Cat’s Cradle: Allusions 4 key examples

Vonnegut’s introduction wraps two allusions in a single sentence. “Call me Jonah” riffs off Herman Melville’s Moby Dick, whose iconic first sentence—“Call me Ishmael”—introduces the protagonist-narrator to the reader. In his additional suggestion of “Jonah,” John points to the biblical prophet famously swallowed by a whale.

Both references offer the novel cultural grounding while extending its thematic through-lines. They summon classic narratives for Cat’s Cradle to be read with and against. Vonnegut’s allusion to Moby Dick implicitly shores up Ishmael’s doomed whale-hunting expedition, which finds an unlikely parallel in San Lorenzo’s destruction. Like Ahab, the monomaniacal captain who pursues the white whale to his demise, Papa Monzano’s obsession with ice-nine sends the island towards its solid, “andiron”-like death. His nod to the Old Testament prophet meanwhile summons a biblical analog to the protagonist of Cat’s Cradle. John cites Jonah in recognition of his knack for being in “certain places at certain times,” satirically remaking divine Providence into the image of Bokononism’s vin-dit.

Vonnegut’s mention of Jonah adds an additional nuance to his own story. In the Book of Jonah, God spares Nineveh—the city Jonah visits—from divine punishment after they repent. In John’s case, San Lorenzo does not. The island’s people must bear the apocalypse because of Papa Monzano’s foolhardy faith in science. 

John’s reference to Alfred Nobel casts shadows by unpacking the more sinister history behind the world’s most prestigious award. In mentioning that Alfred Nobel “invented dynamite,” the novel sets an uncanny precedent for its own characters. Dr. Hoenikker—the “father” of the atomic bomb—finds a 19th-century equivalent in the Swedish scientist who made a living off cannon and arms manufacturing.

The proximity of scientific “genius” to destruction unearths a disturbing truism. That the most celebrated thinkers are so closely associated with war and death speaks volumes to the discipline’s inherently immoral underpinnings. By unraveling Nobel’s complicated legacy, John’s allusion implicitly advances the novel’s criticism and cautionary message. It points out science’s roots in horrific violence and death. It also reminds the reader that even the most practical applications of technology cannot be divorced from questions of morality. Dr. Hoenikker and his children sin by sidestepping ethics. Papa Monzano senselessly preaches science and destroys the world while doing so. John’s historical tangent strengthens the case that those who follow pure science will do so at their peril.

John’s simile takes a page from Gulliver’s Travels, a famous work of satire in which the titular protagonist visits distant lands and all their strange people. Gulliver—the story’s shipwrecked captain—gets mixed up among giants, dwarfs, magicians, and immortals. In this instance, Cat’s Cradle gives a sense for Newt’s size by imagining him in the company of Gulliver’s giant Brobdingnagians.

By paying humorous tribute to Jonathan Swift—a satirical “giant” himself—John tags Gulliver’s Travels as a fitting counterpart to the novel. If the errant voyager meets a dizzying cast of people and practices, the journalist-turned-president finds himself in company that is no less unusual. The San Lorenzans embrace Bokononism for its lies and practice intimacy by rubbing their feet together. Frank, Newt, and Angela gladly hand foreign actors the tools for global destruction. Papa Monzano lords over starving masses in a Gothic castle. Cat’s Cradle shares with its 18th-century satirical twin the same emphasis on journeys and strange people.

John adds a twist to Swift, though. Gulliver comes to appreciate the Houyhnhnms, the fictional horse people who receive him on the last leg of his journey. Finding his hosts to be more decent than humans, the captain even returns home with reluctance. Gulliver’s journey opens his mind and shows him humanity’s own flaws. But in John’s case, his hosts merely destroy the world. Papa Monzano, the Hoenikkers, and the Crosbys deal a defeating gut-punch of stupidity more than anything close to dignity. Swift broadens Gulliver’s horizons, but Vonnegut ends John’s instead.

John’s reference to Swiss Family Robinson would have supplied contemporary cultural context to Vonnegut’s readers. The 1960 Disney movie features the Robinson family, who flee from Switzerland during the Napoleonic wars only to get shipwrecked on a remote island en route to New Guinea. In the ensuing struggle for survival, they fend off pirates, construct a tree house, salvage supplies, and devise booby traps.

Swiss Family Robinson superimposes a familiar narrative upon John’s own circumstances, drawing attention to points of resemblance and potential departure. Like the Robinsons, the novel’s motley bunch of survivors must band together for shelter, food, and resources. They must depend on thrift and resourcefulness for their rescue. But the differences between the novel and film create an ironic understanding, too. The Robinson family eventually considers a return to the “outside world.” While the Crosbys stitch American flags and Frank transmits SOS messages, the novel never leaves any such suggestion. As far as John’s narration suggests, there may be no one else in the world at this point. His further mention of the “Walt Disney charm” adds to this divergence. John’s appeal to a brand associated with childlike fantasy jars against San Lorenzo’s solid, frozen realities. The island—frozen and stripped of life—may be anything but the cheerful ending that the Disney brand represents. For the novel, Disney’s movie creates an eerie, almost delusional, dissonance.