Book Review: Mother Night

Kurt Vonnegut presents an intriguing tale of Howard W. Campbell Jr. (fictional), a WWII American spy, imprisoned in Israel for being a propagandist for the Nazis in Mother Night. Mr. Campbell narrates his life as a memoir that he is writing while in prison. In the process he challenges the reader to consider some of the ethically gray areas of life.

Mr. Campbell’s story blends the heroism of a spy with the cunning of being a Nazi, the warmth of friendship with the betrayal of trust to present a messy but accurate moral state of the world. Vonnegut narrates how men who are extremist in thought consider circumstances to have only one dimension. He contrasts such characters with those who are moderate in thought and therefore, almost nonchalant towards extremism. Finally, Vonnegut displays how in the interaction of these two kinds of characters, it might look like the former kind seem to have an upper hand. Whether that is really the case, is left to the discretion of the reader. On the optimistic side, Vonnegut demonstrates how intrinsic values such as friendship, loyalty and love survive narrow mindedness and extremism.

Overall, the use of black comedy provides some light moments to the readers as they consider the heavy topics of loneliness, hatred and WWII. Anyone looking for a compelling story which presents the multi-faceted and long-lasting effect of war on humanity will not be disappointed by this book.

Isn't it strange?

Isn’t it strange, that the wandering man who embraces change,

Is the one that finds the fidelity to stay constant to his ultimate self?

Isn’t it strange, that the quiet soul which lives through ennui,

Is the one that finds the dexterity to weave tales out of thin air?

Isn’t it strange, that the strong feet which leave the hearth to explore new grounds,

Are the ones that find the tenderness to build a warm Home?

Isn’t it strange, that the ambitious mind which relentlessly pursues knowledge,

Is the one that finds the humility to accept its smallness?

Isn’t it strange, that the fragile heart which lives through strife and despair,

Is the one that finds the strength to support relentless faith?

Isn’t it strange, that the naive man who faces the threat of indifference,

Is the one that finds the elusive wisdom of unconditional Love?

Isn’t it strange, that the fearful soul which surrenders to the experiences of living,

Is the one that finds the fearlessness to face the shortening of life?

~Rishika Sudhir Dhody

Yet

And yet, they keep on walking, maybe slowly, sometimes draggingly

And yet, they keep on walking, in the direction in which the heart points, however convoluted

And yet, they keep on walking, and trust that the sane head will protect them from the thorns and the storms

And yet, they keep on walking, even as they climb the same snow-capped treacherous mountain, thrice

And yet, they keep on walking, believing only in the map imprinted by their determined hearts

And yet, they keep on walking, only knowing the direction and not the physical destination,

maybe slowly,

sometimes draggingly,

and yet, they keep on walking

~Rishika Sudhir Dhody