Slaughterhouse-Five is one of Kurt Vonnegut’s most witty satires. The wry humor of the book is only equaled by the skillful way the author weaves real life, fantasy and tragedy into a compelling whole. The protagonist, Billy Pilgrim, travels back and forth between a far-off utopian planet, a more recent horrific wartime firestorm, and life as a suburban eye doctor. My vision of the novel was made indelible by George Roy Hill’s 1974 film adaptation that faithfully cuts through the morphing time and place transitions to enhance the eerie sensibility of Vonnegut’s original prose.
Now, however, I have another vision in my mind’s eye as I re-read the book. Igor Karash‘s illustrations for a forthcoming limited edition from Easton Press bring more nuanced darkness to Vonnegut’s shadows. Karash, known for his satiric depictions of Stalinist Soviet Union, brings into play dramatic shades of light and dark that illuminate Vonnegut’s personal feelings about the horror of war.
Below, Karash and I discuss the making of this emotionally tense, tactile rendition of a 20th-century classic, which is bound to become a 21st-century treasure.
I’ve read Slaughterhouse–Five at least five times over the past 20 years (and saw the film three times). I am very taken by your visual interpretation. How did this project begin?
In the fall of 2021 (about five months before the Russian invasion of Ukraine) I was approached by the publishing company Easton Press in Connecticut. Honestly, I believe it was only the second or third time in my illustration career that a publisher contacted me directly with a commission. Easton Press is best known for deluxe editions of illustrated classics. When I heard they were interested in me illustrating Slaughterhouse–Five, a book I always admired, it only took me a few seconds to reply with a confirmation that I was fully on board.
My initial step was to formulate a few possible visual scenarios—concepts and mood boards consisting of sketches, previous work that could stylistically work for Kurt Vonnegut, and inspirational images, including war-time photography. One particular concept titled “SO IT GOES” was inspired by an event in the book when Billy Pilgrim watched a black-and-white newsreel backwards and how the Tralfamadorians viewed reality as a thousand images in one glance. The other two concepts involved integrating religious imagery from the early Renaissance, or, quite the opposite, visuals inspired by American sci-fi illustrations of the ’50s and early ’60s.
The “SO IT GOES” concept was chosen by the publisher and I began to develop the series.
You mentioned that you started working on it at the outset of the Ukraine-Russia war. How did it impact your work?
Not in the greatest way. When I started developing the visuals, I was predominantly moved by the idea of examining the “horrors of war,” bouncing on the borderline between the darkest side of human nature and the paradoxical presence of good (this is the main message of the book for me). And then, the first war on the European continent since WWII turned everything upside down. Ukraine for me isn’t just another country—this is where I went to art school, where I met my wife, and where both of my children were born. From day one of the Russian invasion I was closely watching and following all news from Ukraine, contacting my friends there, etc., and almost immediately my drawings of the “horrors of war” on the surface of my drawing tablet started to feel bleak, unimportant and fake compared to the tragic reality unfolding before me, and I more deeply sunk into the hole of “PEOPLE DO NOT LEARN FROM THEIR PAST. SO IT GOES.” It took me a while to find enough inner peace to continue the project.
When were you introduced to Vonnegut’s writing, and what was your initial impression?
I was first introduced to Kurt Vonnegut’s prose during my “previous life” in the Soviet Union. There were few translations of his novels published in the USSR—most notably Cat’s Cradle and Slaughterhouse-Five. Not a lot of American authors were lucky to be published in my country (I say this with sarcasm in my voice). I think the Soviets liked Kurt Vonnegut’s rebellious criticism of the West, satirical commentary of the system, and anti-war sentiment. For us, the then-young generation (in contrast to the official government’s stance), his books were a small window to the West and we mainly enjoyed Vonnegut for his dark humor, surreal settings, fantastic worlds, elements of eroticism, and the oftentimes unusual structures and timelines in his books.
I only read Slaughterhouse–Five in English when I started working on this project. I have read it in its entirety about 10 times during the illustration process, and would periodically revisit specific chapters and sections.
What I like most is that none of the images you’ve made conform to my vision of the book, which I think is dictated by the movie. What is your thinking behind the pictures?
Somehow, perhaps subconsciously, my experiences in the Soviet military (1979–1981) shaped my vision for this project. Let me explain: There was a very strict draft system, so everyone had to serve in some capacity. I was drafted into the army while I was a student taking evening classes at an architecture college in Baku, Azerbaijan. I was a young 19-year-old dreamy/artistic type, so even though they found a military uniform and a pair of boots for me, I was very unprepared and quite unfit, a Soviet-style Billy Pilgrim.
I think what came through in my drawings based on my personal experiences is the feeling of being a misfit and a deep loneliness. The places I was stationed shaped my vision—I found myself in the midst of former German lands in the Kaliningrad Region (the city of Kaliningrad was built on the remains of the German city of Königsberg). When the city was taken over by the Soviets at the end of WWII it was somehow rebuilt as a typical Soviet city, but the region as a whole looked like a “frozen in time” war zone. One of these places, a small village called Kornevo with a dying collective farm, was at some point a fairly prosperous German town called Zinten. Not a lot remained of Zinten except for a few ruins. Scars of war were everywhere—holes from artillery shells on the buildings, wild apple trees where blossoming apple orchards once were, and ruins of homes with swimming pools in their backyards. Our regiment was stationed in former German barracks—a really well-built former German Tank School. These buildings were the only well-kept structures in Kornevo. When I started working on Slaughterhouse-Five, all my memories of this place came back, and now looking at my drawings I see some resemblance and reflection of these experiences.
On a general note, I always think my primary goal (when illustrating classic literature or modern classics) is to formulate a fairly independent and novel visual experience for the reader. But it is also important to me to find some balance between audience expectations regarding the theme, characters, time period, etc., and my artistic freedom. In the end, I hope the work has contemporary relevance and presents a balance of three worlds: “the world of the book,” “the world of the author” and “the world of the artist.”
You’ve also focused more on the return to Dresden than the character’s life in the suburbs. Did you prefer to stick to the surreal aspect of the plot?
This book, despite its small size, has a very complex structure (like the time travel) and an exceptional number of characters, so I had to make a decision very early in the process to limit my choices and focus on a few primary themes, like the Dresden bombing/scars of the war and the time/space travel that is part of Billy’s mental state … or is it?
This is a full-throttle deluxe visual experience. Do you feel it enhances or complements the reading?
A well-produced illustrated edition of an important influential book is something that, in my mind, corresponds to seeing a great theater performance or watching a great film based on a well-known classic. Yes, the story is familiar, but a new production or fresh creative direction adds new relevance and surfaces overlooked nuances. I think the modern reader is less interested in seeing visually what is already well-described in the text and appreciates illustrations that are more atmospheric, conceptually sophisticated and enigmatic.
This special edition also reflects the full creative freedom endowed to me by Easton Press—not a single concept or image I proposed was dismissed—including the most bizarre and strange imagery. I hope Kurt Vonnegut would like that!
