How we cite our quotes: (Chapter.Paragraph)
Quote #7
Eichmann was writing the story of his life, just as I am now writing the story of my life. That chinless old plucked buzzard, with six million murders to explain away, gave me a saintly smile. He was sweetly interested in his work, in me, in the guards in the prison, in everybody. (29.27)
Eichmann shows up in this novel as a clueless, self-absorbed figure, and at this stage in his life, he's just playing the part of careful writer. He observes all those around him—probably because he's heard writing advice like "write what you know."
Yeah, when you're Adolf Eichmann, "what you know" is kind of vomit-inducing. But whatever.
The kicker? No amount of observation will turn Eichmann's writing into a self-reflexive act: he's not going to write until he suddenly sees what he's done and registers the weight of the deaths on his hands. It's just never gonna happen, because he's not capable of that kind of interiority. For Eichmann, writing is just another form of propaganda.
Quote #8
'You still write?' Eichmann asked me, there in Tel Aviv.
'One last project—' I said, 'a command performance for the archives.' (29.54-55)
Just as Campbell's radio broadcasts were a big phony show, his very important, heartfelt confessional is—wait. How can this also be a joke? Say it ain't so, Campbell, say it ain't so. Sigh. Well, this complicates things. It's getting to be that you can't take a dark, postmodern comedy completely sincerely anymore—oh, yeah. That. Teehee. Okay, so all writing is complicated, and this novel is no less so. We'll just leave it at that.
Quote #9
'We thought you'd kill yourself before the sun came up again.'
'I should have,' I said.
'I'm damn glad you didn't,' he said.
'I'm damn sorry I didn't,' I said. 'You would think that a man who's spent as much time in the theater as I have would know when the proper time came for the hero to die—if he was to be a hero.' I snapped my fingers softly. 'There goes the whole play about Helga and me, "Nation of Two,'' I said, 'because I missed my cue for the great suicide scene.'
'I don't admire suicide,' said Wirtanen.
'I admire form,' I said. 'I admire things with a beginning, a middle, an end—and, whenever possible, a moral, too.'
'There's a chance she's still alive, I guess,' said Wirtanen. 'A loose end,' I said. 'An irrelevancy. The play is over.' (32.29-36)
This mini-manifesto on writing makes it sound as if Campbell is invoking some serious rules thrown down by Aristotle on form and content. What's with all this beginning, middle, and end stuff? Why do we need a moral?
Is Vonnegut himself adhering to these rules? It doesn't feel like it, since Campbell's narrative jumps around a lot, even if the twists are perfectly timed. Then again, Vonnegut does play fast and loose with his casually obvious foreshadowing.
What's the moral we're going to take from this? That in his anger, Campbell has reduced the value of his and Helga's lives to a matter of entrances and exits onstage. Womp womp.