Venus on the Half-Shell (2 page)

That flabbergasted me. Of course, it was a hoax, and people would know it. But I rallied, and I argued some more. Finally, he relented and gave me permission to write
Venus
as Trout. I offered to split the royalties with him, but he magnanimously refused to accept them. However, he did stress that no reference to his name or his works should appear in or on
Venus
.

I thanked him, and, elated, started to write. I was Kilgore Trout, in a sense, and I was writing the sort of book that I imagined Trout would write. But I tried to give the prose, characters, plot, and philosophy of
Venus
a Vonnegutian flavor. After all, Vonnegut had admitted that he was also, in a sense, Trout. I was only restricted in writing
Venus
by having to make the protagonist the Space Wanderer and by including my expansion of the abridged “red-hot scene” as described in
Rosewater.
I did not entirely emulate Vonnegut in the use of short words and a sort of See-Dick-See-Jane-See-Spot prose. But I did try to keep the text from becoming anything resembling William Faulkner’s. Vonnegut wrote a very simple prose because he had a low opinion of the attention-span and general literary and lexical knowledge of the 1970s’ college students, who formed a large percentage of his readers.

It’s worth noting that such science fiction writers as Isaac Asimov and Frank Herbert did not avoid complicated ideas and plots and long sentences and words, and they did very well among the college students and general reading public.

The protagonist of
Venus
was named Simon Wagstaff. Simon because he was a sort of Simple Simon of the nursery rhyme. And
Wagstaff b
ecause he certainly “wagged” (and waved) his sexual “staff” around during various sexual encounters. I also, unlike Vonnegut, put in a lot of references to literature and fictional authors. It would not matter that the average reader would not understand these, and it would amuse the academics. Or so I thought. I was too obscure for even the supposedly overeducated academics.

How many knew that Silas T. Comberbacke, the baseballfan spaceman (sort of an Ancient Mariner) in
Venus
was the pseudonym of Samuel T. Coleridge, the great British poet, during his brief stay in the English army? Or that Bruga, Trout’s favorite poet, was taken (with permission) from a novel by Ben Hecht,
Count Bruga?
And that Bruga, the wild Jewish Bukowski-like Chicago poet, was based on Hecht’s friend, Maxwell E. Bodenheim, the Greenwich Village poet and wino of the 1930s? Or that there were many similar references to other fictional writers? Who cared except me?

Most of the alien names in
Venus
were formed by transposing the letters of English or non-English words. Thus, Chworktap comes from
patchwork.
Dokal comes from
caudal,
which means having a tail. The planet Zelpst is a phonetic rendering of the German
selbst,
meaning
self.
The planet Raproshma is a rendering of the French
rapprochement.
The planet Clerun-Gowph derives from the German
Aufklärung,
enlightenment. And so on. Most readers sensibly do not concern themselves with such games, but I had fun with them. And I imagine that Trout, though he had only a high school education, read widely, and he would have played the same game.

The philosophical basis of
Venus
dealt with free will and immortality. Trout, in
Breakfast of Champions
, longs to be young again. And predeterminism is certainly a theme that runs through many of Vonnegut’s works. Vonnegut is like Mark Twain in that he believes (or writes as if he believes) that everything is predetermined. Twain thought that all physical things and our thoughts and behavior were mechanically fixed from the moment the first atom in the beginning of this universe bumped into the second atom and the second atom into the third. And so on. Vonnegut apparently believes that our troubling and violent lives and irrational behavior are the result of “bad chemicals.”

This interests me because I have been interested in the problem of free will versus predeterminism for about fifty-eight years. But I believe that humans do have free will, though few, however, exercise that faculty. Perhaps I believe this because I am predetermined to do so. But, as Trout, I wrote as if Twain and Vonnegut were correct in their belief in predeterminism.

In any event, Vonnegut is a thorough predeterminist in that his works have no villains or heroes. No blame is put upon anybody for even the vilest deeds and most colossal selfishness, savagery, stupidity, and greed. That’s the way things are, and they can be no other. Only God the Utterly Indifferent is responsible and perhaps not even He. Trout has the same attitude.

Just as Eliot Rosewater, the multimillionaire in
Rosewater, Slaughterhouse-Five
, and
Breakfast
, thinks that Trout is the greatest writer that ever lived, so Trout, in his
Venus
, has Simon Wagstaff, his hero, believe that Jonathan Swift Somers III is the greatest writer that ever existed. Wagstaff also has his favorite poet, Bruga. Some of Somers’ stories are outlined, and some of Bruga’s poems are printed in
Venus
.

Somers III is my creation, but he is the grandson of Judge Somers and the son of Jonathan Swift Somers II. Those familiar with Edgar Lee Masters’
Spoon River Anthology
will recognize the latter two. (Mentioned with the permission of the Masters’ estate.)

One of Somers III’s protagonists is Ralph von Wau Wau (Wau Wau is German for Bow! Wow!). He is a German Shepherd dog whose intelligence has been raised to human-genius level by a scientist. Ralph is also a writer, and I had planned to write a story as by him titled
Some Humans Don’t Stink.
That story’s main character would be Shorter Vondergut, a writer. (Shorter from
kurt
, German for
short
, and Vondergut from the German
von der Gut,
meaning of the [River] Gut.) Thus, the cycle of fictional authors would be complete. In fact, I did write two stories under Somers’ name about Ralph. These were published, but I doubt I’ll ever write the whole cycle. I have passed through this particular phase. It was fun while it lasted.

The
Venus
manuscript went to Dell with some photographs of me as Trout (wearing a big false beard), a selected bibliography of Trout’s works, and a biographical sketch of him. All done with tongue in cheek or wherever. The furor on its publication both amused and gratified me. There were even questions about the true identity of Trout in the
New York Times.
An article in the
National Enquirer
“proved” that Vonnegut wrote
Venus
because of its plots, characters, philosophy, and style.

Meanwhile, Mr. Vonnegut was neither amused nor gratified. He was, as I understand, flooded with letters asking if he had written
Venus
. Some of these said it was the worst book he had ever written; some, the best. The main cause of unhappiness, however, was that he misunderstood a remark made by Leslie Fiedler, the distinguished author and literary critic, while Fiedler was a guest on William F. Buckley’s TV show,
Firing Line
. The subject was science fiction, and Vonnegut’s name came up. Dr. Fiedler, who knew that I had written
Venus
but did not reveal its authorship, said that I had said that I was going to write
Venus
no matter what the obstacles, including Vonnegut. My memory is hazy on the exact wording. Vonnegut, however, apparently thought that Fiedler had said that I was going to write
Venus
without Vonnegut’s permission. Something to that effect.

Whatever was said, Mr. Vonnegut became angry. Consequently, he forbade me to write another Trout novel I’d planned,
The Son of Jimmy Valentine.
That would have been my last novel as by Trout, but it was not to be. Vonnegut had the right, of course, to refuse permission for me to write it.

Legally, I had the right to sell
Venus
to the movies. And, when a producer made a proposal to make an animated movie of it with The Grateful Dead providing the music, I was elated. But Mr. Vonnegut phoned me and expressed his regrets that his lawyer would sue the producer if a movie was made. Vonnegut told me he was sorry about this, but I was very prolific and so would not miss any money I might get from the deal. Again, he had the moral right to scotch this proposal. Also, I doubt that anything would have come from the proposal. I’ve had over forty of my works optioned for Hollywood, and nothing has come of any of these.

The fun continued. Many letters addressed to Trout were sent on by my agent or the publisher. One letter purported to be from another Vonnegut character, Harrison Bergeron. Trout was invited to be the artist-in-residence during the 1975 Bicentennial Literary Explosion in Frankfort, Kentucky. The editor of
Contemporary Authors
sent a letter inquiring about including Trout in the book for 1976. She complained that Trout was supposed to have written 117 novels, but she could find only a reference to
Venus on the Half-Shell.
“It would seem,” she wrote, “that Kilgore Trout is a pseudonym. Would your agent furnish the real name of the author?”

As Trout, I filled out the data-forms she had sent and mailed them to her through my agent. I explained that all my novels had been originally published by disreputable fly-by-night publishers who had not paid me any royalties and had not even paid a fee to register my books with the Library of Congress. I never checked the 1976 issue, but I doubt that the editor included the Trout item.

However, as time went on, I became worried about Vonnegut’s displeasure at the idea that people might think he was the author of
Venus
. At the same time, it was beyond me why he should be displeased that people might think he wrote
Venus
and yet not be distressed because people
knew
he was the author of
Breakfast of Champions, Slapstick, Jailbird,
and
Deadeye Dick.

To spread the word around that I, not Vonnegut, was the author of
Venus
, I revealed the truth at every chance to do so and did my best when I was speaking at conventions and conferences to bring up the subject. I did the same when I was being interviewed on radio and TV. Just how well the science fiction grapevine has worked, I do not know. By now, it does not seem to matter. Time has cleared this problem away. In the past few years, when I spoke at universities and colleges, I found that only about four or five in audiences of 500 to 800 recognized the name of Trout or Vonnegut. And I was told by a fan who questioned Vonnegut about
Venus
after a lecture that Vonnegut had difficulty remembering anything about it, including my name. So, whatever he felt at the time regarding
Venus
has passed.

I wish to thank Mr. Vonnegut for his generosity in permitting me to publish
Venus
as by Trout. I am sorry that it may have caused him any perturbation. I am even sorrier that he could not understand that
Venus
was my tribute to him and my repayment for all the delight his pre-1975 works gave me.

For several years, I’ve been trying to get
Venus
published under my own name. Finally, it has come about.

But, for a brief though glorious period, I was Kilgore Trout.

Philip José Farmer, 1988

This is another specimen of the “biographical.” It originally appeared in a fanzine,
Moebius Trip
, December 1971 issue, edited and published by Ed Connor of Peoria, Illinois. Later on, I suggested to the editor of
Esquire
that he might want to publish this “life.” Regretfully, he rejected the idea. He did not think that Kilgore Trout was as well known as Tarzan. This is true, but the majority of
Esquire
’s readers are probably readers of Kurt Vonnegut’s works and would be acquainted with Trout. So it goes.

I identify strongly with Trout.

The editor and readers of
Moebius Trip
thought that the letter from Trout and the letter describing Trout’s interview in the
Peoria Journal Star
were made up by me. No such thing. These letters actually appeared in the letter section of the editorial page of Peoria’s only local newspaper, and I can prove it.

Since I wrote this, I have been fortunate enough to read the galleys of Vonnegut’s novel
Breakfast of Champions
. It contains many new facts which have enabled me to amplify and to correct the original article. Even so, some things are still in doubt because of contradictions in the three books in which Trout figures. Mr. Vonnegut evidently regards consistency as the hobgoblin of small writers.

Internal evidence in
God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater
, the first book about Trout, implies that Trout was born in 1890 or 1898.
Slaughterhouse-Five,
the second, implies that he was born in 1902. But
Breakfast of Champions
makes it clear that he was born in 1907.

There are other discrepancies.
God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater
says that no two of Trout’s books ever had the same publisher. In
Breakfast of Champions
the World Classics Library publishers have issued many of his books.

Rosewater
states that Trout’s works can only be found in disreputable bookstores dealing in pornography. Yet the same book has Eliot Rosewater picking up a Trout novel from a book rack in an airport.

Trout’s novels are supposed to be extremely difficult to find. Rosewater is an avid collector of Trout (in fact, the only one), and he has only forty-one novels and sixty-three short stories. Yet the crooked lawyer, Mushari, goes into a Washington, D.C. smut dealer’s and finds every one of Trout’s eighty-seven novels.

Breakfast of Champions
says that until Trout met a truck driver in 1972 he had never talked with anybody who’d read one of his stories. But Eliot Rosewater and Billy Pilgrim had read his stories and had met him some years before.

Trout’s sole fan letter (from Rosewater) reached him in Cohoes, New York, according to
Breakfast.
But
Rosewater
says that Trout was living in Hyannis, Massachusetts, when he got the letter.