Player Piano-Kurt Vonnegut

Player Piano is the 8th novel of Kurt Vonnegut's that I have read and by far the most prophetic of his works. Published on August 8th, of 1952 and read from the context of that era and held up against where mankind's current station sits among the currents of time, I must say, it does not bode well for the future. *** In a very brief summary for the sake of context—Player Piano is about a dystopian future (not too far in depiction from the way things are at the moment) where, in the aftermath of World War 3, society has shifted into two simple sects of polarized hierarchy: engineers/machinists who lead affluent lives in Ilium, New York—surrounded by the latest of creature comforts. And the expendable who live in Homestead, whose services in upper-class society are no longer necessary—after having been replaced by machines. The main character, Paul Proteus, runs the plant at Ilium and is viewed by all within his circle of elitists as a very upstanding citizen who adds great armory to his family's shield of posterity. While he is encouraged by his money-hungry wife to go after a more powerful position in Pittsburgh with unerring zest, internally, Paul is becoming disillusioned by an automated life dominated more and more by the day by machinery and wishes to return to a more primitive life of simplicity, where the labor of man's hands directly correlates to his daily provisions. Knowing that such thoughts, if ever revealed to his inner circle, would be akin to insane ravings, he maintains his pessimism in secret until the lid blows off of the pot and his desires become unfounded. From henceforth Paul attempts to cross over the bridge and live life in Homestead with the throw-aways. Still, he is thwarted by his former company which leads to his arrest for being suspected of leadership within the Ghost Shirt Society brigade, an underground faction of rebels hoping to completely remove the machines from existence and begin again from scratch. *** In the next life (provided I have lived honorably enough to gain entry into Heaven) one of the things I look forward to the most is seeing genuine truth absent of the veil of deceit from what we endure in this life.

What is the end game of AI?

How deep and dark are the genuine ambitions of engineers pimping machines dominance over human beings?

Vonnegut's imagination of what life will end up becoming is harrowingly accurate to what we are seeing play out today. The creature comforts provided by technology have completely swallowed us whole as a human race, and the chasm between inner city chaos and the wealthy suburbs deepens by the second. Thanks to the advent of artificial reality peddled by boatloads of data technology, people, by and large, have both willfully and completely surrendered any faculty to both think and act. The value attached to one's word grows to become more expendable by the minute, and flaking, or, honoring commitments, is no longer a priority. No activity is worth doing lest you broadcast it online. Kids are no longer playing outside in front yards or engaging in conversations at the dinner table but have been induced to suck on digital pacifiers of TikTok or YouTube as a means of keeping them preoccupied. Inflation is rising at astounding rates while wages remain persistently stagnant, virtually squashing the middle class out of existence. Bars are growing to become packed to capacity while libraries and churches are becoming more and more dormant. Deliberately twisted semantics have reduced people to become incoherent in their speech and illiterate in their writing. The addiction to jaded data creates within Baby Boomers a bleak painting of society and a hopeless and futile future that induces feelings of failure for having not done their part in diverting the proceeding generation's attention to healthier fruits in the orchard, while the converse generation devours the same data as an exchange for their self-esteem while following the flawless lives of false idols and holding it up against their own. Cooking at home and being cognizant of harmful ingredients loses constantly to the convenience of food delivery services. The rectangular monoliths that either sit next to us or in our pockets have become resurrected umbilical cords. People by and large who work for large chain conglomerates act and seem completely defeated and resigned when forced to deal with customers and their contempt for society grows by the day. Imagination is dwindling. Conversations are less genuine. Organic antidotes of eating clean, being active, and going outside constantly wain in favor of chemicalized psychotropics. Homes have become self-imposed prison cells. Being careless with money, condemnation of others, and ostracism are strongly encouraged. If you have an accident, or require help, the public is more apt to reach into their pocket and record you on their phone rather than offer a helping hand. All of this is thanks to life under machinery's dominion. It is almost as if God is washing his hands of us at times and saying, "Hey, if you want a life without me or my words, then you got it." Now, this is a rather universally bleak caricature of where things stand today, I'll admit that much. But by and large, it is what I see to be true in my day-to-day odysseys. It's gotten to the point that people look at me funny for reading a book In broad daylight while waiting for the bus. As if I am begging for attention by reading instead of scrolling through my phone. Are there ways of fighting against this tide of Artificial Intelligence? I believe so. It's not an easy battle to fight, but one that merits polishing off some weaponry. Personally, I make it a point to deliberately disengage from my phone by leaving it at home while I walk up to get groceries as a means of severing the tether. At the beginning of the year, I log off all social media for the first quarter and quit drinking in cadence. I refuse to comment on random people's posts and keep scrolling to the bare minimum. I read as much as possible and don't watch the news. I strive to be outside as much as possible, walk everywhere, drink clean water, and try not to let my diet fall too far off the tracks. I seek to listen and catch myself when people are telling a story and I can't wait to usurp it with one of my own. I strive (and have gotten better) at reducing condescending remarks that aren't funny when someone says something I disagree with. I pray daily, have constant dialogue with God, and do my best to invest in friendships I care about by setting up plans well in advance for physical time together. These things, in a world going madder and losing more and more of a sense of itself by the minute, seem to help (me, at least) in keeping strength while swimming upstream in a tide of digital malaise. *** Back to the book. Of all the Vonnegut novels I have read, this was easily his most straightforward and comprehensible. Some of his works, like The Sirens of Titan and Slaughterhouse Five, can be rather arduous to get through at certain points, but always reward the reader for sticking through to the end. In Player Piano there is no underlining subterfuge to decipher, it's pretty black and white and uncompromising in Vonnegut's pessimistic (and fairly accurate) painting of the future. I must say though, that the shame of it all is that characters, such as Paul Proteus—who shun their compromised existence in favor of love for their brethren—are becoming less and less believable, for us as the proles, to even hope exist anymore. The (quote, unquote) heroes of today have dwindled into a very thin populace. For further evidence of this fact to the matter, just look at the number of celebrities who pimp just about anything in commercial breaks during football season which proves that there is no limit to what money can purchase: Alternating John Legend and Travis Kelce proudly showing off their government juice badge band aids is Matthew McConaughey endorsing fast food for Uber, then Patrick Mahomes and his fat shit coach Andy Reid—whose son drunkenly rammed into a family from behind at 83 MPH and hospitalized their five-year-old daughter—get paid to squabble over chicken nuggets before eventually reassuring you that "like a good neighbor" State Farm would never deny your insurance claim, and finally Lebron and Kevin Hart show how happy they are at throwing their money away in sports betting parlays. Through all of these phonies, I see no potential Paul Proteus's, only moralizing delusional's getting paid to peddle you a load of shit that is detrimental to good health and clean living.

Grade: A-

Verdict: Read