Dana's Influence on Rufus

One of the main themes that's definitely being explored throughout Kindred is the capability and tendency of people to change, especially in the presence of some new social setting or dynamic. Kevin and Dana are both intensely interested in maintaining their twentieth century philosophies and attitudes, even in the context of such a wildly different world where every idea seems to go against theirs. Both of them, especially Dana, are fearful of adjusting too well to the backwards norms of this brutal time period. Equally importantly though, the book also explores this theme of human change as Dana tries to impart her contemporary ideas of racial and gender equality to Rufus in an effort to alter his ideas and actions for the better. She knows that she can only have an incredibly limited impact on him, but still she strives to go against his upbringing and, unfortunately, never seems to have as much effect on him as she thinks she does.

I don't doubt that Rufus demonstrates that she's done something to change him. He's clearly very sympathetic toward her, goes out of his way to keep her close to him, and makes an effort to treat her with some respect. Still, this only points to Dana's ability to make Rufus like her. She's failed to make any perceivable impact on his idea of a trusting relationship. He seems to have some underlying abandonment issues, demonstrated by how his relationships are always completely dominated by him. I don't think he can even begin to conceive of one where he isn't the power figure. He will never restrain himself from trying to get what he wants, no matter how much it will hurt others, and it makes me wonder what exactly it is that Dana's done to alter his actions in any way. He feels his love for Alice should be enough justification for her rape, and his more platonic love for Dana should be enough reason to force her to stay with him.

Rufus' lack of a conscience is pretty sickening, and Dana clearly feels the same way, yet she always seems to give him the benefit of the doubt at just about every opportunity. We saw this especially when she accepted that he had sent the letters, even when she had been warned he probably didn't. She feels a familial connection to Rufus and sees some hope for change in him, despite all evidence to the contrary. Rufus trusts Dana but completely takes her for granted, and Dana interprets his confidence around her and politeness toward her as her making a positive impact on him. I can't help but roll my eyes a bit every time Dana finds herself surprised at Rufus' harsh actions, thinking that she's figured him out. I definitely take his behavior to be more indicative of the fact that he has power over her, is used to having this sort of power over people like her, and has no intention to give it up.

I imagine Rufus will remain a fairly static character throughout the course of the novel and Dana will eventually have to accept her failure to change him.

A Delusional Middle-Aged Man

The postmodernist fiction we've been reading so far has certainly required some suspension of disbelief. Ragtime flaunted its fictitious historical meetups, forcing the reader to accept them as factual within the world of the novel. Mumbo Jumbo, even more so, constantly invited the reader to believe in the slew of fictitious or impossible elements of the story, like the secret societies and immortal beings and whatever else. Likewise, once aliens were introduced in Slaughterhouse Five, I had to decide whether or not to take their existence for granted within the novel itself. It's not always very easy to discern what's intended to be real or not real within the world of a work of fiction.

Obviously the aliens are figments of Vonnegut's imagination, and he doesn't try to hide that by giving them any sort of scientific credibility. Still, for most of the novel, I was fairly convinced that they did exist within the world of Slaughterhouse Five. It wasn't until I was toward the end that I really started to get the impression that they were only the delusions of a sad, damaged, middle-aged man. Chapter nine is where this is especially demonstrated, as, immediately following his traumatic brain injury and still under observation, he wanders into an adult bookstore where he begins to read The Big Board. I doubt it's much coincidence that it's about "an Earthling man and woman who were kidnapped by extra-terrestrials" and "put on display in a zoo on a planet called Zircon-212." Only moments later, he catches a glimpse of the pornstar Montana Wildhack and an article speculating of her disappearance. His broken mind immediately latches onto these random details of his surroundings and used them to help craft a new story of himself.

It seemed fairly evident to me at this point that poor Billy is having delusions that are drastically upsetting his memory. Nearly all of his time travel episodes that he describes throughout the novel only take him to points preceding the brain injury and his daughter shortly afterward asking, "What are we going to do with you?" His memory is disrupted and jumbled, and he makes sense of it all by saying he became "unstuck in time" and was, in a completely unrelated event, abducted by aliens. This works well to explain Billy's passivity and reluctance to try and affect any outcomes he's sure will happen during his time travels. His own death, the only event he time travels to beyond the events immediately following his plane crash (I think this is true, someone please fact check me if I'm incorrect here), is almost certainly a figment of his own imagination. Unfortunately, he'll probably meet his end in a decidedly less dramatic way down the line.

I definitely believe that Billy is a very tragic character, and certainly an interesting choice of personality with which to frame Vonnegut's story.