Sirens of Titan

Sirens of Titan is the 4th Vonnegut book that I've read consecutive after Breakfast of Champions, Bluebeard, and Galapagos. For whatever reason this book is percolating in my mind more than any of the other books. I think part of it is because when I first jumped in Breakfast I was at a loss for what I was reading. I'm not saying that I couldn't understand it or that it confusing, but just a feeling of, "what the fuck is going on?" I wasn't used to the way a Vonnegut book would unfold. Events would happen and jump to the next or meander on one topic and then switch up without much explanation or warning. The connections that are there he spells out, but still make me wonder what is going on, why is this important, and seems like it's going nowhere fast. That seems to be the point though. I'm not sure if that's describing it correctly. In Breakfast I felt like I had no idea where the story was going and by the time it ended I didn't understand where I was, just that I had read a bunch of amusing and dark observations about our world.

Sirens, on my brief reflection only having finished the book maybe an hour ago, is more comprehensible as a linear story, but still has that kind of jumping around quality. I was shocked and baffled to go back to the beginning of the novel because I had completely forgotten that the story started with someone from the future lamenting how humans of the past didn't know how to discover the meaning of life within themselves through the "53 portals." What? This is where the story started? And where does it go from here? Following Malachi Constant from being the richest man on Earth to fighting his destiny to be sent to Mars by throwing away all of his wealth, being sent to the Mars Army and having all of his memories erased, becoming Bunk, living on Mercury for 3 years searching for escape with Boaz, then being sent back to Earth as both messiah and devil, and then being launched into space once again to Titan as a human sacrifice with his "wife" and child for the Church of God the Utterly Indifferent, so that finally his child could deliver a replacement piece for an alien named Salo that is delivering a message of "greetings." Seriously. What an insane book. I think any other author could have made an entire book out of each of its settings and pieces, yet here is Sirens running the whole gamut and making sense. It's like a beautiful magic trick and, though I need to reread all these books at some point, this book I feel I especially need to reread to understand all the little clues along the way to the finale.

This is one of those books that make me just have to sit for a while and think about what I've read. I've been feeling like I don't have purpose recently and I find it saddening to be an atheist because that means that you have to come up with a purpose for your life on your own. Sirens is interesting because it presents that exact feeling. The meaning of life for humans in the book is ultimately to bring a small metal fragment to an alien that is marooned on Titan. Everything great that humanity has done is in service for something so banal, so an alien could deliver a message to the other side of the universe that is only one dot and means "greetings." With the help of Rumfoord he is able to release humanity from a deterministic religious world in which everyone serves God into serving a religion in which they acknowledge the indifference of God. So they switch from one religion to another only to declare that their purpose in serving God is a farce? I can't even wrap my mind around this. That they all burden themselves in one way or another so that they can't gain an advantage whether physically, mentally, or otherwise is also amusing. What is the point of this? So that no human has to feel inferior anymore? That will eliminate sadness? I don't know, but the ultimate message I got was that these humans are stuck in situations that they have no control over and even when they fight to escape this future they are doing exactly what was planned for them. This one part really hit me about the purposelessness and futility in trying to manufacture a sense of purpose for ourselves, the legend of the origin of Tralfamadorians:

Once upon a time on Tralfamadore there were creatures who weren't anything like machines. They weren't dependable. They weren't efficient. They weren't predictable. They weren't durable. And these poor creatures were obsessed by the idea that everything that existed had to have a purpose, and that some purposes were higher than others.

These creatures spend most of their time trying to find out what their purpose was. And every time they found out what seemed to be a purpose of themselves, the purpose seemed so low that the creatures were filled with disgust and shame.

And, rather than serve such a low purpose, the creatures would make a machine to serve it. This left the creatures free to serve higher purposes. But whenever they found a higher purpose, the purpose still wasn't high enough.

So machines were made to serve higher purposes, too.

And the machines did everything so expertly that they were finally given the job of finding out what the highest purpose of the creatures could be.

The machines reported in all honesty that the creatures couldn't really be said to have any purpose at all.

The creatures thereupon began slaying each other, because they hated purposeless things above all else.

And they discovered that they weren't even very good at slaying. So they turned that job over to the machines, too. And the machines finished up the job in less time than it takes to say, "Tralfamadore."

Of course this is a dig at humans and our ceaseless search for purpose first in religion and then turning our intellect over into machines or AI or what have you. It's like the Tralfmadores are the future of humanity as we know it now, and the humans in the book are humans who are blessed enough to gain the knowledge that the universe is a hard and meaningless place.

And the gut punch ending of a message:

It took us that long to realize that a purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved.

It's interesting that he says "a" purpose of human life, not the purpose of human life. Maybe that's what those other 52 portals into the human soul would reveal. But even then, the perfect machine made to follow orders from the gas galaxy in which all decisions, morals, and actions are formed in the gaseous hivemind, he would abandon his one directive to not open the message before his destination in the name of love and friendship for Rumsfoord. Perhaps that is the purpose of life and nothing more. To serve each other as humans and to love one another, not to be searching for some eternal higher truth or vain pursuit of fame, fortune, and glory.

Other interesting notes:

Getting stock tips from the Bible. If Constant's father got all of this stock tips from the Bible and Malachi is a messenger for God (or Salo and the Tralfamadores) is the Bible just another part of humanity that was conceived light years away so that Malachi could be delivered to Salo?

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Boaz. Poor Boaz. Or fortunate Boaz? I don't know how to interpret this character. He becomes a pretty major figure during the middle portion of the book but then is cast off once Malachi leaves Mercury. Was his life and his destination on Mercury all part of the plan too? He seems like a tragic character to me because he, from what I can remember, was picked up from a not so great life on Earth at a young age, then turned into a Martian Commander with what is seemingly a purpose, but really not since he doesn't even know where his orders come from. And then he isn't even part of the Martian suicide mission, but rather he is left marooned on Mercury. Maybe Boaz represents the idea of love in the purest form, encapsulated when he says this:

“I found me a place where I can do good without doing any harm, and I can see I'm doing good, and them I'm doing good for know I'm doing it, and they love me, Unk, as best they can. I found me a home.”

 He loves and cares for the harmoniums the best he can and that's all he wants to do for the rest of his life. But isn't he in some way a god to the harmoniums because he can give them music and a sense of ecstacy that they've never known before? Maybe that, in addition for his love for the harmoniums, is the purpsoe that he was able to find within himself. I don't know how to make of Boaz keeping from Malachi the fact that it was he himself that mudered his best friend Stony.

"Don't turth me, Unk," said Boaz, "and I won't truth you."

 This also leaves me sort of confused. What would have happened if Boaz had told Unk the horrifying truth? Is ignorance bliss in this instance? What's the truth that Unk is trying to tell Boaz? That the harmoniums don't have any thought and aren't capable of any human emotions so his caring for them is essentially moot? 

This was a pretty heart wrenching moment in the book.

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 “I was a victim of a series of accidents, as are we all.”

This perfectly encapsulates my overarching worldview. As much as I may believe in freewill and having control over our fates, I can't help but feel that the universe and human actions are all the result of some accidents and the most important moments in history are out of human control. I know there's probably a million ways to rebut this, but I do feel that so much is out of our control. It also defines the premise of the stuff that I love so much. Catch 22, Huck Finn, Coen Brother movies, and, recently, The Wire. In The Wire people are for the most part working competently to make money or do good police work or what have you, but every step of the way something stands in the way. They all stand in each others ways either unwittingly or on purpose, but the invisible threads from the character's perspectives are as strong or stronger than the intentional threads.

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Anyway, this book is to be revisited.

4/30

Recap of the day:

Hit the Lambda house in around the noon time to see people and say what's up. Unexpectedly they are getting drunk and partying, but who else should be there than Cass. Of course if he's there then nothing will be quiet. Despite that, it was nice to say what's up to everyone, even if I did only stop by for less than an hour. Don't want to overstay the welcome.

Next, head to the dentist to check out my toothache. It doesn't appear to be a cavity, but rather that my teeth are shifting around to their natural state that my braces had fixed and I had failed to maintain by wearing retainers. The source of the pain seems to be because instead of my teeth fitting nicely with each other, they are crashing into each other leading to nerve pains. It may be because I grind my teeth while sleeping, but a more likely source might be from things like Coachella and the illicit festivities I took part in which led to more chewing. In any case, I received some special tooth paste and hopefully it'll mend the pain rather than having to go to some other drastic measure.

My phone being functional but severely outdated, I had to wait and keep messing with the thing to get a data signal. I noticed on the map that there was the Museum of Jurassic Technology was nearby so I decided to check it out since it's always been a source of interest. I walked in and was able to take a peak at since it was my first time there and I didn't really know what the deal was. Even though it was only a quick glance through the place I was intrigued by everything I saw. It was a weird cross section of what looked like fake fossils and records, strange tools and instruments, and other displays that looked vaguely mythical or occult. I'm intuitive interest was right and I'll have to make a trip there sometime. Probably by myself.

By now it was around 4pm and I hit up Lansing to chill for a little bit before picking up Dad from the airport. We walked her crazy ass dog for a little bit then head to Backhouse so she could grub even though I was saving myself for a big dinner at Foo Foo Tei - the best ramen spot, if you ask me. We updated each on what was new with our lives, her relationship troubles, and whatnot. I feel like our personalities are polar opposite from each other and she can be overbearing sometimes because of her sheer energy and bubbliness which may be borderline ditzy, but I enjoy spending time and talking to her nonetheless. I don't feel as judged by her as I do by other people despite me still being me. Our hang out was cut short because my Dad's flight landed early.

The pick up went smoothly with no trouble. I've gotten pretty used to picking people up from LAX now even if it still a massive clusterfuck most of the time. Everyone in Japan seems fine from what he tells me, but it's hard to know how much he's actually telling me. Dad would rather talk about the straight facts and physicality of things rather than talking about how people seemed to be feeling or how he's feeling. Maybe that's just a Japanese / Asian thing though. Who knows.

Dinner at Foo Foo Tei was good as always. Head chef and jolly fat man Murakami-san joined us  to eat this time. Dad was real sparse on the details about what he did in Japan and his stop over in Korea to get his new Japanese passport stamped, but it was interesting trying to listen to what him and Murakami were talking about. Hard because I can only get glimpses of what he was talking about it. While waiting for our table, Dad took a cigarette from Murakami and smoked it right in front of me. I've seen him smoke before in the shadows, but I think this was the first time that he smoked right there in front of me. I only caught some parts of the conversation because 1. my Japanese is awful and 2. it has half hushed. I suspect it had to do something with meeting some girls in Korea or something, but I couldn't be too sure. That's the first place my mind wanders to when thinking of him. I never felt him to be the most faithful to Mom. That line of thinking only got more interesting when Murakami started talking about my next Mom being Korean and how Koreans are very good at Japanese. Then, I think, because his hand was forced, Dad showed me an email from a Korean girl who had written to him in good Japanese. Shit, I could hardly read half of it, but why would he have such a thing when he said he was only there for one day? And that's nothing to say of Murakami-san's constant jabs. It's not too hard to put two and two together and it would only confirm suspicions that I've had my whole life. If it was true, part of me would feel angry, but why? I mean beyond the obvious, but what does it really matter? Mom is gone and he's still alive. What's wrong with him living out life to the fullest while he can? Maybe because of all this shit he's done in the past, but in the end it's not like my upbringing was particularly awful or traumatic. He's not a saint and I shouldn't expect him to be. The thought hurts nonetheless. In a disappointing way, not necessarily in a filled with anger sort of way.

-end