The Time Traveller

. . To kill the man he ambushed in the snow had given him pleasure. Was it only pleasure? It was more. It was joy. You would battle cry it a dark action? On the contrary, it was also a bright one. It was mainly bright. When he fired his gun, Sammler, himself nearly a corpse, burst into tone (140).

Then, a dissever later, he is in full involved in the present: "He got up. It was pleasant here---the lamplight, his experience room. He had gathered a very pleasant form of intimacy about himself" (141).

A page later he is thinking about serving as a journalist in the 1967 Six-Day War (142). And then in the next paragraph he is tying all these events together in a contemplative state which portrays the world as a derriere which is, has been, and likely will always be a funny house:

. . . For the second time in twenty-five years the alike(p) people were threatened by extermination: the so-called powers permit things drift toward disaster; men armed for a massacre. . . . by chance it was the madness of things that affected Sammler most deeply. The persistence, the maniacal push of certain ideas, themselves originally stupid, stupid ideas that had lasted for centuries, this is what drew the most curious reactions from him (143).

Sammler's practically alleviate and "curious reactions" to the world stand often in stark contrast with the fury of his nephew, who puts himself to sleep happily affair the people he get alongs "swine" (187). Does this mean Sammler has lost his sense of rage at the stupidity and injustic

Sammler's military strength toward the past, present, and future is an expression of his desire to find some sales booth from which to view homo existence so that it is at to the lowest degree tolerable to a man of his great sensitivity. His ability to mooring from memories of the horrors of life to the present consciousness of the details of everyday life provide him with a means whereby he can nerve those horrible memories and musings head-on, and then turn away the next here and now to pay full attention to what is before him in his sublunar present:

Bellow, Saul. Mr. Sammler's Planet. New York: Penguin, 1977.

That is a beautiful and compelling ratiocination to a book which shows us a man involved and turning through past, present and future with a twofold purpose in mind. Sammler does want to suffer any more, and he does not want to cause any more anguish either. At the same time, he knows "in his inmost fondness" that the purpose of life is to see and experience life in truth and in reality as clearly and courageously as possible. Sammler finally sees that he would rather have a life of quiet despair than a life of stupid bank and optimism. And yet, in the end, because he has refused to settle into a absurd reality---if he ever could have anyway---there is a wonderful pity manifest in his appreciation of Elya, of himself, and of all human beings who "know" the truth of life, despite the darkest side of that truth.

So perhaps, perhaps! colonies on the moon would reduce the fever and swelling here, and the passion for infinitude might find more material appeasement. Humankind, drunk with terror, calm itself, sober up (182).

e and brutality of the world and human beings? No, it does not, but it does mean that Sammler has suffered far more than Wallace his nephew, and he has exorcised at least some of his rage and does not want to roll in the hay in such an agitated state.

Of course, it is a whimsical, superficial, and short-lived hope for Sammler. We cannot take such a mirage seriously, for by
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