Read for the first time in January 2013.
"God Bless You Mr. Rosewater" is one of Vonnegut's weaker efforts. It is still much better than his least works "Timequake" and "Player Piano." The common thread here is a smug self-righteousness that undermines his schtick. Speaking of schtick, it is one of those occasions when you are conscious of an author doing his schtick which is something you usually enjoy, but in this instance actually grates for some reason. My biggest complaint though is the tone of condescension Vonnegut takes toward "the masses." It's also my biggest problem with "Timequake" and "Player Piano."
It's not quite that I find his embrace of socialism and charity either wrong or insincere, but it seems done with a phony admiration that is tired and hackneyed. In today's world you can see right-wingers use the same kind of romance to sell tax-cuts for the very rich and demonize a guy like Vonnegut as not a real American, which was probably true enough in Vonnegut's time too. And this itself is no fault of Vonnegut's. What I object to is the cheapness of the tactic.
The fact that I came to use the word tactic, I think speaks volumes about this work. I don't think I would that word while discussing Vonnegut at his best. A tactic is used by someone with an argument to make. And though I would never say Vonnegut is not making an argument in his works - He is a deeply moral author with something to say about how we should live - I would say that the body of his arguments are not so nakedly evident in his best work.
No Vonnegut's pedanticism is hidden in his best works behind his wild creativity, entertaining characters, and brilliantly funny humor. This work does have its share of entertaining characters and at times the humor is as legitimately funny as anything in literature. But again, there are moments when the Vonnegut schtick grates. And again, it often feels as though Vonnegut is a little too smug about the whole thing. And there's that creepy feeling you get where someone seems to be showing their respect for the "working man," but you get the sense, not exactly that Vonnegut doesn't respect them, but that the respect is misapplied and that there is a fundamental disrespect congruent with the sincere respect. Like he respects the working man, but also knows that he could never be one, and lurking in his mind is the belief that this is so because he is in small but important ways better.
That's the charge at its most naked with minimal dancing around. I hate to put it that baldly, but I try to put plainly what I find off-putting in the tone of Vonnegut's writing at times like these and it is the best I can do. Nonetheless, this is one of those Vonnegut books that should be read like some people read the Bible. The world would be a better place if more people read this book. It's just not among his best.
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