Considering how often I reference the eight rules of writing advice from Kurt Vonnegut—even declaring them commandments—one might assume that I have read all of his books and worship them as flawless examples of good literature. This is not true. The truth is, I encountered those eight rules years ago when I first decided to become an author. They were, and still are, the most succinct and applicable writing advice I have ever read. Thus, I repeat them often and freely. In fact, Cat’s Cradle is the first Kurt Vonnegut book I have ever read. But how can that be? Easy. I suck at reading and I’m awfully lazy about it.
In that context, I expressed some trepidation when my friend lent me this book. Just because a person is capable of delivering good advice doesn’t mean that they are likewise capable of adhering to it. ‘Don’t inhale the water’ is perfectly good advice to fledgling swimmers, but even an Olympic swimmer afloat at sea without a raft is probably going to drown.
In short, I didn’t want to see my hero drown.
Having said that, this book is a delight. It wastes no time in entertaining, and importantly to me, it quickly establishes a thread that embodies the eighth commandment. The books through which I struggle the most are those that fail to establish an arc with a conclusion that I can foresee. In Cat’s Cradle, you see the words early. Ice-nine. Always italicized. Always cursed. That bastard and his ice-nine. A damnable sliver of ice-nine. It festers on the page each time you read it, luring you forward as you wait for the coming of the inevitable doomsday it will inflict. Waiting, just waiting for the thing to happen that we know will happen. That we know the instant we know its name, that ice-nine will escape into the wild and the world will freeze, but when? But how? But why? For the love of god, Kurt, tell me how it happens!
It probably doesn’t happen the way that you think it will happen, at least not until you near the end, and that’s the best part. You both know the ending and you don’t, like some bizarre Schrödinger’s conclusion, and that is some seriously incredible storytelling.
The only fault I can find in this book is, as my lending friend described it, a certain pithiness. A succinctness that is both forceful and deep, but all too brief. The writings are so terse, and so blunt, that I sometimes overlooked important events, not because I wasn’t paying attention, but because they transpired in a single sentence.
In the passages of the book, Bokonon, a religious figure, refers to humans as originating from mud. As an author myself, this book certainly makes me feel like some of the less worthy mud in the world. Conversely, it has given me confidence. I personally prefer extremely short chapters, and Cat’s Cradle is the only book I have ever read that is within my preferred limits of length. Vonnegut also uses the phrase ‘had had’ multiples times, a writing quirk that I meticulously avoid, such as in the example, ‘he had had too much to drink’. This inspires me, because I am often too critical of myself and the quality of my unedited writing. I am now more certain than ever that a great story is not restrained by the fluidity or beauty of its grammar, provided that it remains readable.
I am left to wonder, however, whatever happened to the sub-nine ices? What awful horror is ice-eight? Or perhaps ice-twenty-one? As it turns out, ice-nine is a real thing. Well, ice IX, anyway. There are lots of phases of ices out there, and they’re all pretty fascinating if you’re into that sort of thing. That said, the book is better.
