campbell. They neither deny nor confirm his status during the war years.
At the end of the day, it seems that this is not the most important question whether or not Campbell was a spy who contributed to the downfall of Hitler's Reich.
Several years after the war his speeches where Campbell stigmatized the so-called Untermenschen started living their own life. His fiery diatribes have infused those who adhere to supremacist ideologies with new dangerous passion.
Ideas live much longer than people do.
Meanwhile, troubles face Campbell. He feels as if his personality were split into two halves. One Campbell is a valuable spy who worked for the Allies. Another is a man who by his speeches condemned thousands, even hundreds of thousands of innocent people to death. Should we say that a person can have several faces at the same time?
It becomes increasingly difficult for him to stay afloat.
Campbell is tired of toying with the thoughts about which version of himself is true to life and which is not so true.
Who is Mr. Howard Campbell?
We know that he is an American playwright who happened to live in Germany under the Nazi Regime. He could have returned to his homeland but he opted for staying in Germany. Nazi rule did not seem to bother him. But Campbell could well have a serious reason for not leaving Hitler's realm.
In Nazi Germany Campbell worked on the radio, constantly attacking the 'enemies' of the Third Reich and spreading nefarious propaganda. He had risen to fame as a Nazi propagandist.
Some, however, believe that he was a spy who used his radio broadcasts to send coded messages to the Allies. After the war, the US government decided to ignore Campbell. They neither deny nor confirm his status during the war years.
At the end of the day, it seems that this is not the most important question whether or not Campbell was a spy who contributed to the downfall of Hitler's Reich.
Several years after the war his speeches where Campbell stigmatized the so-called Untermenschen started living their own life. His fiery diatribes have infused those who adhere to supremacist ideologies with new dangerous passion.
Ideas live much longer than people do.
Meanwhile, troubles face Campbell. He feels as if his personality were split into two halves. One Campbell is a valuable spy who worked for the Allies. Another is a man who by his speeches condemned thousands, even hundreds of thousands of innocent people to death. Should we say that a person can have several faces at the same time?
It becomes increasingly difficult for him to stay afloat.
Campbell is tired of toying with the thoughts about which version of himself is true to life and which is not so true.
March 1, 2023
“All people are insane. They will do anything at any time, and God help anybody who looks for reasons.”
A bit silly, but I think the reason I was reluctant to read Kurt Vonnegut's Mother Night was because it contains my favorite Vonnegut quote (“We are what we pretend to be…”). I liked the quote so well that I was somehow afraid that the novel would disappoint. From the outset I want to say Mother Night is fantastic! In the novel, it somehow seems like our protagonist, Howard W. Campbell Jr., is guilty of something, but what exactly? As an American working undercover as a propagandist for the Germans during WWII, was he too good a spy? Did he become what he pretended to be?
“Say what you will about the sweet miracle of unquestioning faith, I consider a capacity for it terrifying and absolutely vile.”
“...this is a hard world to be ludicrous in, with so many human beings so reluctant to laugh, so incapable of thought, so eager to believe and snarl and hate.”
Another fantastic Vonnegut experience!!
A bit silly, but I think the reason I was reluctant to read Kurt Vonnegut's Mother Night was because it contains my favorite Vonnegut quote (“We are what we pretend to be…”). I liked the quote so well that I was somehow afraid that the novel would disappoint. From the outset I want to say Mother Night is fantastic! In the novel, it somehow seems like our protagonist, Howard W. Campbell Jr., is guilty of something, but what exactly? As an American working undercover as a propagandist for the Germans during WWII, was he too good a spy? Did he become what he pretended to be?
“Say what you will about the sweet miracle of unquestioning faith, I consider a capacity for it terrifying and absolutely vile.”
“...this is a hard world to be ludicrous in, with so many human beings so reluctant to laugh, so incapable of thought, so eager to believe and snarl and hate.”
Another fantastic Vonnegut experience!!
October 4, 2019
In Stanley Kubrik's film, Full Metal Jacket, one of the most highlighted scenes is where the protagonist is asked to explain the peace symbol and "Born to Kill" slogan on his helmet. His response:“I think I was trying to suggest something about the duality of man.”
Cannot help but wonder if the writer for Full Metal Jacket had been thinking of Mother Night when he wrote that line. One of the darker novels in Vonnegut’s collection, but still with the humor and blithely irreverent tone that is his trademark, Mother Night asks a lot of questions and leaves many unanswered, inviting deep introspection for the reader and for our society as a whole.
**** 2019 re-read
“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.” - Vonnegut
“Poets priests and politicians
Have words to thank for their positions
Words that scream for your submission
And no-one's jamming their transmission
'Cause when their eloquence escapes you
Their logic ties you up and rapes you
De do do do de da da da
Is all I want to say to you” – Sting
I had forgotten how dark this is. Yes, still some fun mixed in, but we are seeing the 3am kitchen of Vonnegut’s soul. But like all of his works, it operates on many levels and is not what it appears to be on the surface.
Howard W. Campbell Jr. was a nazi. He was an American raised in Germany when his engineer father moved the family there for work. He stayed and became a propagandist and radio voice for the Third Reich.
Or did he?
Vonnegut is in rare form in this 1961 publication (his fifth) and one that delves deeply into the Germany he experienced as a prisoner of war. His later book Slaughterhouse Five (1969) goes more depth about his own perspective, but here we examine the troubling case of an American who has switched teams.
But –
Turns out that the apolitical Campbell really just wanted to play with words and have fun and make love to his beautiful German wife Helga. He was approached surreptitiously early on by an American officer who recruited him to be a spy, to pretend to be a nazi agent and to send coded messages home during his pro-nazi broadcasts.
But the talented wordsmith did his job too good. He became the poster boy for all things nazi and a beacon of inspiration for Hitler lovers and a source of derision to those of his native land.
Vonnegut explores, in his mischievous way patriotism, ideology and the effect of words on those that choose to listen. For this reason alone, in this age of political correctness, where saying the wrong thing implies that we ARE the wrong thing, this sixty-year-old book is timeless and relevant.
The scenes with the aging group of diverse racists is dementedly hilarious and quintessential Vonnegut and made me wonder if Dave Chapelle was inspired by this work.
Mental health disorders are a ubiquitous element in Vonnegut’s books. During this 2019 reading festival so far, I’ve read Breakfast of Champions, God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater, Galapagos and now this and they’ve all had characters who suffer some mental impairment and commentary from Vonnegut. Vonnegut’s mother suffered from levels of insanity and the deranged perspective is one that he returns frequently.
Perhaps not one of his better known works but a must read for his fans and one that an interested reader should to see the great range and ability of one of our most talented writers.
Cannot help but wonder if the writer for Full Metal Jacket had been thinking of Mother Night when he wrote that line. One of the darker novels in Vonnegut’s collection, but still with the humor and blithely irreverent tone that is his trademark, Mother Night asks a lot of questions and leaves many unanswered, inviting deep introspection for the reader and for our society as a whole.
**** 2019 re-read
“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.” - Vonnegut
“Poets priests and politicians
Have words to thank for their positions
Words that scream for your submission
And no-one's jamming their transmission
'Cause when their eloquence escapes you
Their logic ties you up and rapes you
De do do do de da da da
Is all I want to say to you” – Sting
I had forgotten how dark this is. Yes, still some fun mixed in, but we are seeing the 3am kitchen of Vonnegut’s soul. But like all of his works, it operates on many levels and is not what it appears to be on the surface.
Howard W. Campbell Jr. was a nazi. He was an American raised in Germany when his engineer father moved the family there for work. He stayed and became a propagandist and radio voice for the Third Reich.
Or did he?
Vonnegut is in rare form in this 1961 publication (his fifth) and one that delves deeply into the Germany he experienced as a prisoner of war. His later book Slaughterhouse Five (1969) goes more depth about his own perspective, but here we examine the troubling case of an American who has switched teams.
But –
Turns out that the apolitical Campbell really just wanted to play with words and have fun and make love to his beautiful German wife Helga. He was approached surreptitiously early on by an American officer who recruited him to be a spy, to pretend to be a nazi agent and to send coded messages home during his pro-nazi broadcasts.
But the talented wordsmith did his job too good. He became the poster boy for all things nazi and a beacon of inspiration for Hitler lovers and a source of derision to those of his native land.
Vonnegut explores, in his mischievous way patriotism, ideology and the effect of words on those that choose to listen. For this reason alone, in this age of political correctness, where saying the wrong thing implies that we ARE the wrong thing, this sixty-year-old book is timeless and relevant.
The scenes with the aging group of diverse racists is dementedly hilarious and quintessential Vonnegut and made me wonder if Dave Chapelle was inspired by this work.
Mental health disorders are a ubiquitous element in Vonnegut’s books. During this 2019 reading festival so far, I’ve read Breakfast of Champions, God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater, Galapagos and now this and they’ve all had characters who suffer some mental impairment and commentary from Vonnegut. Vonnegut’s mother suffered from levels of insanity and the deranged perspective is one that he returns frequently.
Perhaps not one of his better known works but a must read for his fans and one that an interested reader should to see the great range and ability of one of our most talented writers.
October 12, 2020
I like books that show the world is not all good or all bad; it's not all black or all white. It's shades of grey. That is what Kurt Vonnegut does in Mother Night.
The book opens with our protagonist sitting in a jail cell in Israel, awaiting trial for his part in spreading Nazi propaganda during World War II.
We quickly learn that he was sending coded messages to the Allies on his radio program, and are now left questioning whether or not he is guilty of war crimes. Does his encouragement of hatred against the Jews make him guilty? Does his assistance to the Allies exonerate him?
As we get to know Howard W. Campbell, Jr., we see he doesn't go along with either side. He's floundering in the middle, perhaps because he never gave much consideration to what was going on or perhaps because he only cared about his own life and not that of anyone else's. I would say he is most guilty of apathy.
Was his apathy due to a character flaw or was it due to his feeling that things were out of his control and in order to save himself he had to not care about anyone else?
These are all questions the reader must decide for herself and I'm not sure I came to a concrete conclusion about Howard.
It's not my favourite Vonnegut book but I'm still glad I read it. Vonnegut succeeds in making us question what we think and demands we see all the layers of grey. He shows the evil some humans are capable of, and he shows how easy it is for the rest of us to turn a blind eye to suffering or even, worse, to see it as necessary.
If you don't care that children are torn from their parents and thrown into cages because it's not you or your children, or you don't care that people are suffering and dying from a virus because you personally haven't gotten sick, you are guilty of apathy. If you don't care what's done to people you consider to be "others", you will not speak out in their defense or do anything to help them. Maybe you don't personally hurt anyone, but with your silence you lend your support to their suffering.
Apathy allows us to look the other way, to stand silently by while others suffer. There are many reasons for this and we are good at deluding ourselves that it is the right thing to remain silent or even to encourage those who are hurting others. We are all guilty of apathy on some level. Perhaps it is impossible to live in a world with so much suffering and not dull our feelings of empathy towards others.
It is easy to rail against those who think it's OK to toss Latinx children into cages, but who among us lives their lives working only to minimize the suffering of others? Who among us is doing all they can to solve world hunger or take care of refugees? Who has completely devoted their time to ridding the world of structural racism? At some point, we all turn on our blinders. This is not good, and yet we all are guilty.
There are two morals of the story that I see:
1) We don't see the humanity of our fellow human beings when we see in absolute terms instead of layers of grey.
2) To be apathetic is to not think and to not care and when we allow ourselves to be apathetic, it doesn't really matter what our intentions are. The result is the same -- we do not alleviate the suffering of others and, worse, might even unintentionally cause more suffering.
Vonnegut reminds us to delve more deeply and forces us to question if good intentions are enough to absolve someone's actions. Our protagonist thought not. What will you decide?
The book opens with our protagonist sitting in a jail cell in Israel, awaiting trial for his part in spreading Nazi propaganda during World War II.
We quickly learn that he was sending coded messages to the Allies on his radio program, and are now left questioning whether or not he is guilty of war crimes. Does his encouragement of hatred against the Jews make him guilty? Does his assistance to the Allies exonerate him?
As we get to know Howard W. Campbell, Jr., we see he doesn't go along with either side. He's floundering in the middle, perhaps because he never gave much consideration to what was going on or perhaps because he only cared about his own life and not that of anyone else's. I would say he is most guilty of apathy.
Was his apathy due to a character flaw or was it due to his feeling that things were out of his control and in order to save himself he had to not care about anyone else?
These are all questions the reader must decide for herself and I'm not sure I came to a concrete conclusion about Howard.
It's not my favourite Vonnegut book but I'm still glad I read it. Vonnegut succeeds in making us question what we think and demands we see all the layers of grey. He shows the evil some humans are capable of, and he shows how easy it is for the rest of us to turn a blind eye to suffering or even, worse, to see it as necessary.
If you don't care that children are torn from their parents and thrown into cages because it's not you or your children, or you don't care that people are suffering and dying from a virus because you personally haven't gotten sick, you are guilty of apathy. If you don't care what's done to people you consider to be "others", you will not speak out in their defense or do anything to help them. Maybe you don't personally hurt anyone, but with your silence you lend your support to their suffering.
Apathy allows us to look the other way, to stand silently by while others suffer. There are many reasons for this and we are good at deluding ourselves that it is the right thing to remain silent or even to encourage those who are hurting others. We are all guilty of apathy on some level. Perhaps it is impossible to live in a world with so much suffering and not dull our feelings of empathy towards others.
It is easy to rail against those who think it's OK to toss Latinx children into cages, but who among us lives their lives working only to minimize the suffering of others? Who among us is doing all they can to solve world hunger or take care of refugees? Who has completely devoted their time to ridding the world of structural racism? At some point, we all turn on our blinders. This is not good, and yet we all are guilty.
There are two morals of the story that I see:
1) We don't see the humanity of our fellow human beings when we see in absolute terms instead of layers of grey.
2) To be apathetic is to not think and to not care and when we allow ourselves to be apathetic, it doesn't really matter what our intentions are. The result is the same -- we do not alleviate the suffering of others and, worse, might even unintentionally cause more suffering.
Vonnegut reminds us to delve more deeply and forces us to question if good intentions are enough to absolve someone's actions. Our protagonist thought not. What will you decide?
June 14, 2012
This is the best Vonnegut I’ve read so far. American Nazi Howard W. Campbell, Jr. is awaiting trial on war crimes. A traitor to the American people, Campbell is responsible for the deliberate spread of damaging propaganda throughout Germany and its occupied territories during World War II. He is an evil, dangerous man who is undoubtedly guilty of high treason.
Or is he?
As the account of Campbell’s life in Germany unfolds, much is revealed about his motives, the benign sequence of events leading to his becoming a member of the Nazi Party, and the identity of the actual organization from which he draws his paycheck: United States intelligence. So as it turns out, Howard W. Campbell, Jr. is a spy! He is an American hero, wrongly accused and undoubtedly deserving of complete exoneration.
Or is he?
The distinction here between villain and hero is a line that is wonderfully blurred by Vonnegut, who delivers his story with perfunctory prose and offers up one surprising twist after another until the novel’s depressing conclusion. Interestingly, Vonnegut introduces this story with a quote that comes to define Campbell and the ultimate “moral” of Mother Night perfectly:
Or is he?
As the account of Campbell’s life in Germany unfolds, much is revealed about his motives, the benign sequence of events leading to his becoming a member of the Nazi Party, and the identity of the actual organization from which he draws his paycheck: United States intelligence. So as it turns out, Howard W. Campbell, Jr. is a spy! He is an American hero, wrongly accused and undoubtedly deserving of complete exoneration.
Or is he?
The distinction here between villain and hero is a line that is wonderfully blurred by Vonnegut, who delivers his story with perfunctory prose and offers up one surprising twist after another until the novel’s depressing conclusion. Interestingly, Vonnegut introduces this story with a quote that comes to define Campbell and the ultimate “moral” of Mother Night perfectly:
We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.As an aside, I’ve heard a lot of reviewers refer to Campbell as a double agent. Although I’m not exactly sure what qualifies for “double agency,” I do think it involves being a secret member of the secret organization you are trying to secretly infiltrate...so you can learn their secrets. So having cleared that up, I think it’s more likely that Campbell is just a plain old mole.
December 21, 2025
Mother Night is a brilliant, haunting masterpiece about identity, morality, and the masks we wear. Vonnegut delivers sharp wit, dark humor, and profound insight into the human soul. The novel’s blend of irony and compassion makes it both deeply moving and intellectually captivating.
October 17, 2021
What the . . . surely this wasn’t penned by the legendary Kurt Vonnegut, right? I mean, where are the wacky sci-fi elements, the Tralfamadorians, or the head-scratching, confusing time-shifting narrative? We aren’t seriously “stuck in time” for the entire novel, are we? What about his colorful cast of eccentric weirdos? Where’s Kilgore Trout, Dwayne Hoover, or Billy Pilgrim? Ah, but there were some oddballs, and I couldn’t help but notice a few references to Schenectady, New York. That’s all rather curious, but I’m still not entirely convinced. It’s surprising to see such a straightforward narrative from Mr. Vonnegut, but, for the uninitiated, this may actually be his most accessible novel and a good entry point into his catalog.
The narrator of Mother Night is a man named Howard W. Campbell Jr., an American awaiting trial in Israel for war crimes committed as a Nazi propagandist. Howard was born in American but moved to Berlin at a young age. He began his career as an author and playwright, eventually joining the Nazi party, in name only. He thinks of himself as an “American by birth, a Nazi by reputation, and a nationless person by inclination” because his only real loyalty is to his wife and their “Nation of Two.” As he rose through the party, his American roots led to him becoming the voice of the Nazi propaganda broadcasts aimed at converting Americans to the cause.
Howard claimed to have been recruited as an American spy, but there are no government officials that will confirm or deny his claim. And all attempts to track down his handler proved unsuccessful because the guy apparently used a fake name, and no one ever saw the two together. Throughout the story, he’s rescued from prosecution time and time again by his handler/“Blue Fairy Godmother.” So Howard asks, “Can I prove I was an American spy? My unbroken, lily-white neck is Exhibit A, and it’s the only exhibit I have.”
Even so, how could it possibly balance the scales with all the horrible atrocities his words helped fuel? And therein lies the moral of the story, “We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.” That’s what weighs heavily on Howard’s soul, so, in the end, he chooses to stand trial—not so much for war crimes as for crimes against his own conscience.
While this started off as a solid three-star read, I thought the last quarter of the book was brilliant—the commentaries and philosophies were remarkable—bordering on poetic. The analogy of the totalitarian mind as a system of gears whose teeth have been filed off at random was particularly astute.
That said, this wasn’t my favorite Vonnegut—I have to admit did miss some of his trademark wackiness—but, even so, it was far better than most, and the ending alone pushed it to a five-star read for me.
The narrator of Mother Night is a man named Howard W. Campbell Jr., an American awaiting trial in Israel for war crimes committed as a Nazi propagandist. Howard was born in American but moved to Berlin at a young age. He began his career as an author and playwright, eventually joining the Nazi party, in name only. He thinks of himself as an “American by birth, a Nazi by reputation, and a nationless person by inclination” because his only real loyalty is to his wife and their “Nation of Two.” As he rose through the party, his American roots led to him becoming the voice of the Nazi propaganda broadcasts aimed at converting Americans to the cause.
Howard claimed to have been recruited as an American spy, but there are no government officials that will confirm or deny his claim. And all attempts to track down his handler proved unsuccessful because the guy apparently used a fake name, and no one ever saw the two together. Throughout the story, he’s rescued from prosecution time and time again by his handler/“Blue Fairy Godmother.” So Howard asks, “Can I prove I was an American spy? My unbroken, lily-white neck is Exhibit A, and it’s the only exhibit I have.”
Even so, how could it possibly balance the scales with all the horrible atrocities his words helped fuel? And therein lies the moral of the story, “We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.” That’s what weighs heavily on Howard’s soul, so, in the end, he chooses to stand trial—not so much for war crimes as for crimes against his own conscience.
While this started off as a solid three-star read, I thought the last quarter of the book was brilliant—the commentaries and philosophies were remarkable—bordering on poetic. The analogy of the totalitarian mind as a system of gears whose teeth have been filed off at random was particularly astute.
That said, this wasn’t my favorite Vonnegut—I have to admit did miss some of his trademark wackiness—but, even so, it was far better than most, and the ending alone pushed it to a five-star read for me.
June 10, 2020
“This is the only story of mine whose moral I know. I don’t think it’s a marvelous moral; I simply happen to know what it is: We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”
Before I started writing this review I quickly scanned other reviews of this book on Goodreads just to see if many of them start off with the above iconic quote. I did not find one so I went ahead with putting in the quote. Probably not that great an idea, that is why nobody want to do it! I had no idea what Mother Night is about, it appears to be one of Vonnegut's top five most popular titles according to the ranking on GR’s Kurt Vonnegut page. So it goes?
Mother Night is about Howard W. Campbell Jr., American author, and playwright working in Germany during World War II. He is married to a beautiful actress called Helga. The Nazi employed him to make propaganda broadcasts for them, his broadcasts were very popular among the Third Reich, and very effective in fueling the anti-Semitic feelings among the population. However, Campbell only took the broadcasting job to work for the US as a spy. He uses the broadcasts to relay the American secret messages, coded through coughs, pauses and other verbal tics. At the end of the war, the US intelligence pretty much disowns him and he is living a secretive and lonely life in New York, his wife having been captured by the Russian army. Nobody knows Campbell was a US spy during the war, and he is wanted for war crimes for the hatred he instigated through his broadcasts.
Credit Englishmajeure.com
Mother Night is different from the five other Vonnegut books* I have read. All the others feature an element of sci-fi, or sci-fi spoof, and includes the character Kilgore Trout, an obscure sci-fi author. Mother Night feels more serious and melancholy than all of them. Yes, even more than Slaughterhouse-Five. This is not to say that Mother Night is not humorous, it is often very funny but there is something melancholic behind most of the jokes. For example:
“Generally speaking, espionage offers each spy an opportunity to go crazy in a way he finds irresistible.”
Funny and sad. I suppose Campbell is not meant to be a likable protagonist, I like him anyway, he is very pitiful and his biggest mistake is that he is too good at his job, both as a spy and a Nazi propagandist. Both sides made good use of him, and in the end, nobody appreciates him, except eccentric fascists. Mother Night is, as I said, melancholy, yet it also made me laugh and smile from time to time. The chief moral of the story seems to be that if you pretend to be someone evil and despicable and you do too good a job of it, you will eventually become that character you pretend to be. Being an actually good person inside will not rescue you from that, and you will have to live with the consequences of what you have done while you were playing that role. From my past experience with his works, I was expecting some element of sci-fi madness and Tralfamadorians cameos, being a sci-fi nerd I enjoy Vonnegut’s unique brand of sci-fi parody. However, I would not change a thing about Mother Night, it is a funny, sad, romantic, touching, thought-provoking story. It is both passionate and compassionate, and it does not need any kind of special effects. I certainly look forward to reading lots more Vonneguts.
* The other Kurt Vonnegut books I read and reviewed: Slaughterhouse-Five, Cat's Cradle (bad review, needs rewriting, don’t read it!), Breakfast of Champions, The Sirens of Titan, Galápagos.
1996 movie poster
Quotes:
“Here lies Howard Campbell’s essence,
Freed from his body’s noisome nuisance.
His body, empty, prowls the earth,
Earning what a body’s worth.
If his body and his essence remain apart,
Burn his body, but spare this, his heart.”
“Life’s been too hard for me ever to afford much guilt. A really bad conscience is as much out of my reach as a mink coat.”
“In order to contrast with myself a race-baiter who is ignorant and insane. I am neither ignorant nor insane. Those whose orders I carried out in Germany were as ignorant and insane as Dr. Jones. I knew it. God help me, I carried out their instructions anyway.”
Before I started writing this review I quickly scanned other reviews of this book on Goodreads just to see if many of them start off with the above iconic quote. I did not find one so I went ahead with putting in the quote. Probably not that great an idea, that is why nobody want to do it! I had no idea what Mother Night is about, it appears to be one of Vonnegut's top five most popular titles according to the ranking on GR’s Kurt Vonnegut page. So it goes?
Mother Night is about Howard W. Campbell Jr., American author, and playwright working in Germany during World War II. He is married to a beautiful actress called Helga. The Nazi employed him to make propaganda broadcasts for them, his broadcasts were very popular among the Third Reich, and very effective in fueling the anti-Semitic feelings among the population. However, Campbell only took the broadcasting job to work for the US as a spy. He uses the broadcasts to relay the American secret messages, coded through coughs, pauses and other verbal tics. At the end of the war, the US intelligence pretty much disowns him and he is living a secretive and lonely life in New York, his wife having been captured by the Russian army. Nobody knows Campbell was a US spy during the war, and he is wanted for war crimes for the hatred he instigated through his broadcasts.
Credit Englishmajeure.com
Mother Night is different from the five other Vonnegut books* I have read. All the others feature an element of sci-fi, or sci-fi spoof, and includes the character Kilgore Trout, an obscure sci-fi author. Mother Night feels more serious and melancholy than all of them. Yes, even more than Slaughterhouse-Five. This is not to say that Mother Night is not humorous, it is often very funny but there is something melancholic behind most of the jokes. For example:
“Generally speaking, espionage offers each spy an opportunity to go crazy in a way he finds irresistible.”
Funny and sad. I suppose Campbell is not meant to be a likable protagonist, I like him anyway, he is very pitiful and his biggest mistake is that he is too good at his job, both as a spy and a Nazi propagandist. Both sides made good use of him, and in the end, nobody appreciates him, except eccentric fascists. Mother Night is, as I said, melancholy, yet it also made me laugh and smile from time to time. The chief moral of the story seems to be that if you pretend to be someone evil and despicable and you do too good a job of it, you will eventually become that character you pretend to be. Being an actually good person inside will not rescue you from that, and you will have to live with the consequences of what you have done while you were playing that role. From my past experience with his works, I was expecting some element of sci-fi madness and Tralfamadorians cameos, being a sci-fi nerd I enjoy Vonnegut’s unique brand of sci-fi parody. However, I would not change a thing about Mother Night, it is a funny, sad, romantic, touching, thought-provoking story. It is both passionate and compassionate, and it does not need any kind of special effects. I certainly look forward to reading lots more Vonneguts.
* The other Kurt Vonnegut books I read and reviewed: Slaughterhouse-Five, Cat's Cradle (bad review, needs rewriting, don’t read it!), Breakfast of Champions, The Sirens of Titan, Galápagos.
1996 movie poster
Quotes:
“Here lies Howard Campbell’s essence,
Freed from his body’s noisome nuisance.
His body, empty, prowls the earth,
Earning what a body’s worth.
If his body and his essence remain apart,
Burn his body, but spare this, his heart.”
“Life’s been too hard for me ever to afford much guilt. A really bad conscience is as much out of my reach as a mink coat.”
“In order to contrast with myself a race-baiter who is ignorant and insane. I am neither ignorant nor insane. Those whose orders I carried out in Germany were as ignorant and insane as Dr. Jones. I knew it. God help me, I carried out their instructions anyway.”
May 2, 2021
For me this was a memorable and enjoyable story. It's a story of war and aftermath consequences. More importantly: everybody's pretending! A great black humored story written only the way Kurt Vonnegut could author. I have read several other works by KV and this is one of his better stories (in my opinion) .
The moral of the story: be careful of who you pretend to be, because you become what you pretend to be!
I recommend "Slaughterhouse-Five" and "Mother Night" to anyone new to Kurt Vonnegut. "Thanks!
The moral of the story: be careful of who you pretend to be, because you become what you pretend to be!
I recommend "Slaughterhouse-Five" and "Mother Night" to anyone new to Kurt Vonnegut. "Thanks!
December 15, 2024
چیزی که باعث شد خشکم بزند احساس گناه نبود یاد گرفته بودم هیچ وقت احساس گناه نکنم... چیزی که باعث شد خشکم بزند احساس ترسناک خسران نبود یاد گرفته بودم هیچ وقت حسرت چیزی را نخورم.... چیزی که باعث شد خشکم بزند نفرت از مرگ نبود یاد گرفته بودم مرگ را به دیده دوست نگاه کنم.... چیزی که باعث شد خشکم بزند خشم عمیق نسبت به بیعدالتی نبود یاد گرفته بودم پیدا کردن نیم تاج الماس در جوی خیابان منطقیتر از انتظار پاداش و مجازات متناسب با خدمت و خیانت است... چیزی که باعث شد خشکم بزند این نبود که هیچکس دوستم نداشت یاد گرفته بودم بی عشق سر کنم.... چیزی که باعث شد خشکم بزند تصور ظالم بودن خداوند نبود یاد گرفته بودم هرگز انتظاری از خداوند نداشته باشم.....چیزی که باعث شد خشکم بزند این بود که در آن لحظه مطلقاً هیچ دلیل و انگیزهای نداشتم که به کدام سمت بروم آنچه در این سالیان دراز بیهودگی و مرگ مرا به پیشرانده بود کنجکاوی بود اما اکنون آن نیز فرو نشسته و خموشی گرفته بود یادم نمیآید چند دقیقه یا چند ساعت همینطور خشک بر جای ایستاده بودم اصلاً اگر قرار هم بود حرکت کنم کس دیگری میبایست انگیزه حرکت را در برانگیزد و کسی نیز چنین کرد. یکی از ماموران پلیس مدتی مرا تماشا کرد و بعد آمد پیشم و گفت : حالتون خوبه؟؟
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داستان از زبان شخصیت اصلی، هیو لند هوفمن، روایت میشود. او یک نویسنده آمریکایی است که به عنوان یک جاسوس در دوران جنگ جهانی دوم به نازیها نفوذ کرده و با هویت یک مبلغ پروپاگاندای نازی فعالیت میکند. هیو در واقع به عنوان یک شخصیت دوگانه عمل میکند؛ او در ظاهر یک نازی است، اما در باطن، نظرات و دیدگاههای ضد نازیس دارد. با گذشت زمان، او به دلیل نقش خود و انتخابهایش با سوالات عمیقی درباره هوی ت و اخلاق مواجه میشود. به نظرم این کتاب مسئله جنگ و وطنپرستی رو عالی بیان کرده بود....
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داستان از زبان شخصیت اصلی، هیو لند هوفمن، روایت میشود. او یک نویسنده آمریکایی است که به عنوان یک جاسوس در دوران جنگ جهانی دوم به نازیها نفوذ کرده و با هویت یک مبلغ پروپاگاندای نازی فعالیت میکند. هیو در واقع به عنوان یک شخصیت دوگانه عمل میکند؛ او در ظاهر یک نازی است، اما در باطن، نظرات و دیدگاههای ضد نازیس دارد. با گذشت زمان، او به دلیل نقش خود و انتخابهایش با سوالات عمیقی درباره هوی ت و اخلاق مواجه میشود. به نظرم این کتاب مسئله جنگ و وطنپرستی رو عالی بیان کرده بود....
July 4, 2022
Whilst Slaughterhouse-Five and Cat's Cradle are far and away Vonnegut's most popular novels along with probably being the most discussed, Mother Night goes somewhat under the radar. This novel has a higher average rating - currently 4.21 - on here that all his other books. And you know what, I'm not surprised. This is my first venture into Vonnegut's literary world so didn't really know what to expect, and ended up being completely blown away. Howard W. Campbell Jr is name that will stay with me for a very long time.
In a nutshell Campbell Jr, while behind bars in an Israeli prison awaiting trial for crimes against humanity during the second world war, sets out his memoirs. And so unfolds a remarkable story. Living in Berlin with his German wife he writes and spreads Nazi propaganda over the airwaves all the while being a spy for the U.S military. After the war is then holed up in an apartment in New York, but with his name now recognized as a war criminal. With many allies at his side - some who have such great names they would fit nicely into a spoof movie! - just who can he trust?
Mother Night held me in a vice-like grip right up to its final chilling words. I spend the rest of the evening, and the following days, with it at the forefront of my mind. I don't say that often about a novel. Some even really good ones are forgotten about within a matter of hours. Using his own experiences of the war, Kurt Vonnegut brings to light such issues of sanity, guilt, identity, and love.
This darkly comic satire is the sort of novel that would now make me want to read all of his others.
5/5. A masterpiece.
July 17, 2013
As much as I enjoyed reading Kurt Vonnegut expound upon Kurt Vonnegut in A Man Without a Country not that long ago, it didn't quite satisfy the craving I've had for his fiction. Sure, there is something to be said for watching a favorite author turn his fine-tuned gallows humor on himself and the society in which he both lives and has lived but sometimes I just want to be told a story, damnit.
Before launching into the novel proper, Vonnegut introduces Mother Night as the only story of his with a moral he knows: "We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be." He then spends 269 pages proving what a haunting, damning and dangerous moral it is, with enough self-awareness and dark jocularity to keep this tale -- the fictional memoirs of Howard W. Campbell Jr., an American-born German playwright who hides in plain sight as a propagandist for WWII-era Nazis while all too convincingly infiltrating their ranks to aid the American government that employs him as a spy -- from getting too distastefully morbid.
It is, at first glance, a moral that stands in direct, fundamental conflict with what I believe to be true. Nothing galls me quite like the lazy assumption that a thing goes no deeper than its surface, that what it looks like is what it is and nothing more. To look no further than appearances subscribes to a flagrant disregard for motivation, circumstances, and any one thing's or person's capacity for multidimensional existence and purpose. To ignore the fact that there is almost always something working in the hidden recesses of the unspoken and unseen realms is, to me, the ultimate display of egotism, a perilous assumption that the observer knows more about a situation in which he plays no part and can't be arsed to offer it the courtesy of deeper contemplation or understanding by way of delving beyond the easy veneer.
But because this is Vonnegut, a message that seems to be an idealogical slap in the face of my own personal philosophy is, at its core, a confirmation that I'm not wrong. (And, really, what's the point of reading literature if not to find validation at the hands of greater minds?) If the Faustian origin of this novel's title heralds the eventual hellward saunter of one's bargaining-chip soul, the tale following such an exchange (that is, safety from the Nazis within their ranks as they believe him to be their loyal, hate-spewing voice) shows exactly why the road paved with good intentions leads to where it does. This isn't fake-it-'til-you-make-it terrain: This is a disturbing account of why hiding one's true goodness beneath layers of protective and necessary deceit without leaving a breadcrumb trail for others to find the way back to your honest intentions will always backfire, often with tragic consequences.
The story's moral shapes every character in this tale. Starting with the hero himself, who has an entire world convinced that his broadcasts of deliberately ludicrous anti-Semitic vitriol are spoken in earnest rather than in code, he comes to find that everyone who holds a more-than-fleeting place in his life after he is secreted away to anonymous but tenuous safety in a New York City apartment is hiding their true identities, too. From his doctor neighbor who refuses to acknowledge that his childhood detoured through a concentration camp to the woman he believes (and who has deceived herself into believing) to be his long-presumed-dead wife, from the friend who is really a spy who obliterates Campbell's incognito existence to the white supremacist whose retinue includes a black man and a Catholic who would otherwise be his sworn enemies if he hadn't become selectively blind to their egregious differences by converting them to his cause, absolutely no one is who they really are by virtue of self-denial.
There is a love story desperately trying to proclaim itself as a last bastion of hope in Campbell's apathetic post-war existence. While his beloved wife and muse, Helga, the actress for whom he wrote some of his finest plays as vehicles to showcase the essence of the adored and adoring woman who comprises the other half of his Nation of Two, is declared dead, it is clear that a part of the widower died with her. I don't feel like I'm spoiling anything by revealing that the woman who later finds Campbell in New York and claims to be his Helga isn't for two reasons: One, the truth, which is foreshadowed quite obviously though adeptly, is revealed fairly quickly; and two, it illustrates how desperately Campbell wants his wife to be alive and, when that is proven to be impossible beyond all rational thought, he then desperately wants to pretend this woman is his wife, if not a more-than-adeqaute stand-in for one person who has ever given his life meaning.
The dangers of such doggedly perpetuated tunnel vision that thrives by casting off all ties to reality is a theme that drives home the novel's moral. Leave it to our humanist friend to sum up the problems of both this novel of his and the world at large: "Say what you will about the sweet miracle of unquestioning faith, I consider a capacity for it terrifying and absolutely vile."
Campbell knew what he was doing all along. Along his journey to the Israeli jail cell from which he spins his autobiographical tale, he collides with those who have no reason to doubt that he's their brother in arms against the lesser races, a mouthpiece whose convictions are evident in the words he reveals only to three other men and his memoir's audience to be nothing more than caricature on the surface and cipher in their meaning: These run-ins with his in-appearance-only compatriots provide crushing proof that they have warped their own perspectives to allow for the atrocities they've committed while Campbell had his wits about him all along. Rather than making the former apologetic victims of circumstance and the latter a heinous, calculating monster, Vonnegut accomplishes quite the opposite.
Stylistically, subtlety and understatement are the driving forces of a narration that relies more on a preference for telling rather than showing, a cardinal sin that anyone who's ever enrolled in a even one creative-writing class should recognize immediately; however, as any writer worth his ink will tell you, such rules exist to be broken for those who can break them with aplomb. While Campbell does allow images to speak for themselves, he is writing a memoir that is filled with his own observations, thoughts, conclusions and dot-connecting. What makes his propensity for telling successful is his succinctness: He doesn't dwell on a moment until its emotional resonance has been beaten into even the densest of reader, which is so often the unfortunate result of not trusting the audience to draw its own conclusions and extrapolating the significance of a scene to maximize the devastating impact. It's an an effect that not only showcases Vonnegut's talent but also hints at Campbell's own prowess as a man of words.
Vonnegut may have showed his hand early in terms of the overriding moral of Mother Night, though he peppers his novel with less emphasized though equally important truths that make the human condition a flawed but beautiful thing. The dangers of hate -- "There are plenty of good reasons for fighting... but no good reason ever to hate without reservation, to imagine that God Almighty Himself hates with you, too. Where's evil? It's that large part of every man that wants to hate without limit, that wants to hate with God on its side. It’s that part of every man that finds all kinds of ugliness so attractive" -- are all but impossible to address in a novel that traverses so deeply and unflinchingly into one of the darkest stains on humanity's historical conscience. But as I've stated (probably ad nauseam) in other reviews, one of my other dearest personal beliefs is that one extreme cannot exist without a contrasting opposite to offer a counterbalance, which is another truth Vonnegut seems to agree with by the equalizing, comforting force his message of love delivers in these same pages: "Make love when you can. It's good for you."
Before launching into the novel proper, Vonnegut introduces Mother Night as the only story of his with a moral he knows: "We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be." He then spends 269 pages proving what a haunting, damning and dangerous moral it is, with enough self-awareness and dark jocularity to keep this tale -- the fictional memoirs of Howard W. Campbell Jr., an American-born German playwright who hides in plain sight as a propagandist for WWII-era Nazis while all too convincingly infiltrating their ranks to aid the American government that employs him as a spy -- from getting too distastefully morbid.
It is, at first glance, a moral that stands in direct, fundamental conflict with what I believe to be true. Nothing galls me quite like the lazy assumption that a thing goes no deeper than its surface, that what it looks like is what it is and nothing more. To look no further than appearances subscribes to a flagrant disregard for motivation, circumstances, and any one thing's or person's capacity for multidimensional existence and purpose. To ignore the fact that there is almost always something working in the hidden recesses of the unspoken and unseen realms is, to me, the ultimate display of egotism, a perilous assumption that the observer knows more about a situation in which he plays no part and can't be arsed to offer it the courtesy of deeper contemplation or understanding by way of delving beyond the easy veneer.
But because this is Vonnegut, a message that seems to be an idealogical slap in the face of my own personal philosophy is, at its core, a confirmation that I'm not wrong. (And, really, what's the point of reading literature if not to find validation at the hands of greater minds?) If the Faustian origin of this novel's title heralds the eventual hellward saunter of one's bargaining-chip soul, the tale following such an exchange (that is, safety from the Nazis within their ranks as they believe him to be their loyal, hate-spewing voice) shows exactly why the road paved with good intentions leads to where it does. This isn't fake-it-'til-you-make-it terrain: This is a disturbing account of why hiding one's true goodness beneath layers of protective and necessary deceit without leaving a breadcrumb trail for others to find the way back to your honest intentions will always backfire, often with tragic consequences.
The story's moral shapes every character in this tale. Starting with the hero himself, who has an entire world convinced that his broadcasts of deliberately ludicrous anti-Semitic vitriol are spoken in earnest rather than in code, he comes to find that everyone who holds a more-than-fleeting place in his life after he is secreted away to anonymous but tenuous safety in a New York City apartment is hiding their true identities, too. From his doctor neighbor who refuses to acknowledge that his childhood detoured through a concentration camp to the woman he believes (and who has deceived herself into believing) to be his long-presumed-dead wife, from the friend who is really a spy who obliterates Campbell's incognito existence to the white supremacist whose retinue includes a black man and a Catholic who would otherwise be his sworn enemies if he hadn't become selectively blind to their egregious differences by converting them to his cause, absolutely no one is who they really are by virtue of self-denial.
There is a love story desperately trying to proclaim itself as a last bastion of hope in Campbell's apathetic post-war existence. While his beloved wife and muse, Helga, the actress for whom he wrote some of his finest plays as vehicles to showcase the essence of the adored and adoring woman who comprises the other half of his Nation of Two, is declared dead, it is clear that a part of the widower died with her. I don't feel like I'm spoiling anything by revealing that the woman who later finds Campbell in New York and claims to be his Helga isn't for two reasons: One, the truth, which is foreshadowed quite obviously though adeptly, is revealed fairly quickly; and two, it illustrates how desperately Campbell wants his wife to be alive and, when that is proven to be impossible beyond all rational thought, he then desperately wants to pretend this woman is his wife, if not a more-than-adeqaute stand-in for one person who has ever given his life meaning.
The dangers of such doggedly perpetuated tunnel vision that thrives by casting off all ties to reality is a theme that drives home the novel's moral. Leave it to our humanist friend to sum up the problems of both this novel of his and the world at large: "Say what you will about the sweet miracle of unquestioning faith, I consider a capacity for it terrifying and absolutely vile."
Campbell knew what he was doing all along. Along his journey to the Israeli jail cell from which he spins his autobiographical tale, he collides with those who have no reason to doubt that he's their brother in arms against the lesser races, a mouthpiece whose convictions are evident in the words he reveals only to three other men and his memoir's audience to be nothing more than caricature on the surface and cipher in their meaning: These run-ins with his in-appearance-only compatriots provide crushing proof that they have warped their own perspectives to allow for the atrocities they've committed while Campbell had his wits about him all along. Rather than making the former apologetic victims of circumstance and the latter a heinous, calculating monster, Vonnegut accomplishes quite the opposite.
Stylistically, subtlety and understatement are the driving forces of a narration that relies more on a preference for telling rather than showing, a cardinal sin that anyone who's ever enrolled in a even one creative-writing class should recognize immediately; however, as any writer worth his ink will tell you, such rules exist to be broken for those who can break them with aplomb. While Campbell does allow images to speak for themselves, he is writing a memoir that is filled with his own observations, thoughts, conclusions and dot-connecting. What makes his propensity for telling successful is his succinctness: He doesn't dwell on a moment until its emotional resonance has been beaten into even the densest of reader, which is so often the unfortunate result of not trusting the audience to draw its own conclusions and extrapolating the significance of a scene to maximize the devastating impact. It's an an effect that not only showcases Vonnegut's talent but also hints at Campbell's own prowess as a man of words.
Vonnegut may have showed his hand early in terms of the overriding moral of Mother Night, though he peppers his novel with less emphasized though equally important truths that make the human condition a flawed but beautiful thing. The dangers of hate -- "There are plenty of good reasons for fighting... but no good reason ever to hate without reservation, to imagine that God Almighty Himself hates with you, too. Where's evil? It's that large part of every man that wants to hate without limit, that wants to hate with God on its side. It’s that part of every man that finds all kinds of ugliness so attractive" -- are all but impossible to address in a novel that traverses so deeply and unflinchingly into one of the darkest stains on humanity's historical conscience. But as I've stated (probably ad nauseam) in other reviews, one of my other dearest personal beliefs is that one extreme cannot exist without a contrasting opposite to offer a counterbalance, which is another truth Vonnegut seems to agree with by the equalizing, comforting force his message of love delivers in these same pages: "Make love when you can. It's good for you."
February 17, 2013
I'm going to make an unpopular statement right now: This is the best of Kurt Vonnegut's novels. Okay Cat's Cradle and Slaughterhouse Five fans, fling your dung at me, I understand.
The characters, setting, plot, all of it comes together in a well-wrapped tale in which a man fights the truth of his own identity under the pressing weight of the author's imposed moral law that states you are what you pretend to be. In Mother Night, the story of an American spy working undercover within Germany during WWII as a Nazi propagandist, Vonnegut intentionally portrays his main character with so much ambivalence that by the end you're not sure whether to root for or against him.
Vonnegut's oft used theme, the struggle within, is at its strongest here where the main character is pitted against a real monster of an antagonist: the preponderance of evidence against himself. In other Vonnegut books I understand and sympathized with the self doubt his characters felt, but in some cases their struggles felt light to me. I should add that I read most of the author's works when I was a fresh-faced twenty year old with few cares in the world, so I don't think I understood his subject matter, that of the life-wearied, often middle-aged person whose accumulated weight of stress, daily concerns and self doubt brought on by crises endured through a life rife with experiences with horror, love, hate and, worst of all, ennui. So perhaps one day, maybe when I turn 50, I will reread Player Piano and it will rocket from my least favorite to most favorite of all of Kurt Vonnegut's wonderful novels, but for right now Mother Night stays there.
The characters, setting, plot, all of it comes together in a well-wrapped tale in which a man fights the truth of his own identity under the pressing weight of the author's imposed moral law that states you are what you pretend to be. In Mother Night, the story of an American spy working undercover within Germany during WWII as a Nazi propagandist, Vonnegut intentionally portrays his main character with so much ambivalence that by the end you're not sure whether to root for or against him.
Vonnegut's oft used theme, the struggle within, is at its strongest here where the main character is pitted against a real monster of an antagonist: the preponderance of evidence against himself. In other Vonnegut books I understand and sympathized with the self doubt his characters felt, but in some cases their struggles felt light to me. I should add that I read most of the author's works when I was a fresh-faced twenty year old with few cares in the world, so I don't think I understood his subject matter, that of the life-wearied, often middle-aged person whose accumulated weight of stress, daily concerns and self doubt brought on by crises endured through a life rife with experiences with horror, love, hate and, worst of all, ennui. So perhaps one day, maybe when I turn 50, I will reread Player Piano and it will rocket from my least favorite to most favorite of all of Kurt Vonnegut's wonderful novels, but for right now Mother Night stays there.
February 18, 2018
I've always considered Vonnegut to be one of my favourite writers but I keep forgetting to read his books.
Mother Night is quite a different novel from what you'd expect with Vonnegut. There is no mind-bending science fiction or metafictional madness. Instead we have the story of Howard W. Campbell Jr., an American accused of being a Nazi due to his radio broadcasts from Germany during the war. He was actually a US counter-spy leaking Nazi secrets to the US but that little caveat is not well-known, so he is now sitting writing his memoirs in a jail cell in Israel awaiting his trail for war crimes.
Oh and this book is comic. Even Eichmann is in here cracking jokes. The overall tone of the novel is typically Vonnegutian but it is a departure. Campbell is an odd character to be stuck with for 176 pages. I found him somewhat uncomfortable to be around. Then of course there is the chance that since this novel was written essentially as a confession before Mossad that everything in it could be a lie. Maybe Campbell was a Nazi. We'll never know.
I've been somewhat critical of Vonnegut's penchant for fractures narratives before. This short novel is split into 45 sections, most not lasting more than two pages. Vonnegut loved doing this. But whereas I felt that it somewhat ruined the experience of reading Cat's Cradle, here it works quite well. Don't ask me how. I just feel this book flows better.
As you can see I am struggling to write about this book. Something which happens with every Vonnegut novel (oh I've just had a sudden flashback to trying to discuss Vonnegut's uses of metafiction in Breakfast of Champions in one of my final exams of university). I find everything I have to say can be summed up by simply stating 'it is good'. Which it is. And which I shall state again. It is good.
Mother Night is quite a different novel from what you'd expect with Vonnegut. There is no mind-bending science fiction or metafictional madness. Instead we have the story of Howard W. Campbell Jr., an American accused of being a Nazi due to his radio broadcasts from Germany during the war. He was actually a US counter-spy leaking Nazi secrets to the US but that little caveat is not well-known, so he is now sitting writing his memoirs in a jail cell in Israel awaiting his trail for war crimes.
Oh and this book is comic. Even Eichmann is in here cracking jokes. The overall tone of the novel is typically Vonnegutian but it is a departure. Campbell is an odd character to be stuck with for 176 pages. I found him somewhat uncomfortable to be around. Then of course there is the chance that since this novel was written essentially as a confession before Mossad that everything in it could be a lie. Maybe Campbell was a Nazi. We'll never know.
I've been somewhat critical of Vonnegut's penchant for fractures narratives before. This short novel is split into 45 sections, most not lasting more than two pages. Vonnegut loved doing this. But whereas I felt that it somewhat ruined the experience of reading Cat's Cradle, here it works quite well. Don't ask me how. I just feel this book flows better.
As you can see I am struggling to write about this book. Something which happens with every Vonnegut novel (oh I've just had a sudden flashback to trying to discuss Vonnegut's uses of metafiction in Breakfast of Champions in one of my final exams of university). I find everything I have to say can be summed up by simply stating 'it is good'. Which it is. And which I shall state again. It is good.
October 17, 2016
"You are the only man I ever heard of," Mengel said to me this morning, "who has a bad conscience about what he did in the war. Everybody else, no matter what side he was on, no matter what he did, is sure a good man could not have acted in any other way."
Poor Howard Campbell, Jr., an American living in Germany, is recruited to spew on air Nazi propaganda that is laced with coded information for the Allies.
"You'll be volunteering right at the start of the war to be a dead man. Even if you live through the war without being caught, you'll find your reputation gone - and probably very little to live for," he said.
"You make it sound very attractive," I said.
Now reviled worldwide, he has become a man without a country, hiding in an attic apartment in Greenwich Village.
Some authors can take themes like war, injustice, cruelty and suffering, and turn them into good fiction. Only Vonnegut can craft these horrors into something you actually enjoy reading; novels that don't make you feel completely devastated at the conclusion, but wryly amused and possibly even a bit hopeful.
My copy has this review by Rich Schickel:
"Over the years Vonnegut has advanced from diagnostician to exorcist, finding in intensified comic art the magic analgesic for the temporary relief of existential pain."
I can't possibly think of a better description than that.
And as always, Vonnegut offers some sort of warning that the reader would be wise to heed:
Say what you will about the sweet miracle of unquestioning faith. I consider a capacity for it terrifying and absolutely vile.
Poor Howard Campbell, Jr., an American living in Germany, is recruited to spew on air Nazi propaganda that is laced with coded information for the Allies.
"You'll be volunteering right at the start of the war to be a dead man. Even if you live through the war without being caught, you'll find your reputation gone - and probably very little to live for," he said.
"You make it sound very attractive," I said.
Now reviled worldwide, he has become a man without a country, hiding in an attic apartment in Greenwich Village.
Some authors can take themes like war, injustice, cruelty and suffering, and turn them into good fiction. Only Vonnegut can craft these horrors into something you actually enjoy reading; novels that don't make you feel completely devastated at the conclusion, but wryly amused and possibly even a bit hopeful.
My copy has this review by Rich Schickel:
"Over the years Vonnegut has advanced from diagnostician to exorcist, finding in intensified comic art the magic analgesic for the temporary relief of existential pain."
I can't possibly think of a better description than that.
And as always, Vonnegut offers some sort of warning that the reader would be wise to heed:
Say what you will about the sweet miracle of unquestioning faith. I consider a capacity for it terrifying and absolutely vile.
August 8, 2013
Future civilizations - better civilizations than this one - are going to judge all men by the extent to which they've been artists. You and I, if some future archeologist finds our works miraculously preserved in some city dump, will be judged by the quality of our creations. Nothing else about us will matter.
Mother Night is one of the author's favorites, so according to the above quote extracted from the book, it is how he would want to be judged by posterity. I believe I read somewhere than Vonnegut disliked being dismissed by the literary establishment as a genre writer, dealing with aliens and spaceships. Mother Night may be his answer to these critics, as it is a straightforward story without any Science-Fiction gimmicks and few stylistic experiments, a powerful denunciation of Nazism that transcends its initial borders to address universal questions about the use of power, propaganda, government secrecy, the role of art in the modern world. The absence of the SF elements may be one reason why the book is less appreciated by the author's usual readers, but for me it was just as good as his more popular titles.
I admire form. I admire things with a beginning, a middle, an end - and whenever possible, a moral, too.
As I said, the novel is the closer Vonnegut comes to non-genre fiction: straight up storytelling, clear prose, unambiguous message. The satire and the black humour are here of course, but I found them toned down compared to his other books I've read. The style is appropriate to the subject here, as Vonnegut explores the events of his youth that would mark and come to define his whole career: the atrocities commited in time of war, in particular the firebombing of Dresden and the revelations about the concentration camps.
The Beginning
Howard Campbell is writing his confession in an Israeli prison as he waits to be tried for war crimes commited during World War II. Campbell is an American playwright who married a German actress, moved to her country in the 1930's and became succesful with his plays and his poetry. During the war he was the most famous renegade American voice of the Nazi propaganda machine, his speeches full of aryan / white supremacy dogma and hatred for the Jews.
The Middle
Campbell was allegedly working as an undercover agent for an American Agency and his radio speeches contained hidden messages from the German spies. So, after his capture at the end of the war, his handler gets him free and arranges for his return to the US. But given the secret nature of his mission, the government keeps mum about his real activities and the rest of the world still regards
Howard as a criminal. He keeps a low profile for years, living alone in a cheap New York apartment, until his identity is leaked to the press and things start to get hot. American white supremacists want to claim him as a hero figure, discharged soldiers want to kick his butt for fallen comrades and hardships endured in the war, the Russian and the Israelis are racing to get their hands on him first. His only friend is a painter living in the same building. They are brought together by a common passion for chess, and they like to debate art and current events.
This section of the book was a bit dragging, with numerous flashbacks to Howard's time in Germany, cameos and anecdotes of famous Nazi leaders, internal monologues and thoughts on art. The two aspects of Howard Campbell's personality that Vonnegut wants to underline here are : his willing participation in the creation of the Nazi propaganda materials (he never denies being the author of the reprehensible materials) and his refuge from dealing with the morality of these actions by in the love for his wife. Together they are citizens of a Nation of Two (the title of one of his plays). lost in a sensual world where politics and power games are insignifiant (Memoirs of a Monogamous Casanova is the title of his one novel describing Howard's infatuation with his wife). In his later years, Howard's conscience drives him to seek punishment for what he perceives as his errors in judgmement. Before coming to trial in Israel, he already has reached a verdict on his own.
One particular passage about his radio transmission send a chill up my spine, as I couldn't help noticing how the peddlers of hate and intransigence, the chickenhawks who never served but loudly rattle the sabres of war, right wing extremists ans religious zealots still feature prominently on the present radio waves and television programmes, not only in the US, but in France, Austria, Russia and elsewhere:
I had hoped, as a broadcaster, to be merely ludicrous, but this is a hard world to be ludicrous in, with so many human beings so reluctant to laugh, so incapable of thought, so eager to believe and snarl and hate. So many people wanted to believe me!
Say what you will about the sweet miracle of unquestioning faith, I consider a capacity for it terrifying and absolutely vile.
The End
The pacing really picks up, as the different factions converge on Howard and verbal and physical violence rise to new heights, forcing the protagonist to leave his ivory tower and take a stand for what he believes in. As he is forced to confront his tormentors and his betrayers, Howard puts on the cloak of the author's secular humanism and lashes back at their stupidity and narrow mindedness:
- "You hate America, don't you?"
- "That would be as silly as loving it. It's impossible for me to get emotional about it, because real estate doesn't interest me. It's no doubt a great flaw in my personality, but I can't think in terms of boundaries. Those imaginary lines are as unreal to me as elves and pixies. I can't believe that they mark the end or the beginning of anything of real concern to the human soul.
Virtues and vices, pleasures and pains cross boundaries at will."
in dealing with another zealot:
There are plenty good reasons for fighting, but no good reason ever to hate without reservations, to imagine that God Almighty Himself hates with you, too. Where's evil? It's that large part of every man that wants to hate without limits, that wants to hate with God on its side. It's that part of every man that finds all kinds of ugliness so attractive. It's that part of an imbecile that punishes and vilifies and makes war gladly.
Vonnegut lashes at us because he cares about us, and he wants us to do better. He is not simply concerned with exposing the comfortable lies we tell ourselves to justify doing nothing to change the world and stand up to the bullies, he also points the way forward. There's an impassionate plea about education that I forgot to bookmark, but you will find it in the book, towards the end. There's also the power of art to reveal and to give hope and direction to our efforts, something he still believed in in 1961.
The Moral
This is given in the introduction of the novel instead of in the last pages. I see in this choice Vonnegut the teacher, who provides his students with useful tips for decoding the book right from the start:
We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.
and also:
Make love when you can. It's good for you.
In other words, be true to yourselves and Make Love, Not War! . Finally, the question of Howard Campbell's truth (patriot or war criminal) is left to the reader to decide, after he is handed all the facts of the equation. I remember in Breakfast of Champions there was a recurring theme of messages on tombstones. The concern about posterity is part of the present novel too, and I will close my review with a fragment of Howard Campbell's poetry, written on the trunk containing his non-propaganda writings:
Here lies Howard Campbell's essence,
Freed from his body's noisome nuisance.
His body, empty, prowls the earth,
Earning what a body's worth.
If his body and his essence remain apart,
Burn his body, but spare this, his heart.
March 5, 2021
"We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be."
Waiting to be tried for war crimes, Howard Campbell writes his memoirs in a jail cell in Jerusalem. American-born, but raised in Germany, Campbell was once a successful playwright, married to a beautiful actress named Helga. He had no particular political leaning, but the Ministry of Propaganda thought he’d be the perfect mouthpiece to promote the regime’s ideology through radio broadcasts. In order to protect himself and his beloved wife, Campbell gave this job his all and became a golden boy of the Third Reich. But Campbell was also a spy for the Americans: through his broadcasts, he passed on coded messages to the Allies via coughs, verbal tics and other subtle signals. Years later, he is living in New York, seemingly forgotten by all, when his identity and past are suddenly brought to light, upending his reclusive existence.
Was he truly a Nazi propagandist? Or is he an American patriot whose work as double agent helped the Allies win the War? Which of these two jobs was he the best at? Is he a villain or a hero? Can he be both? Is anything he tells the reader in his memoirs even true?
As usual with Vonnegut’s work, I struggle to aptly summarize it: the narrative is non-linear and zany, exposing the still-raw wounds of the trauma of WWII, interjected with moments of deep insight, all the while making merciless fun of bigots and government agencies. His insane, white-supremacist dentist would be hilarious if he wasn’t an uncomfortably close portrait of some people who stir up hateful ideologies in the country next door (and who base their prejudices on equally nonsensical “evidence”). And as absurd as it might sound, why wouldn’t the American government deny ever having employed a man who very publicly promoted Nazi ideology? The Secret Services’ definition of patriotism has a history of being rather fluid, after all…
Obviously, moral ambiguity and identity are really the central theme of this lesser-known Vonnegut novel. And I say “lesser-known” with a certain amount of disbelief, because I found it to be much better than some of his more mainstreamed novels. I found his trademark blend of humanism and cynicism has never been sharper than it is here, and while I missed his weird aliens and kooky sci-fi writers, “Mother Night” is darker, but more memorable and haunting than a lot of his other books. Also, Howard and Helga’s “Nation of Two” story is probably the most romantic thing he has even penned.
Through Campbell, Vonnegut explores the idea that one must develop a certain kind of schizophrenia in order to be able to be an effective spy (or double agent, or whatever), that the thin line between the wrong thing and the right thing to do can be so strange that they might just drive you a little bit insane if you have any kind of self-awareness or conscience. But it’s not a situation limited to people who ended up in Campbell’s rather extreme situation: I think that most people must, to a degree, put on a daily act in order to get by and protect what they are truly loyal to. That might be what makes Campbell compelling despite being a rather sad and pathetic person: he is oddly relatable.
I really like Vonnegut because I often feel like we both walk a similar fine line of despairing at the state of the world and the behavior of humans, all the while believing we could really do better if we tried seriously, and that laughing at it is the only thing that kept him and keeps me from winding up in the loony bin. I also don’t think I have ever believed that anything is either black or white: to me, everything has always been a shade of grey – some things a murkier shade than others, certainly, but grey nonetheless. When I read a book like that, I feel a bit less alone is my ambiguously pessimistic/hopeful boat.
In our era of fake news and alternative facts, this inexplicably underrated book is not to be missed. You will chew on it for a while, even if it is a very fast read. Right up there with “Breakfast of Champions” (https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...) and “God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater” (https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...).
Waiting to be tried for war crimes, Howard Campbell writes his memoirs in a jail cell in Jerusalem. American-born, but raised in Germany, Campbell was once a successful playwright, married to a beautiful actress named Helga. He had no particular political leaning, but the Ministry of Propaganda thought he’d be the perfect mouthpiece to promote the regime’s ideology through radio broadcasts. In order to protect himself and his beloved wife, Campbell gave this job his all and became a golden boy of the Third Reich. But Campbell was also a spy for the Americans: through his broadcasts, he passed on coded messages to the Allies via coughs, verbal tics and other subtle signals. Years later, he is living in New York, seemingly forgotten by all, when his identity and past are suddenly brought to light, upending his reclusive existence.
Was he truly a Nazi propagandist? Or is he an American patriot whose work as double agent helped the Allies win the War? Which of these two jobs was he the best at? Is he a villain or a hero? Can he be both? Is anything he tells the reader in his memoirs even true?
As usual with Vonnegut’s work, I struggle to aptly summarize it: the narrative is non-linear and zany, exposing the still-raw wounds of the trauma of WWII, interjected with moments of deep insight, all the while making merciless fun of bigots and government agencies. His insane, white-supremacist dentist would be hilarious if he wasn’t an uncomfortably close portrait of some people who stir up hateful ideologies in the country next door (and who base their prejudices on equally nonsensical “evidence”). And as absurd as it might sound, why wouldn’t the American government deny ever having employed a man who very publicly promoted Nazi ideology? The Secret Services’ definition of patriotism has a history of being rather fluid, after all…
Obviously, moral ambiguity and identity are really the central theme of this lesser-known Vonnegut novel. And I say “lesser-known” with a certain amount of disbelief, because I found it to be much better than some of his more mainstreamed novels. I found his trademark blend of humanism and cynicism has never been sharper than it is here, and while I missed his weird aliens and kooky sci-fi writers, “Mother Night” is darker, but more memorable and haunting than a lot of his other books. Also, Howard and Helga’s “Nation of Two” story is probably the most romantic thing he has even penned.
Through Campbell, Vonnegut explores the idea that one must develop a certain kind of schizophrenia in order to be able to be an effective spy (or double agent, or whatever), that the thin line between the wrong thing and the right thing to do can be so strange that they might just drive you a little bit insane if you have any kind of self-awareness or conscience. But it’s not a situation limited to people who ended up in Campbell’s rather extreme situation: I think that most people must, to a degree, put on a daily act in order to get by and protect what they are truly loyal to. That might be what makes Campbell compelling despite being a rather sad and pathetic person: he is oddly relatable.
I really like Vonnegut because I often feel like we both walk a similar fine line of despairing at the state of the world and the behavior of humans, all the while believing we could really do better if we tried seriously, and that laughing at it is the only thing that kept him and keeps me from winding up in the loony bin. I also don’t think I have ever believed that anything is either black or white: to me, everything has always been a shade of grey – some things a murkier shade than others, certainly, but grey nonetheless. When I read a book like that, I feel a bit less alone is my ambiguously pessimistic/hopeful boat.
In our era of fake news and alternative facts, this inexplicably underrated book is not to be missed. You will chew on it for a while, even if it is a very fast read. Right up there with “Breakfast of Champions” (https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...) and “God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater” (https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...).
February 26, 2024
Kurt Vonnegut Jr writes a “what is truth?” novel. In 1961 when published there was no such thing as fake news. Or was there? The term “fake news” is to my ears of recent origin and comes from the US, at least that’s what I believe. My first encounter with “what is truth?” was many decades back when I was dragged to a pub in Brisbane’s Fortitude Valley where journos got themselves smashed to smithereens on Bundy Rum and XXXX beer. This was the only time I ever went to this pub while it was infested with journos and it was at the height of the slow (at least that is what it seemed to me) political downfall of a noted premier of this state of Queensland. A drunken journo blurted out to me that they had always supported this premier as they had been told to from up above. Did YOU really support him I asked? “As close to a fascist as you will ever get” he drunkenly spluttered. So why the written word support? I asked. I got laughed at.
And that is my take on this book. One sometimes must do what one has to do even if one is not sure it is truth. But as was written very early “we are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.” Indeed and especially when in a pub drunk.
How cynical of Kurt Vonnegut Jr to even suggest that “truth” and all its derivatives may be pretence for the human species. This is Kurt’s 3rd book and follows his very good The Sirens of Titan. Strangely in that review I wrote that Titan’s might be about “why we might do what we do and might think what we think.” So this is very much the same thematically, but this story is told conventionally as apposed to his previous Sci Fi efforts.
This is a fictional memoir of Howard W. Campbell Jr a US spy in the WW2 who was the equivalent of Lord Haw Haw. Trouble is that not even the US authorities knew he was a spy so consequently he ends up on trial in Israel for war crimes. The question of what is truth and who really knows it is truth is what permeates just about every page. We even get good old love appearing. What shall we do with love sweet love? Let’s just say that one can pretend to be in love, but if one really does fall in love one may have to stop pretending and the consequences of that can be dire.
The consequences of pretending to be what we are not are always dire. That seemed to be Howard W. Campbell Jr's message. I tend to think he had a point.
My 3rd read in my attempt devour Kurt Vonnegut Jr’s oeuvre from first to last.
My review of number 1 here. https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
My review of number 2 here. https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
Onwards to the next.
And that is my take on this book. One sometimes must do what one has to do even if one is not sure it is truth. But as was written very early “we are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.” Indeed and especially when in a pub drunk.
How cynical of Kurt Vonnegut Jr to even suggest that “truth” and all its derivatives may be pretence for the human species. This is Kurt’s 3rd book and follows his very good The Sirens of Titan. Strangely in that review I wrote that Titan’s might be about “why we might do what we do and might think what we think.” So this is very much the same thematically, but this story is told conventionally as apposed to his previous Sci Fi efforts.
This is a fictional memoir of Howard W. Campbell Jr a US spy in the WW2 who was the equivalent of Lord Haw Haw. Trouble is that not even the US authorities knew he was a spy so consequently he ends up on trial in Israel for war crimes. The question of what is truth and who really knows it is truth is what permeates just about every page. We even get good old love appearing. What shall we do with love sweet love? Let’s just say that one can pretend to be in love, but if one really does fall in love one may have to stop pretending and the consequences of that can be dire.
The consequences of pretending to be what we are not are always dire. That seemed to be Howard W. Campbell Jr's message. I tend to think he had a point.
My 3rd read in my attempt devour Kurt Vonnegut Jr’s oeuvre from first to last.
My review of number 1 here. https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
My review of number 2 here. https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
Onwards to the next.
October 4, 2024
American Howard W. Campbell Jr. finds himself on trial in Israel as a war criminal, but he was a spy for America during WW II. Do both roles cancel each other out...or are there differing types of 'guilt' (The Question of German Guilt/Karl Jaspers) that need to be qualitatively and quantitatively examined? Kurt Vonnegut forces us to look at this question and ask ourselves what we would have done.
August 7, 2024
Life crashed in a bit - in the way that defines a pandemic mixed with the insanity of a fascist [R] administration. So it suddenly put me off reading anything but the information I needed to keep up with the current onslaught. Certain specifics were particularly soul-crushing: the fierce opposition towards mask mandates - and science in general; the siege in the USPS; the growing reminder (as if I needed one) that bigotry in America is very much alive and unwell.
When I stopped reading for pleasure and the nourishment of my soul, I had just started reading 'Mother Night'. But yesterday I was beginning to hunger for real 'food', so I continued reading - and whizzed right through to the end.
There are instances when a certain book comes to us at just the right time. For me, 'Mother Night' was just such a book. It's brilliant - and a full meal.
It had been years since I'd read something by Vonnegut. I read a fair amount of his work in high school and can recall being, by turns, moved and entertained by 'Slaughterhouse-Five' and 'Welcome to the Monkey House' (specifically, 'Who Am I This Time?' is among the most charming tales I've ever read). But I don't recall *loving* a Vonnegut work as much as 'Mother Night'. ~which is probably a somewhat-odd reaction.
Vonnegut's use of language is largely comforting. There's just something cozy in his manner of storytelling. Even if the story-at-hand is not comforting. 'Mother Night' is not a comforting story; it's largely unpleasant. It's about a man who is used by and for the killing machine of war, becomes all-too-good at the job he is called on to do (his effectiveness - as a spy - surprising even himself) and, as a result, is royally f'd for the rest of his life.
As the protagonist Howard W. Campbell, Jr. explains:
The structure of the novel is impressive; it simultaneously time-jumps and lands in places we need to land in just at the moment we're thrown into them. The timings of the elements of surprise are also commendable - and every single whammy is completely organic. This is one well-thought-out work.
All told, 'Mother Night' is - I think - an essential novel.
When I stopped reading for pleasure and the nourishment of my soul, I had just started reading 'Mother Night'. But yesterday I was beginning to hunger for real 'food', so I continued reading - and whizzed right through to the end.
There are instances when a certain book comes to us at just the right time. For me, 'Mother Night' was just such a book. It's brilliant - and a full meal.
It had been years since I'd read something by Vonnegut. I read a fair amount of his work in high school and can recall being, by turns, moved and entertained by 'Slaughterhouse-Five' and 'Welcome to the Monkey House' (specifically, 'Who Am I This Time?' is among the most charming tales I've ever read). But I don't recall *loving* a Vonnegut work as much as 'Mother Night'. ~which is probably a somewhat-odd reaction.
Vonnegut's use of language is largely comforting. There's just something cozy in his manner of storytelling. Even if the story-at-hand is not comforting. 'Mother Night' is not a comforting story; it's largely unpleasant. It's about a man who is used by and for the killing machine of war, becomes all-too-good at the job he is called on to do (his effectiveness - as a spy - surprising even himself) and, as a result, is royally f'd for the rest of his life.
As the protagonist Howard W. Campbell, Jr. explains:
I had hoped, as a broadcaster, to be merely ludicrous, but this is a hard world to be ludicrous in, with so many human beings so reluctant to laugh, so incapable of thought, so eager to believe and snarl and hate. So many people *wanted* to believe me.It's a story of ideological schizophrenia, set in the mind and memoirs of a man who is not crazy.
The structure of the novel is impressive; it simultaneously time-jumps and lands in places we need to land in just at the moment we're thrown into them. The timings of the elements of surprise are also commendable - and every single whammy is completely organic. This is one well-thought-out work.
All told, 'Mother Night' is - I think - an essential novel.
April 26, 2023
Another Vonnegut classic! It has all the elements you come to expect. It has narration by the main character, an out of chronological order plot, humor out the wazoo, whacky memorable characters, a sense of a world gone mad, and a thought-provoking conclusion. Every Vonnegut fan remembers their first read and that book always holds a special place in their hearts. This book, even though it's not as popular as his other works, can easily capture the admiration of a first-time reader. It's just that good!
September 5, 2018
Heart-breakingly sad, utterly horrific; if funny, then savagely so. I can’t write about people writing about Nazis and WWII without feeling that I diminish the power of their work. If you read one thing about the period, this short novel would do just fine. I will leave it at that.
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