I'm looking at the introduction to this book (which claims that it is one of the 100 great novels of all time and one of the great antiwar novels)and shaking my head.

I disliked it as much as Catch 22,supposedly another classic of the absurd.Having read so many rave reviews and having rebuked myself for not having read this classic,I tried gamely but I was too bored to continue.

These days I have a bit of trouble sleeping,this book is a great cure for insomnia.Maybe there are hidden layers of meaning in those pages,but I couldn't care less.

It is a short book,but still felt much too long to me.Me and Kurt Vonnegut won't be meeting again,that is for sure.

And it seems I'm not the only one who dislikes this book.It has had its share of controversy,having been banned from US schools,removed from school libraries and stuck off curricula.

Seems to me that the author was on LSD,when he wrote it.

Abandoned.

امتیاز واقعی این کتاب چهار و نیم هست، نیم نمره بخاطر مشکلات ویراستاری و ترجمه که گهگاهی میشد بهتر باشه ازش کم میکنم.
ولی بخاطر لذتی که ازش بردم، امتیاز کامل پنج میدم.

قبل از خوندن، به قصد یک ضد جنگ و یک کتاب با تصویرپردازی های خشن و جدی اومدم سراغش!
چند صفحه ای که خوندم، دیدم با یک طنز سیاه طرفم که در تمام طول کتاب، این لحن طنزگونه اش حفظ شده و بی اختیار گاهی آدم رو به خنده وا میداره.
یک صفحه از کتاب، بسیار تاریک و سیاه و مستند از جنگ حهانی دوم، و صفحه ی بعد، خیلی طنز و فانتزی و سورئال، در یک سیاره ی دیگه، همراه با کلی آدم فضایی! همینقدر درهم برهم و شلوغ پلوغ! :))

لذت کتاب رو برای کسایی که قراره بخوننش، با لو دادن داستانش کم نمی کنم. فقط توصیه می کنم بخونید. حتی اگر قراره از کسی قرض بگیرید کتاب رو، ولی بخونید، واجبه!

(Book 375 from 1001 books) - Slaughterhouse-Five = The Children's Crusade: A Duty-Dance with Death, Kurt Vonnegut

Slaughterhouse-Five, or The Children's Crusade: A Duty-Dance with Death (1969) is a science fiction-infused anti-war novel by Kurt Vonnegut about the World War II experiences and journeys through time of Billy Pilgrim, from his time as an American soldier and chaplain's assistant, to postwar and early years. It is generally recognized as Vonnegut's most influential and popular work. A central event is Pilgrim's surviving the Allies' firebombing of Dresden as a prisoner-of-war. This was an event in Vonnegut's own life, and the novel is considered semi-autobiographical.

تاریخ نخستین خوانش: روز نوزدهم ماه می سال2011میلادی

عنوانهای چاپ شده در ایران: «سلاخ‌خانه شماره پنج»؛ نویسنده: کورت ونه‌گات؛ انتشاراتیها: (روشنگران و مطالعات زنان)؛ تاریخ نخستین خوانش نوزدهم ماه می سال2011میلادی

عنوان: سلاخ خانه شماره پنج؛ نویسنده: کورت ونه گات؛ مترجم: علی اصغر بهرامی، تهران، نشر روشنگران، سال1372؛ در263ص؛ چاپ دیگر سال1380؛ چاپ بعدی سال1381؛ شابک9646751490؛ چاپ ششم سال1389؛ موضوع: جنگ جهانگیر دوم - از سال1939میلادی تا سال1945میلادی از نویسندگان ایالات متحده آمریکا - سده20م

کورت ونه گات: (زادروز: یازدهم ماه نوامبر سال1922میلادی، ایندیاناپولیس، ایالت ایندیانا، درگذشت: روز یازدهم ماه آوریل سال2007میلادی) در شهر «نیویورک، ایالت نیویورک»؛ ملیت: آمریکایی؛ پیشه: نویسنده از سال1950میلادی تا سال2005میلادی؛ همسران: «جین مری کاکس» از سال1945میلادی تا سال1971میلادی، «جیل کرمنتز از سال1979میلادی تا سال2007میلادی)، دارای چهار فرزند؛ والدین: «کورت وانگات سینیور، ادیت لیبر»؛

آثار: رمان‌ها: ‍«پیانوی خودنواز (سال1952میلادی)»، «آژیرهای هیولا (سال1959میلادی)»، «شب مادر (سال1961میلادی)»، «گهواره گربه (سال1963میلادی)»، «خدا شما را حفظ کند، آقای رزواتر (سال1965میلادی)»، «سلاخ‌خانه شماره پنج (سال1969میلادی)»، «صبحانه قهرمانان (سال1973میلادی)»، «اسلپ استیک (سال1976میلادی)»، «محبوس (سال1979میلادی)»، «مجمع الجزایر گالاپاگوس (سال1985میلادی)»، «ریش آبی (سال1987میلادی)»، «زمان لرزه (سال1997میلادی)»، «مرد بی‌وطن (سال2005میلادی)». مجموعه داستان‌ها: «قناری در خانه گربه (سال1961میلادی)»، «به خانه میمون خوش آمدید (سال1967میلادی)»، «انفیه ­دان باگومبو (سال1999میلادی)»، «خدا شما را حفظ کند، دکتر کورکیان (سال1999میلادی)»، «جوجو را نیگا (سال2009میلادی)». نمایش‌نامه: «تولدت مبارک وندا جون (سال1971میلادی)».؛

کورت وانگات جونیور، در رشته ی زیست‌ شیمی، از دانشگاه «کورنل» فارغ‌ التحصیل شدند، در ارتش نام‌نویسی کردند، و ایشان را برای نبرد در جنگ جهانی دوم به «اروپا» فرستادند؛ ایشان بسیار زود به دست نیروهای «آلمانی» اسیر، و در «درسدن» زندانی گردیدند، پس از پایان جنگ و بازگشت به «ایالات متحده آمریکا»، در «دانشگاه شیکاگو» به آموزش «مردم‌شناسی» پرداختند، و سپس به عنوان تبلیغات‌چی در شرکت «جنرال الکتریک» دلمشغول به کار شدند، تا سال1951میلادی که با پایان یافتن انتشار نخستین کتاب ایشان «پیانوی خودکار»، کار پیشین خویش را ترک کردند و تمام‌ وقت دلمشغول نویسندگی شدند؛ آثار ایشان ترکیبی از طنز سیاه، در مایه‌ های علمی‌ - خیالی ه­ستند؛

از آثار ایشان: «گهواره گربه»، «سلاخ‌خانه شماره پنج» و «صبحانه قهرمانان» بیشتر مورد ستایش قرار گرفته‌ اند.؛ در سال1999میلادی آستروئید یا سیارک شماره25399، را، برای بزرگداشت ایشان «ونه گات» نامیدند

چکیده این داستان: «بیلی پیلگریم»، قهرمان داستان، در زمان خدمت خود در آرتش «آمریکا» در جنگ جهانگیر دوم، قابلیت حرکت در زمان را پیدا می‌کند، و از آن لحظه به‌ طور همزمان در زمین، و در یک سیاره ی دور، به نام «ترالفامادور»، زندگی خویش را پی می‌گیرد؛ او به فلسفه سرنوشت «ترالفامادور»ی ها باور پیدا می‌کند؛ آنها قادر به دیدن محیط خود در چهار بعد هستند؛ بنابراین از همه ی رخدادهای بگذشته و آینده باخبر هستند؛ واکنش او به رخدادهای ناخوشایندی که رخ می‌دهد، گفتن این جمله است: «بله! رسم روزگار چنین است.»؛

تاریخ بهنگام رسانی 31/05/1399هجری خورشیدی؛ 07/05/1400هجری خورشیدی؛ 22/02/1401هجری خورشیدی؛ ا. شربیانی

ITS A BOOK WRITTEN FOR EARTHLINGS.

An amazing journey through space and time. One of the stronger points in the book deals with free will and time.

There is a beautiful line which I want to quote here:

" I've visited thirty-one inhabited planets in the universe, and I have studied reports on one hundred more. Only on Earth is there any talk of free will".

And so it goes...

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED!

Now for something completely different , stating it mildly ...Billy Pilgrim is not just another time travelling man, kidnapped by aliens from the unknown planet Tralfamadore and put in their zoo, he's an eyewitness to the destruction of Dresden, during World War Two. Our Billy an optometrist, (eye doctor) marries the boss's slightly overweight daughter Valencia (who no one else wanted, people are so unkind) . The couple have two disrespectful children, Barbara and Robert, the truth that he becomes very rich through his nuptials, doesn't make him a bad guy, lucky, I guess is the proper adjective . Billy is no prize either , a tall, skinny weakling, an ordinary looking man , with a peculiar tendency for nervous breakdowns... welcome to modern life. The only unique thing about him, is the fact he visits rather reluctantly different stages of his life, by way of an unexplained and altogether involuntary power , by time travel. Yet for a while at least, life doesn't become endless and boring, still not as much fun as you'd think, repeating situations again and again, ouch . IT DOESN'T MATTER HE'D RATHER NOT GO...Past, Present and Future, are all the same to poor Pilgrim, he can be at his daughter's wedding and in a few moments, be back as a P.O.W. in Dresden, Germany on February 13th, 1945, when 1,200 allied bombers from England and America, dropped thousands of explosives on the city. Causing fires to spread quickly and kill (fry) thousands, anywhere from 30,000 to 130,000 humans, nobody will ever know the exact amount. "So it goes ". Then poor Billy is back in Illium, New York, talking to his only friend, Kilgore Trout an unsuccessful science fiction writer, (75 unread novels) I understand you can get his books at the local library, if you are diligent . The cosmic flying saucer that took Mr.Pilgrim secretly to that strange world...(not sure if it's the right word for the weird planet) millions of light years away, through a wormhole, did Billy a favor. The very curious people of Tralfamadore like to watch and how. They are not embarrassed by any kind of activity, providing him with a young, beautiful, and eager movie starlet Montana Wildhack, for the prisoner. The salacious activity gives the inhabitants of this planet many hours of entertainment...Billy will never really die, he will always travel through time and space forever."So it goes".

There are some terrible reviews of SH5 floating around Goodreads, but one particularly odious sentiment is that Slaughterhouse-Five isn't anti-war.

This is usually based on the following quote.

"It had to be done," Rumfoord told Billy, speaking of the destruction of Dresden.
"I know," said Billy.
"That's war."
"I know. I'm not complaining"
"It must have been hell on the ground."
"It was," said Billy Pilgrim.
"Pity the men who had to do it."
"I do."
"You must have had mixed feelings, there on the ground."
"It was all right," said Billy. "Everything is all right, and everybody has to do exactly what he does. I learned that on Tralfamadore."

For context, Mr. Rumfoord is an old military historian described as "hateful and cruel" who wants to see weaklings like Billy exterminated.

On Tralfamadore, Billy was introduced to the revelation that all things happen exactly as they do, and that they will always happen that way, and that they will never happen any other way. Meaning, time is all at once. The aliens, incidentally, admit to destroying the universe in a comical accident fated far into the future, and they're very sorry, but so it goes. <- passive acceptance

The entire story up to this point has been about Billy, buffeted like a powerless pathetic leaf in a storm, pushed this way and that by forces entirely outside his tiny purview. He lays catatonically in a hospital bed after the plane crash and the death of his wife, and all the time traveling back and forth from Dresden where toddlers and families and old grannies and anti-war civilians were burned alive in a carefully organized inferno (so it goes), and Billy is about ready to agree to absolutely anything.

It can't be prevented. It can't be helped.

You're powerless, after a while. What hope have we, or anyone caught in the middle of a war, or even the poor soldiers who are nothing but pawns and children (hence the children's crusade), to influence these gigantic, global events?

Therefore, Billy agrees with the hateful, the cruel Mr. Rumfoord, who is revising his military history of WWII, having previously forgotten to mention the Dresden bombing. Women and children, not evaporated instantly, but melted slowly by chemicals and liquid flame, their leftovers, according to Billy, lying in the street like blackened logs, or in piles of families who died together in their homes.


Incidentally, how can anything be pro-war? What kind of incoherent pro-suffering ideology is that? Is there a book that touches on the subject of war and is not against it?

We don't support wars, though we are sometimes forced to accept them.

Kurt Vonnegut. Four syllables, once pronounced, suspends in the air like a rock star swishing his name into the air for chanters to latch on and treble the echo. Slaughter-House Five, god knows how many syllables (depending on stress-points of your tongue), once sprinkled from the nozzle of mouth, hangs again in the air like a vagabond wrapper not finding a parapet to land. Perhaps both could have gone their way and not bothered to float into my fairly tranquil world. But they chose to break the silence. So it goes.

War time account is what both brought with them. They could have made the ‘screeching’ delivery (yes, there are types; go, search and look for keywords ‘gore’, ‘murder’, ‘gunshot’, ‘scabies’, ‘rabies’, ‘bleeding’, ‘one-legged’ to arrive at this type ), persuading the jingoist in me to pop to tired life. But both instead chose the ‘absurd’ delivery: non-linear events (time travel, ha!), comical alien world (really?), world within world (what’s that?) and an eccentric potpourri dedicated to memento mori (no pun intended). So it goes.

I have read Dostoyevsky and that man loves darkness. But this man (and his creation) loves death. No exclamations, no guffaws please; not when he propels his thought with this: n   ‘He became a doctor, and he treated poor people in the daytime, and he wrote grotesque novels all night. No art is possible without a dance with death, he wrote’n. I could have overlooked such pomposity with a condescending hand and even the eclectic profundity of n  ’ The Earthling figure who is most engaging to the Tralfamadorian mind, he says, is Charles Darwin—who taught that those who die are meant to die, that corpses are improvements’n with a lukewarm shrug. But I stuck like a blinking golliwog, with eyes dancing to the shadows of death. So it goes.

You don’t know the Trafalmadorian world that the duo glorifies in full splendor and there isn’t much necessity to. If you insist (which all Earthlings do), it is this: people like you and me go there to live a life that cannot be envisaged in the world incubating us – Trafalmadorians let you live with arms and without arms (you don’t get it? Read it again; I did.), they keep you insulated from the past, present and future that are otherwise marked with red splotches and black marks, they erase the multiplicities of faith system, effectively setting the most volatile part to rest and they are funny. But the Trafalmadorians are a vulnerable lot which became rather apparent at their inability to stop their inmates from slipping through the porous boundaries of war-afflicted memories and reconstructed memories. So it goes.

I was now tempered to balance on that boundary; of fiction and fact, of figment and whole. The duo still sounded weird but substantially weird. And I know one thing for sure: when someone holds me long captivated with excessive humor, I invariably become the beneficiary of stark truths hidden under his tongue. So, I lurked around till this duo pulled aside a curtain and showed me a slaughter-house. It was supposed to house meat but instead housed prisoners; and incidentally, turned a good refuge till it lasted. So it goes.

As I was about to alight and walk into the slaughter-house myself, the twosome giggled in mock incredulity, flicked the sand time-keeper upside down and blurted, n  How nice -- to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive.n And all of a sudden, with just a switch, we swapped places and it was I who was fighting the wars, licking my scars, shoveling bodies, snapping bonds, mimicking death, eulogizing events and peeking from a window towards a world that still hadn't changed character and was continuing to pay no heed to me. I wondered what happened. But there was no one; no Vonnegut, no Slaughter-House, just a little bird squeaking n  ‘Poo-tee-weet’n and pointing to a board that I, in hopelessly haggard state, gaped, as it read,

n  n    So it goes.n  n  

n

Kurt Vonnegut’s 6th and most famous novel is less satire and sarcasm and more commentary on man and war with very black humour.
When I think back to my youthful reading, my biggest recall was of the sci-fi elements that took protagonist Billy Pilgram to another planet and the vague thought that it was an antiwar novel. With this read, very much later in my life, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder felt very much the major theme. Much has been written about that, but it was not something I would have recognised in my youth. The bloke who I worked with as an apprentice got blown up in Korea and shook with fear, the old bloke on the corner who shaped up to everyone passing, this was shell shock but the fact they were inevitable victims of events that they had no control over? That never entered my youthful mind.

Antiwar The Children's Crusade A Duty-Dance certainly is, but the feeling is there that it is also a comment that war is an inevitable human condition. “So it goes” said Vonnegut after every death in this book, therefore “so it goes” could be the comment about every reoccurring human conflict over what others have claimed are generally tribal property rights. We have no choice but to be what we are. I suppose that I will get up on Monday morning and go to work. “So it goes”.
Is that free will, or do I have no choice? To be honest with myself, as much as these questions make for fascinating thoughts, I am not that intelligent to really digest or understand what direction I think they should take.
“Poo-tee-weet?”

I make the same comment as I did for the previous review, God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater. This is a wonderful book and stands the test of time. It is a read that is far better than I recall from my youth and is with that highly recommended.


In order of publication and my reading of Vonnegut’s novels.

My review of number 1 Player Piano here.
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
My review of number 2 The Sirens Of Titan here. https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
My review of number 3 Mother Night here.
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
My review of number 4 Cats Cradle here.
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
My review of number 5 God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater here
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

There are only a few books that I ever really try to revisit. Sherlock Holmes and his stories are one. Some Shakespeare. And Slaughterhouse-Five.

I have read this book every year since my first reading almost ten years ago. I read it as an undergraduate; I read it as a graduate student. I've written three or four papers about it. And, yes, I have tried to pawn this book off on as many people as I could over the years.

You see, this book does something to me whenever I read it. It takes me places. Sure there is the time travel, other-world element to the novel, but the places it takes me are not physical in nature. I can't rightly say that they are spiritual either. Basically, the best way I can describe it is where I am taken is if my heart, mind, soul, education, fears, desires, and dreams were all placed in a blender and set to liquefy. And then this slosh of material is constructed into whatever semblance of a structure can be created from this amalgam.

This novel gets me to question not only life, but what it means that I was the lucky sperm to reach the egg, or that I was the lucky egg that was implanted. Oh dear, I fear I am convoluting what it is I am trying to say.

Okay, here goes: This book questions war. It questions as to why humans feel it is imperative to destroy. It questions what it might be like to live a completely different life than the one you live now. But it doesn't try to give bullshit answers. In fact, it really doesn't try to give answers to anything. And since this book is based on actual experiences Vonnegut suffered during WWII, it might be better said that this novel is really a science fiction memoir.

Dammit, I am screwing this up. I cannot seem to say it is that I want to say.

Enough already! Read the book. Or don't read the book. I know what it does to me.

So it goes.

VERY HIGHLY RECOMMENDEED

I read this book over 40 years ago, but I only just realized that Montana Wildhack, the porn star with whom Billy Pilgrim shares a cage in the zoo on Tralfamadore, is played in the movie version by Valerie Perrine, who was also Lex Luthor's girlfriend in Superman and saved the world by removing Christopher Reeve's Kryptonite necklace so he didn't drown in the swimming pool.

Busy, busy, busy.

War is awful, and that’s that. There’s no glory to kill or be killed, no sentimentalism is to be associated with a piece of red ribbon in exchange for your savagery, nor is there anything romantic about dying like a dog at a battlefield or be scourged by the fire of opponent banners, no glory indeed in transition of a boy of delicate heart into a man cold and frost within months, as there are no unwounded soldiers at the end of the day, neither are the victors. Worst still are the wars waged in which the instigating force was religion, men committed crimes so atrocious to be spoken out loud and with no tinge of remorse.
For me, the ever ubiquitous global conspiracy is been to keep people hooked on a certain kind of doctrine, irrespective of which one, so they don’t question authority. I wonder sometimes what would have happened if everyone without a choice would have made a choice anyway. If we all chose not to participate. Not to be bullied. Not to take up arms. Not to persecute. What would happen then? Well, there wouldn’t have been any bloodsheds, gassings, firebombing, just this past morning in our bloodied history.
Billy pilgrim was never the same after he turned with wind in his lungs to draw more breaths and a piece of beating flesh between the chest still, to support life, at the end of war, nor was he expected to. If you return in the evening home, after witnessing grotesques of scenes of an unfortunate accident in your way back, you don’t start sipping your coffee in the balcony of your summer home and move about merrily whistling to some favorite tone, taking a long luxury bath and making love wild and sweet, it takes you a good long while to adjust with your present, to bury down the flashbacks of your perturbed mind, being played and replayed on the screen in frenzy.
Billy, wasn’t the witness, he was the accident, a long term trauma, a nonstop show of human drudgery, blooming despair, cutting cold, killings, starvation, uncertainty and a horrendous joke being played of which he was an actor, poorly equipped, not willing to play an active part, yet an actor nonetheless. His distorted and disorderly flashbacks from the war, postwar and his life before it, are as jumbled and lackluster, sparse and disjointed as a war novel must be. A city of no apparent military value, Dresden was bombed in order to bring Germany to its knees and thus to hasten the end of the war. Billy’s experiences in Dresden have an almost surreal but intense mix of pathos and trivia, making a strong case for Billy’s post-traumatic stress disorder, Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is a mental health condition that's triggered by a terrifying event — either experiencing it or witnessing it. Symptoms may include flashbacks, nightmares and severe anxiety, as well as uncontrollable thoughts about the event.
A threadbare, fragmented and clumsily woven story right from the war front, is not expected to be rich in form and structure, scrumptious and sweet to delight your senses, or to provide a happily ever after. There are no happily ever afters in war, only causalities, nor are there any survivors, only victims, for whom war never ceased but took accommodation within them, for whom the cannons always marched forward, bullets kept rustling through leaves, shells kept hitting the streets, the glazed eyed soldier kept dying with despair in his soon to close eyes, sirens kept screaming far above, cities kept burning..

رقص اجباری با مرگ

ببین سام، این کتاب خیلی کوتاه و قره‌قاطی و شلوغ و پلوغ است، علتش هم این است که انسان نمی‌تواند درباره‌ی قتل عام، حرف‌های زیرکانه و قشنگ بزند، بعد از قتل عام، قاعدتا همه مرده‌اند، و طبعا نه صدایی از کسی درمی‌آید و نه کسی دیگر چیزی می‌خواهد. بعد از قتل عام انسان انتظار دارد آرامش برقرار شود [...]

این‌ها قسمتی از اتمام حجتیه که نویسنده در فصل اول، با خواننده می‌کنه. بهش میگه چرا این کتابو نوشته، بهش اخطار میده که داستان قراره شلوغ و پلوغ باشه، و بهش میگه که این داستان واقعیه، حداقل قسمت‌های مربوط به جنگش واقعیه. با این کار، با این‌که ونه‌گات یه کتاب علمی-تخیلی درباره‌ی جنگ نوشته، همه چیز به نظر واقعی میاد.

سلاخ‌خانه‌ی شماره‌ی پنج، درباره‌ی جنگ جهانی دوم و بمباران شهر درسدن، هم هست و هم نیست؛ حداقل کتاب با این نیت نوشته شده. بیلی پیلگریم، شخصیتی که قصه‌گوی کتاب سعی می‌کنه داستانش رو برامون تعریف کنه، مدتی رو در اسارت آلمانی‌ها در شهر درسدن می‌گذرونه و از بمباران اون شهر و قتل عام مردمش، که توسط نیروهای متفقین انجام می‌گیره، جون سالم به در می‌بره. اما بیلی پیلگریم توسط موجوداتی فضایی از سیاره‌ی "ترالفامادور"، دزدیده می‌شه و بعد به قدرت خارق‌العاده‌ی اون‌ها دست پیدا می‌کنه و قادر میشه که در زمان سفر کنه.

نویسنده در این کتاب، کار عجیبی کرده: خود ِ خودش رو، به عنوان ِ یه شخصیت ِ فرعی ِ فرعی، توی کتابی که شخصیت‌هاش واقعی نیستن جا داده؛ گاهی هم به خواننده یادآوری می‌کنه که در این یا اون صحنه‌ی کتاب حضور داره. به صورت کلی، نویسنده جوری هم خارج از داستان و هم داخلشه، که واقعا بامزه‌ست.

کورت ونه‌گات شخصیت بیلی پیلگریم رو بر اساس ِ خودش نوشته. تا حدی که حتی هردوشون متولد ۱۹۲۲ هستند. این، مهم‌ترین کتاب ِ نویسنده‌ایه که خودش در جنگ جهانی ِ دوم، سربازی آمریکایی بوده و واقعا در شهر ِ درسدن ِ آلمان، در اسارت آلمانی‌ها می‌افته. بعد از بمباران ِ درسدن، شهری که ظاهرا بی‌دفاع بوده و صنایع ِ جنگی نداشته و اصلا خطرناک نبوده که بخواد بمباران بشه، ونه‌گات زنده می‌مونه و به آمریکا برمی‌گرده (شرح ِ چگونگی‌ش رو میشه در سرگذشت ِ بیلی پیلگریم دید!).

کورت ونه‌گات از پدر و مادری آلمانی، اما در آمریکا به دنیا میاد. ظاهرا پدر و مادرش به قدری از ملیت خودشون (به خاطر جنگ ِ جهانی ِ اول) خجالت‌زده و ناراحت بودن، که به ونه‌گات نه زبان ِ آلمانی رو آموزش میدن و نه از فرهنگ آلمانی چیزی براش تعریف می‌کنن. جوری که خودش در مصاحبه‌ای میگه که در دوران کودکی احساس بی ریشگی و سردرگمی می‌کرده. در نهایت هم بر ضد آلمانی‌ها، در جنگ ِ دوم ِ جهانی حضور پیدا می‌کنه و اسیر هم میشه.

بعد از اینکه به آمریکا برمی‌گرده، سال‌ها تلاش می‌کنه که چیزی در مورد ِ بمباران ِ درسدن بنویسه و همون‌طور که خودش توی فصل ِ اول ِ کتاب توضیح میده، چیزایی که می‌نوشته به نظرش قابل قبول نمیومدن. تا اینکه ۲۳ سال بعد از جنگ، موفق به نوشتن ِ سلاخ‌خانه میشه.
ونه‌گات یک بار هم تلاش میکنه در ۶۲ سالگی، خودکشی کنه، اما زنده میمونه و در نهایت در ۸۴ سالگی بر اثر ضربه‌ی مغزی میمیره. یک سال قبل از مرگش، در مصاحبه‌ای با رولینگ استون، میگه که میخواد از کمپانی سیگار ِ پالمال شکایت کنه؛ سیگاری که از ۱۳-۱۴ سالگی میکشیده.‌ وقتی ازش میپرسن چرا، میگه "به خاطر اینکه من ۸۳ سالمه و اون حروم‌زاده‌های دروغ‌گو، توی تبلیغاتشون قول داده بودن منو بُکُشن".

سلاخ خانه‌ی شماره‌ی پنج، یا جنگ صلیبی کودکان، یا رقص اجباری با مرگ، کتاب ِ دوست داشتنی ایه؛ کتابیه که مرگ رو در معنای فلسفی ِ خودش، می‌پذیره و قشنگ جلوه‌ش میده؛ کتابیه که شدیدا جنگ و جنگ‌طلبی رو تقبیح می‌کنه و سوال اساسی ِ نویسنده‌ش انگار همون سوال ِ ترالفامادوری‌هاست: چگونه یک سیاره میتونه در صلح زندگی کنه؟