Rating: 3.5* of five

The Publisher Says: The Sirens of Titan is an outrageous romp through space, time, and morality. The richest, most depraved man on Earth, Malachi Constant, is offered a chance to take a space journey to distant worlds with a beautiful woman at his side. Of course there’ s a catch to the invitation–and a prophetic vision about the purpose of human life that only Vonnegut has the courage to tell.

My Review: I read this book when I was a teenager in the 1970s. I missed a lot of assumptions, like the one where it's okay for a man to discuss his own wife "being bred" by another man; the one where black people all speak in dialect, obviating the need to mention their skin color; the one about homosexual sex being offensive; I'm at a loss, as a 695-month-old reader with literally thousands more books under my expansive mental belt, how this 1950s prejudice whipped past my allegedly enlightened 1970s sensibilities.

Two stars off.

The Tralfamadorian Salo, tangerine-colored mechanical man whose millions of years of lightspeed travel get interrupted by an unexpected landing on the balmy, verdant shores of Titan, also gets the stink-eye from my increasingly myopic baby greens. Winston Niles Rumfoord, the chrono-synclastically infundibulated spacetime sprinter, becomes his buddy? Salo spends inordinate amounts of energy, for a Tralfamadorian, setting WNR (a note to come on these initials) up and making his life on Titan extraordinarily pleasant. That has more than a faint whiff of colonial privilege, Salo being the first inhabitant of Titan though not native to it, who expends all his energies to improve the lot of an ungrateful, entitled newcomer.

Another star off.

Malachi Constant, reasonably dim, phenomenally lucky, is summoned to Rumfoord's famous reappearance after he's been chrono-synclastically infundibulated (seriously, if you're ever in a foul humor or just draggy, say or better yet type, "chrono-synclastic infundibulum." Your smile muscles will automatically activate and your crow's-feet will dance) in order to converse with the great man, though why he's so great really isn't much discussed. And what happens? Constant is turned into an unlucky pauper and press-ganged to Mars to fight a fake war with real casualties designed to unite the people of earth. In service of this goal, Malachi Constant has his identity stripped from him, mechanical thought-control devices implanted in him, and he's specifically made subject to a black man's total control to symbolize his utter dehumanization.

More racism, fewer stars. What are we down to, one? I'll snatch that one back for black-man-as-nature-gawd-of-Mercury, Boaz using his natural rhythm (urp) to feed the harmoniums off his superiorly rhythmic pulse in preference to Unk/Malachi's more, what? bland? attenuated?, white man's pulse.

No stars for you, Vonnegut. Zip. Zero. Rien. Nada.

So whence cometh the three-and-a-half stars above? The Church of God the Utterly Indifferent. The mass religion of billions who know with the simple certainty of faith that God couldn't pick you out in a police line-up and couldn't possibly care less about you, your prayers, your troubles, and your existence or non-existence. You don't matter to God.

That is the single best take-away from reading this book. The assurance with which Vonnegut adduces the non-existence of God's interest in humanity is worth all three and a half stars I've rated the book. This isn't the reason I suspect people want to read a novel. It isn't my first thought on picking up a novel. But it damn sure makes for a great end! Though I have to say the ending of this novel, as opposed to its end in the sense of purpose, is...it's...on the bland side. Things rather stop than end. After a long, long time passes, the show rings down the curtain and you don't have to go home but you can't stay here.

I remembered this novel as a Big Deal, a game-changer for me, and so it might have been in my teens. I think encountering a created world in which the Indifference of the Divine was simply accepted as fact, and the attitude towards the accumulation of money was sneeringly superior to those who merely grub after gold in the mud resonated strongly with my noblesse oblige sense of wealth as responsibility not opportunity.

Another entry in the "re-read at your own risk" files. I might have liked it better left un-re-read.

“The only thing I ever learned was that some people are lucky and other people aren’t and not even a graduate of the Harvard Business School can say why.”

After reading Kurt Vonnegut’s second novel, The Sirens of Titan, you will definitely know why they erected Stonehenge and even what ulterior purpose human history serves, but the question above, given in a letter to protagonist Malachi Constant by his father, still remains open. Only to be answered in later Vonnegut novels: So it goes.

Unlike Piano Player, The Sirens of Titan is what I would call typically Vonnegut – a puzzle that has to be assembled by the reader. That being said, it is, of course, a lot more than a puzzle because your usual puzzle is simply a picture that has been cut in hundreds of little pieces by a machine only for people a lot like machines to put them together and after hours of squandered lifetime be able to see the very picture that was printed on the lid of the box that contained the hundreds of little pieces. Big deal! For every little piece, there is exactly one position, and one position only, where it fits, and every little piece is as important to complete the picture as every other. I have always wondered why people should bother doing a puzzle like that, frankly. The Sirens of Titan is a puzzle where you don’t see the picture until the very end, and even then it is still moot whether this is indeed the entire picture. People and machines do often go out of their way only to say something rather trite like HELLO – just consider all the creativeness and learning and perseverance that went into the invention of modern communication technologies, and the uses to which it is generally put –, but still, you can never know what kind of inspiring and elucidating follow-up conversation a simple HELLO may give rise to. It sometimes does. Not very often, though.

And you can never know what sense your own actions make in the lives of others, and so, without suspecting it, you, who are reading this, can also be a Malachi Constant, a faithful messenger, in some larger or some smaller context. Probably in some smaller (and hopefully, non-religious), but that is maybe better than nothing and definitely better than everything.

The Sirens of Titan is also a puzzle whose pieces can go in more places than simply one and which are also not all of equal importance, and when you have assembled a complete picture, you might still end up with some loose pieces still in your hands. Like one that says: ”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.”

That’s a puzzle piece they hardly ever manage to integrate into their larger pictures. Not even in an age that has made love, equality and respect their supposed credos.

Likovima iz romana iščupane su duše, zavrnute, okrenute, bačene na vruću tavicu, pa onda takve zagorene vraćene u tijela da završe priču koju su započeli. Vonnegut je brutalan sa svojim likovima i, praveći od njih ljušture vođenje životinjskim porivima, pleše na oštrici britve između čiste i zlokobne mizantropije i prekrasnog ljudskog bića kojemu je ljubav jedina vodilja, sloboda jedina vjera, a čovjek i priroda jedino blago koje treba poštivati.
Daleko je ovo od znanstvene fantastike. Daleko je ovo od bilo kojeg fantastičkog romana kojega sam čitao, jer Kurt sječe svoje čitatelje i pravi čistku. Teško je Vonneguta ne voljeti. Piše toliko čisto, jednostavno, ironično. Ironija izvire iz svake druge rečenice, ali ne ironizira poput kvazi književnika koji je pročitao sve što je trebalo o teoriji književnosti i frlja se izrazima a zapravo nema pojma ni što čita ni što govori, već ironizira s takvom dozom mudrosti da ostajem zapanjen nakon svake stranice i udišem rečenicu ponavljajući je u glavi nekoliko puta.
Radnja ide ovako:
Jedan čovjek i njegov pas otišli su u svemir. Tu su upali u kronosinklastički infundibulum koji je mješavina više istina i više vremena i periodično se pojavljuju na Zemlji, Marsu, Titanu. Taj čovjek je zajedljivi kenjac koji nije nikada prakticirao sex sa svojom ženom, a u budućnosti je vidio kako žena ima sina s još jednom kenjcom – najbogatijim čovjekom na zemlji.
Što Vonnegut napravi tom najbogatijem čovjeku na zemlji je brutalno i surovo i još se pitam što je tom jadničku netko radio da je takvo mučenje izbacio iz sebe.
Ti likovi prelaze s jednog na drugi svijet da bi se na kraju našli zajedno na Titanu.
Priča je tragična od samog početka. Zemljani su prikazani kao plastične lutke bez svijesti i empatije, zaluđeni u svoja religijska uvjerenja a opet tako labilni da im je cijeli svijet tako lako poljuljati.
Na kraju Vonnegut vrati dušu likovima, ali malčice prekasno, samo kako bi se mogao naslađivati nad njihovim sudbinama.
Velik je ovo roman. Zajedljiv, inteligentan, genijalan!

This is not just one of Vonnegut's best books. It's one of the best books I've ever read.

There’s nothing like a Kurt Vonnegut novel to show you how stupid your own species can be.

Slaughterhouse Five illuminated the absurdity of war, and The Sirens of Titan does something similar with Christianity, sheathing its criticism in a fun read that is suffused with Vonnegut’s wit.

Malachi Constant, ridiculously rich heir to his ridiculously (and undeservedly) rich father is a wastrel, a spendthrift and a fool who attributes his astonishingly good fortune to ‘someone up there’ liking him.

As the narrative begins Malachi has no idea that he is to become a modern Job, send from calamity to calamity, forced to endure years-long trails that will see him bounced around the solar system according to the whims of a near-godlike power.

This godlike power is Winston Rumfoord, a man who through contact with a strange astrophysical phenomenon floating between Earth and Mars has become distributed across space and time in a line from Earth to Betelgeuse. As a result of his distribution he periodically appears at various locations in the solar system when they intersect the wave form he has become, and he can predict future events as he exists concurrently across the present and the future.

With these powers Rumfoord sets himself to change the world, and Malachi Constant is to be his unwilling tool, his martyr. Using the technology of a stranded Tralfamadorean (yes, the planet Tralfamadore that appears in Slaughterhouse Five) he orchestrates a plot that spans the solar system.

This a whirl of a story and Vonnegut’s eye for the ridiculous is in full evidence here, with an entire religion springing up under Rumfoord’s ministrations, employing Malachi Constant as its focal point.

As the story progresses there are some fine illustrations of human foolishness and an amusing illustration of the absurdly extreme events it could take to unite humanity as a species.

However, while Titan is a good read it has aged poorly in one major respect.

I’m not referring to the dated references to reel-to-reel tapes and chain-smoking spacemen that dot SF novels of this vintage. There are a handful of 1950s markers in the form of technology and social attitudes that position this novel as a 50s work, but in the main they don’t detract too much from the story.

What does detract are the gender relations presented in the narrative. The way Rumfoord speaks about his wife Bee- as though she is a chattel to be shared about and used for breeding as needed – jarred, as did the scene were Malachi rapes a confused and sedated Bee. This rape results in Bee becoming pregnant and it is treated with woeful casualness throughout the novel. Hell, Bee pretty much thanks her rapist for using her at the novel's end.

I found this quite jarring. Some readers may find that it ruins the book entirely.

Slaughterhouse Five remains the best Vonnegut novel I’ve read (of a grand total of two) but The Sirens of Titan isn’t without its charms and it’s an entertaining read providing you can get past the awful treatment of the female character (I was about to write characters, but really there is only one) in the story.


Three Tralfamadoran flying saucers out of five.

Wow. I'd forgotten quite how amazing a writer is Mr. Kurt Vonnegut. The Sirens of Titan is his second novel, and already his voice is developed to its peak: the irony, the cynicism, the repetition, the bleakness, the heartbreaking.

This book moved me more than his other works. Something about these sad, lonely and powerless characters fighting their fates in a dark, unfeeling cosmos. It is a bleak, emotionally resonant work, far more moving than Slaughterhouse 5 or Breakfast of Champions.

You can also see how influential this book was on Douglas Adams. The Hitchhikers Guide series, one might argue, is a whimsical offshoot of this novel.

A classic. Easily in his top three novels.

3 and a half stars.

In typical Vonnegut fashion, this novel is zany, unpredictable, funny, thought-provoking and very, very hard to summarize. As much as I enjoy his books, reviewing them is always a challenge, because where the hell am I even supposed to begin? With the story of the man and his dog, who are spread across time and space; the story of the rich and depraved Malachi and his feeble attempts to control his fate? The non-linear way this strange story is told makes me think of a Mobius strip: I’m not sure where it really begins.

Describing the story too much would be giving away the good parts, so I won’t try to go further, but I will tell you that I love Vonnegut’s slightly infantile humor, his humanist views and his disdain of corporations and organized religions. I love the old sci-fi books that are in fact deep philosophical works, and this one is right down that alley. It didn’t hit me as hard as “Breakfast of Champions” did, and it wasn’t as laugh-out-loud funny as I had anticipated (hence the rating), but in the grand scheme of Vonnegut’s work, this is an interesting and entertaining book about free will, the institutions that control our destiny without our awareness and how utterly insignificant we are when you think of how big the universe actually is.

This is the first one I read by Vonnegut and as it seems there will be a hell of a lot to come. Let me declare this one thing. I am no sci-fi buff. In fact, I don't really like that particular genre. I saw all the high praises about this along with an interesting plot description and I thought "A journey from Earth to Mars to Mercury to Titan. What the hell? Sounds interesting!" Little did I know! I was bound to find out this novel is a whole lot more than that.

It certainly can be read as a fun, humorous sci-fi adventure. However, I think there's more to it. Sure, Vonnegut has a great sense of humor and he certainly uses it generously, but he also depicts the whole story of the human kind in this novel. His sarcasm towards... well... everything is just genious. Through his stereotypic characters, he makes such strong comments, that are hard to miss.

The funny thing is that, hadn't I seen the comments and reviews here on Goodreads, I'd never have read it judging by the plot and the cover. Which of course reminds me of an old and popular saying. I'm glad it has been proved true one more time.

“I was a victim of a series of accidents, as are we all.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, The Sirens of Titan



One of my favorite Vonnegut. Top-shelf. Snug and warm next to Cat's Cradle, Slaughterhouse-Five, Breakfast of Champions, & Mother Night. The magic of Vonnegut is he develops an idea to the point where -- just as you start believing it :: just as you are comfortable in his absuridty -- he kicks you down another Martian rabbit hole.

He doesn't want you sitting and enjoying yourself. He wants you constantly bubbling with that 'da Fu?' look on your face. He wants you to think -- goddammit. He wants you to understand and that means he has to first confuse the hell out of you. But that doesn't mean his rollercoaster ride has to be boring. No no. He is going to zip you forward and sideways so fast you are going think you are close to sickness, except his funky humor and biting satire seems to balm all nausea ad absurdum. Incredible. Genius.

There are points in this book where if Vonnegut had said he was forming a church, I'd join. If he said he was God the lawgiver, I'd reverently lower my eyes. If he said he expected a tithe, I'd buy another Vonnegut book. Yessir, I'd go door-to-door seeking converts to his form of absurd and giddy Humanism. Amen, pass the snuff-box.
___________________

The Sirens of Titan, Kurt Vonnegut

The Sirens of Titan is a Hugo Award-nominated novel by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., first published in 1959. His second novel, it involves issues of free will, omniscience, and the overall purpose of human history. Much of the story revolves around a Martian invasion of Earth.

Malachi Constant is the richest man in a future America. He possesses extraordinary luck that he attributes to divine favor which he has used to build upon his father's fortune.

He becomes the center point of a journey that takes him from Earth to Mars in preparation for an interplanetary war, to Mercury with another Martian survivor of that war, back to Earth to be pilloried as a sign of Man's displeasure with his arrogance, and finally to Titan where he again meets the man ostensibly responsible for the turn of events that have befallen him, Winston Niles Rumfoord. ...

تاریخ نخستین خوانش: روز بیست و یکم ماه فوریه سال2012میلادی

عنوان: افسونگران تایتان؛ نویسنده: کورت ونه گات؛ مترجم: علی اصغر بهرامی؛ تهران، نیلوفر، سال1390، در376ص؛ موضوع: داستانهای نویسندگان ایالات متحده آمریکا - سده20م

مردی با سفینه اش، وارد چاله های فضایی شده، و اکنون بیرون از زمان است، و در زمان مسافرت میکند؛ او فهمیده، زنش و یکی از هنرپیشه های هالیوود توسط مریخیها دزدیده شده، و با هم بچه دار میشوند و ....؛ «ونه گات» باورهای روز دنیای غرب را، در این اثر به رشته ی نگارش درآورده؛ از عصر روشنگری، تا نظریه‌ های فیزیک کوانتوم؛ خوانش و درک طنز، و درونمایه های اثر، برای خوانشگرانی که با اسطوره های غربی آشنا نیستند، بسیار کند است، گاه خوانشگر منظور متن را درنمییابد، با اینحال اثری با چشم اندازی نو، و جهانشمول است؛ «ونه گات»، در این رمان، با دستمایه قرار دادن اسطوره‌ و کلان روایتها، و شوخی، و دست‌ انداختن آنها، در پی به چالش کشیدن وضعیت بشر کنونی است، که علیرغم خیال تسخیر کهکشانها، و دستیابی اش به کره ی ماه، و سیارات منظومه شمسی، نه تنها همچون نیاکان خویش، خوشبختی، هنوز هم برایش میسر نیست، بلکه زندگی، برایش از بگذشته ها نیز، ناآشناتر نمایان است؛ عنوان رمان، برگرفته از عنوانهای اسطوره ها، و کهن الگوهای غربی است، شخصیتها: «خدایان»، «الهگان»، یا قهرمانانی هستند، که به سبب برخورداری از نیروهای فرابشری، توان انجام کارهای فراطبیعی را دارند؛ «ملاکی کنستانت»، یا انسانها، در این اسطوره‌ ها، یا باید شاهد فرود عذاب از جانب خدایان باشند، یا به جبر سرنوشت خویش، تن دهند، و نیروهای فرابشری را قهرمانان خویش بدانند

تاریخ بهنگام رسانی 12/10/1399هجری خورشیدی؛ 03/09/1400هجری خورشیدی؛ ا. شربیانی

One exercise is to attempt to try to flex your memory and remember back before the point you were born… for instance I was born in July of 1977 but can I recollect February of that year or August of 1976? What you are met with then is a solid nothing; blankness and blackness and not even sense at all; and this is probably what death is like. However if one is to take something positive from this exercise it’s the implication that death can also be something “before” and not something always and forever “after”- Nabokov’s assertion that life is such a sunlit surprise that why wouldn’t death be just as much of one. I am certain that I read and loved The Sirens of Titan sometime before I was twenty, I am certain that after I read and loved it I gave it away to someone, and I'm certain I can’t remember that person either. The greater part of all experience goes unnoted, even to writers. The dissolution of reading The Sirens of Titan is analogous to universal dissolution- from youth I remember vivid things, startling moments, important transitions, staggering defeats or losses, hard-won victories, as well as the odd banal moment that for some mysterious reason strongly stayed- but most everything is irretrievably submerged. In the case of this book, the exceptions are a fabulous name, Malachi Constant, and a vague feeling of being contained. So the person to whom I gave The Sirens of Titan (forever, and where has that book ended up now after its long discursive travels?), they too have disappeared, but what vague feeling was deposited in my being by having known them? (Similar to that one of being contained that was left me by reading the book...) I suppose books, even ones we’ve forgotten, and people, those who have trailed off in time, leave these notions, almost colors, almost hunches- they have been carved in some way onto our beings, our personalities, like wind etches landscapes- and we might retrieve them without intending to and in ways we won’t know, but that still matter and shape what we do and who we are in our present tense. A book from a strange time in my life- and both have vanished. The convenient thing about books is, I can go to the library and check out The Sirens of Titan any time I wish and recover it all, live it all, feel it all again, and I will again be contained and I might know what that means. But the ferris wheel of personal time seems to be on an ever-upward (or ever-downward) arc, and those below or above us that we’ve lost are always fixed on some other place on the curve, and you can only hope to catch glimpses of them now and again, brief appearances, shadows of memories or re-emergences (who or what is a person whose only characteristic is that I once gave them a book?), overt or coded, or perhaps the sobering notion of “never again” as your arc completes its swing...

Nope. Not for me. I enjoyed Slaughterhouse-Five so much more. This book, The Sirens of Titan was, to me, boring and just couldn't get into it.