Take a story's temperature by studying its tone. Is it hopeful? Cynical? Snarky? Playful?
Self-Indulgent, Campy
Campbell thinks he's cool as a cucumber, but he's got a lot of feels. And he wants us to feel his feels, which is why he languishes in the tiny details of his experiences. No, really—we get a lot of emotionally charged detail that's meant to remind us that this is the Campbell show:
I confess to a ghastly lack in myself. Anything I see or hear or feel or taste or smell is real to me. I am so much a credulous plaything of my senses that nothing is unreal to me. This armor-plated credulity has been content even in times when I was struck on the head or drunk or, in one freakish adventure that need not concern this accounting, even under the influence of cocaine. (37.18)
As silly as it seems, following Campbell on a ride through his self-indulgent memories is an interesting read. If nothing else, dude's entertaining.
On second thought, it may be somewhat of a problem that Campbell knows this stuff about himself. See, he loves being the center of attention almost as much as he loves cheeseball humor. He's kind of like the king of dad jokes without actually being a dad. Want a gander at his level-10 camp? Some of his famous last words are "Goodbye, cruel world!" (45.58).
These attention-seeking lines are carefully chosen by Vonnegut as the hammiest way to sign-off on a suicide note. This is seriously like something out of a campy silent film. The phrase itself was used as early as the mid-1800s in novels depicting suicide letters. When our narrator says sayonara in this way, he knows he's offering up a whole lot of cheese.
At least the kind of cheese Campbell offers is the tasty, fun kind, and not some awful pile of blue cheese nastiness stinking up the salad bar and ruining our lives.
We think.