Between 2007 and 2012, Kurt Vonnegut published five new books. Pretty impressive for a dead man. The books—Armageddon in Retrospect (2008), Look at the Birdie (2009), While Mortals Sleep (2011), Sucker’s Portfolio (2012), and We Are What We Pretend to Be (2012)—feature stories, essays, and works-in-progress Vonnegut chose not to publish during his life. The stories are from his days writing for the “slicks,” stories Vonnegut excluded from Canary in a Cat House, Welcome to the Monkey House, and Bagombo Snuff Box. They are not his best work, and most are not on par with even his weakest publications.
Jerome Klinkowitz, in Talking Vonnegut: Centennial Interviews and Essays, noted that the unpublished work had been rejected three times, “by Kurt’s agents, by his magazine editors, and by himself.” Noting that Vonnegut had done three “reharvestings” over the years, rejecting the work for publication each time, Klinkowitz worried that the “weak writing” would give ammunition to Vonnegut’s detractors. This seems not to have happened. Vonnegut’s reputation remains strong, and little attention has been given to these books after their initial release.
One of the more enjoyable stories in the posthumously published collections is “FUBAR”, an acronym for “fouled up beyond all recognition,” featured in Look at the Birdie. Fuzz Littler, a forgotten PR man for the General Forge and Foundry Company (Vonnegut’s fictionalized version of his own former employer, General Electric), is banished to the company gym because there’s no room for him within the rest of the PR department. Littler, a sad, lonely man burdened with the care of his ailing mother, feels life passing him by as he responds to inane letters from the public. One day the office door opens and in walks Francine Pefko, “the merriest, prettiest little girl he’d ever seen.” (“Francine Pefko” also appears as Dwayne Hoover’s receptionist and lover in Breakfast of Champions. Could it be the same character?) The vibrant and industrious Francine, on her first day of work at her first job, is eager to assist, but Fuzz’s function is so marginalized that there is no work for her to do. Francine types up three letters and finishes her tasks before lunch.
Though immediately attracted, Fuzz recognizes that a beautiful woman “would have nothing to do with a man who was fubar.” His insecurity is evident. “Not only was she, so fresh and desirable from the Girl Pool, going to discover that her supervisor had a very poor job. She was going to conclude, as well, that her supervisor wasn’t much of a man at all.” (Yes—the story features outdated, sexist language such as “Girl Pool.” The term appears several times in Vonnegut’s stories from the 1950’s. One imagines it was part of the language at GE.) Fuzz, presented as a worn-out middle-aged man, is actually under 30, not so old himself. Recognizing that someone with as much to offer as Francine deserves a better placement within the company, Fuzz tells her to go back to the Girl Pool.
“Tell them about the freak you found in the basement of Building 523. Demand a new assignment.” Francine’s presence elicits some harsh truths, as in their amiable chit-chat Fuzz admits that “I’m afraid I don’t do much of anything, Miss Pefko, but take care of my mother.”
“The cruelest fact of life,” Vonnegut writes, “…sacrifices were really sacrifices. In caring for his mother, he had lost a great deal.” It’s easy to imagine Vonnegut, toiling in the PR department at GE, considering his own sacrifices in having to provide for his growing family. He doesn’t linger over the idea, but it lifts “Fubar” from silly commercial fiction to a story that touches the universal. Most people make sacrifices for loved ones; most people feel life has somehow left them behind. Why else would “FOMO” (Fear of Missing Out) be such a common pitfall of the social media age? Don’t we all have some Fuzz Littler in us, and don’t we all wish a version of Francine Pefko would arrive to shake things up?
Knowing Vonnegut, it shouldn’t surprise that Fuzz’s rejuvenation begins with music. The gym is home to company dances, and Francine, instead of heading back to the Girl Pool, plays a record of a popular song over the sound system.
“I thought music would make you a little happier,” Francine says. Instead of mourning their banishment to the company gym, Francine sees opportunity. There’s a pool, and they could spend their workdays swimming. Fuzz balks about the misuse of company time, but it’s simply fear, and Francine calls him out. “Maybe you like being unhappy so much, you wouldn’t do anything to change it.”
Encouraged to go skinny-dipping, Fuzz faces his moment of truth. “If he refused to throw himself into all that chlorinated goodness, then he really was a contemptible thing, a man who enjoyed being miserable.” He dives into the water, “his lungs filled with a mixture of laughter and shouts.” In his pleasure he starts barking, and through the gym’s ventilation system, Francine barks back. The story ends with Francine going out to buy a swimsuit, and in her admission of not having a boyfriend, the reader senses the possibilities, and so does Fuzz. The story’s final word is “Eden.”
Though clearly dated, “Fubar” raises interesting questions about power in relationships. The easy assumption is that Fuzz (male, older, supervisor) holds the power over Francine (female, younger, new employee), and yet it’s Francine who dominates the relationship, her vitality and attractiveness no match for Fuzz’s drab resignation. It’s doubtful Vonnegut, writing in the 1950’s for commercial magazines like the Saturday Evening Post, was exploring this theme, but “Fubar”, for all its commercial slickness, shows how relationships don’t always follow the predominant cultural narrative. In director Sami Mustaklem’s 2019 short film adaptation, Fuzz is a “not quite young woman” instead of a male. In “Fubar,” it’s not the gender that matters but the importance of embracing what life has to offer. The film, which features comedian Lewis Black, is hard to find, but can be viewed here:
While Vonnegut’s short fiction from the 1950’s is often formulaic and reflective of the social conditions and gender relations of the era, the stories are consistently entertaining, and longtime Vonnegut reader should check them out—but read the novels first!
For more on Vonnegut’s posthumously published collected, see Talking Vonnegut: Centennial Interviews and Essays.