Interlude - Bibbity Bobbity, Show Me the Floppities

Player Piano by Kurt Vonnegut

Okay. I'm doing it. I'm finally going to come out and just say it.

I DON'T GET VONNEGUT.

I just don't. I don't get "funny" from his books, and his writing could put me to sleep. I slogged through Slaughterhouse 5 and, although I told the person I was seeing at the time that oh yes, what an incredible read, so witty, so on-the-nose, wowowowow, deep down inside (hidden beneath the shame of obviously having missed something everyone else understood), I was just plain relieved that the tedious journey was finally over.

I couldn't even get through Player Piano. In classic Vonnegut style, the writing is plain to the point of boring, and he absolutely clobbers the reader with his views on whatever topic he's exploring. I might have survived all that if the women weren't written so horrendously. Sure, maybe Vonnegut was being clever when he writes the main character's wife as a simpering creature who participates in marriage as if it's a sport, or a contest. Sure. But this one, thrown in conversation almost too easily, got me:

"...Not only must a person be bright, he must be bright in certain approved, useful directions: basically, management or engineering."

"Or marry someone who's bright," said Finnerty.

"Sex can still batter down all sorts of social structures - you're right," Lasher agreed.

"Big tits will get you in anywhere," said Finnerty.

"Well, it's comforting to know that something hasn't changed in centuries, isn't it?" Lasher smiled.

It's the smile. It's the casual dismissal of the relevance of female intellect - or even the existence of it, in the context on a clearly marked male world. At that, any feeble hope I had that Vonnegut was going to turn this burning ship around and make it up to his female, and humanist, readers, burst into flames and sank out of sight.

Goodbye, Vonnegut - hopefully forever.

The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi

Couldn't do it.

The world? Cool. Futuristic and bleak, and a neat take on food shortage and the impacts of genetic commodification. Flairs of various different cultures, and integration of different languages without translation. I love that - it's immersive and authentic.

That's about all that was good about this book. Bacigalupi obviously has writing chops, but unfortunately he doesn't use them to grant his characters or plot any favours. First off, most of the main characters are men - big fucking surprise. Him and Vonny-boy should meet, and take a course or something. Second, none of his poor characters can catch a break! Life just keeps landing them in shittier and shittier places, without even the tiniest sliver of hope. Jay-sus - juxtaposition is the key to engagement, at least in this case. Bring your people up so you can knock them down - don't just keep pounding them into the dust.

Lastly, the namesake of the story falls victim to misogynistic and teenage-boy fantasy writing. We're introduced to all these men, surviving on wits alone in a heartless world where food is scarce and you can't trust anybody. Then, finally, we get a female POV, and what does the reader get, in excruciating detail? One big, perverted guess - yep, Emiko is fucked and humiliated in public and, with her darn programming, just loves it.

If I want porn, I'll go find it. There's enough of that kind of content out there - it doesn't need to be in a book that won both the Nebula AND Hugo awards in 2010. Gross all around.

BYE BYE