Mother Night: Spy Curious

I'm not a big fan of the literary canon. Both the people that decide it and the books themselves. They're often nothing but melodramatic, over-hyped fodder turned out by rich white men who hate their comfortable and secure lives. What you will not find in the literary canon, is black humour. Or political satire. Or anything that resembles Kurt Vonnegut Jr.'s 1961 war novel, Mother Night. Now, I'm not going to go on some big tirade, screaming that it should be inducted into the canon, because honestly, I couldn't care less. It does not a good book make. But when you have quotes like "We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be" and "There are plenty of good reasons for fighting...but no good reason to ever hate without reservation, to 
imagine that God Almighty hates with you, too", you probably deserve a bit of attention. 

The plot of this book is easy to summarise, but impossible to fully explain. Howard W. Campbell is the protagonist, an American counter spy who works during the war as a Nazi propagandist, while simultaneously broadcasting messages to the American army. He is unable to tell anyone about this, however, so once the war ends, he finds an America that hates him, and a fascist movement that idolises him. It presents plenty of opportunities for love, betrayal, wit and regret, and with Campbell at a Sideshow Bob level of cynicism and intelligence, it makes for a main character that's both sympathetic and hate-able. With Nazi best friends, American associates and a wife who may or may not be alive, the fact that Campbell takes this all in his stride is probably the most ridiculous part of the novel. And in contrast to most stories, that usually consist mostly of set up, then maybe a single twist near the end, Mother Night is nothing but plot twists, causing the reader to second and third guess themselves and take nothing at face value.

The novel has an abundance of colloquialism, using its profound imagery only when it doesn't detract from the story, which is, as it happens, not that often. There will often be a number of pages in a row where there is nothing but speech, broken up only by an "I said" or "She asked". As lazy as this appears to be on paper (I'm so witty), it actually does a very effective job of keeping the attention of the reader where it should be; on the dialogue and on the story. Vonnegut doesn't feel the need to tell you what the villa ten blocks away from where the conversation that these two characters are having looks like, because who wants to hear about that? Show off's and procrastinators, that's who. Mother Night contains just as much beautiful imagery as a Tess of the D'Urburvilles or a Great Gatsby, but it chooses to use it to further the story, rather than furthering the authors sizable ego. But the best books rarely have the best story, or even the best syntax. It's all about how famous the man, or woman, is behind them. Middle class and white? Links to the monarchy? Died young? You're already half way there.

Mother Night is not some big-city book like his opponent here tonight (points to David Copperfield), but I can say with all honestly that this novel is better than 90% of works in the literary canon. It was popular enough to have a film adaptation, but it flopped harder than the will of a man whose will to live has found an existence outside of love*. Read it. It's not very long, and it's not structured in any fancy way, but if you're not engaged within thirty pages, I'll refund you the penny it'll cost you on Amazon.

*I'm now referencing the book in my review of the book. My love knows no bounds.