‘The
JOSEPH HELLER
EX LIBRIS
VINTAGE CLASSICS
joseph heller
Joseph Heller was born in 1923 in Brooklyn, New York. He served as a bombardier in World War II, afterwards attending the Colleges of New York University and Columbia University and then Oxford, the last on a Fulbright scholarship. He then taught for two years at Pennsylvania State University, before returning to New York, where he began a successful career in the advertising departments of, progressively, Time, Look and McCall’s magazines. It was during this time that he had the idea for Catch-22 . Working on the novel in spare moments and evenings at home, it took him eight years to complete and was first published in 1961. His second novel, Something Happened, was published in 1974, Good as Gold in 1979, God Knows in 1984, and Closing Time in 1994. He is also the author of the play We Bombed in New Haven. Joseph Heller died in December 1999.
also by joseph heller
Something Happened
Good as Gold
God Knows
Closing Time
joseph heller CATCH-22
with an introduction by
Howard Jacobson
Vintage Classics is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
This edition published in Vintage Classics in 2024 First published in Great Britain by Jonathan Cape in 1962
Copyright © Joseph Heller 1955, 1961 Preface copyright © Joseph Heller 1994 Introduction copyright © Howard Jacobson 2004
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I NTRODUCTION
Itwasloveatfirstsight.
ThefirsttimeIsawJosephHellerIfellmadlyinlovewith him.
Therewasnosecondtime.HewasalreadyillwhenImet him,slowerbyallaccounts,lessanimated,morepreoccupied withwhatwashappeninginsidehimself.Buthewasstill dashinglyattractiveinthatleonine,JewishByronicstyle,still hadhismarvellouslycomicConeyIslanddrawl,stilltookin thosehetalkedto,andstilllookedasfarfromahighpriestof artasanynovelist–especiallyanyAmericannovelist–you canname.ItwasByron,coincidentally,whowrote‘One hatesanauthorthat’sallauthor.’Andthatwaspartofthe Hellercharm–thatyousmelledtheworldandallitspleasuresonhim,andnotthemidnightoil.HeoncetoldKurt Vonnegutthatifithadn’tbeenforWorldWarIIhe’dhave beeninthedry-cleaningbusiness.HardtoimaginePhilip RothorSaulBellowsayingthat,orevenNormanMailerwho wouldsurelyhavestayedinanaggressivelineofworkand beenaprize-fighterorsomethingsimilarifthewritinghadn’t workedout.
Somedry-cleanerHellerwouldhavemade!Wouldheever havebeencompletelysatisfiedhe’dremovedyourstain?In fact,thoughthebookscameslowly,hewasanovelisttohis bootlaces,anavidnarratorwhocouldn’tstopthestoryonce ithadstarted,whofelttheterrorsofexistencesoacutelythat hehadtotellthemandtellthemuntilhe’dmadethemsomethingelse.Therearenovelistswhomindtheirwords–the schoolofFlaubert–andnovelistswhodon’t–thosewho inheritthelineofinterminabletelling,ofinexhaustibilityand seeminggarrulousness,thatbeginswithRabelaisandgetsa secondwindwithDickens.Hellerwasoftheinexhaustible school.
WhatIthinkmostofuswholove Catch-22 lovemostis preciselywhat,fromtheFlaubertianposition,iswrongwith it.Itslooseness,itsunruliness,itsextravagance,itsverbal excess,itsemotionalwaywardness,itsimpatiencewiththe niceties,whetherofexpressionoroffeeling,itsrepetitiveness,itsdevil-may-careclumsiness,itshysteria,itstomfoolery,itsbrutality,itssexualrough-and-tumble,its unembarrassedpreachiness,itsvacillations,itsformlessness, orrather–becauseHellerknowsfullwellwhatlawshe’s breaking–its apparent formlessness.Ifthosearefaults,we say,thenhangthevirtues.
Positionedteasingly,nottosayinfuriatinglysometimes, betweenliteratureandliterature’sopposites–between RabelaisandDickensandDostoevskyandGogolandCéline andtheAbsurdistsandofcourseKafkaontheonehand,and ontheothervaudevilleandslap-stickandBilkoandAbbott andCostelloandTomandGerryandtheGoons(ifHeller hadeverheardtheGoons)– Catch22 wasalwaysgoingto beaproblemforthecritics.Youmakeiteasierforyourself asanovelistifyouannounceclearlywhatyouareatthe outsetanddon’tdeviate.Onewishesthathehadn’t,but Hellerremainedbitteraboutthereceptionof Catch-22 to theend,rememberingtoomanyoftheslightsthatgowith thejob,thebadreviews,theslowfuseofappreciation,the absenceofawards,asthoughithadskippedhismindthathe wasthecreatorofYossarianwhoknewbetterthananyman howlowlytoprizeamedaloracitation.Maybe,foranovel thatwastogoontosellinexcessoftenmillioncopiesand becomeoneofthemostbelovedbooksofthetwentieth century,thefirstnoticescouldhavebeenmoreenthusiastic, butitwasquicklybeinghailedasoneofthegreatestsatirical worksofalltime,andeventhereviewerwhocomplained thatitdidn’tseem‘tohavebeenwritten;instead,itgivesthe impressionofhavingbeenshoutedontopaper’,wasonto something.Foritisnosmallvirtueinawritertobeableto concealtheartofmaking,todrawyourattentionfromthe writingtothematter;andasforgivingtheimpressionof shoutingthewordsontopaper,therecanhardlybehigher praise,sincewordswillnotinfactgettopaperthatway,and
onlythequietestcraftsmanshipcanconveytheillusionof sustainednoise.
‘Itwasloveatfirstsight.’
Fewnovelsofanysort,letalonewarnovels,beginso beguilingly.Mailer’s TheNakedandtheDead openswith starkimmediacy,themeninthelandingcraftsunableto sleep,knowingthatinafewhours‘someofthemweregoing tobedead’.Theatmosphereissolemnandstill,fullofdread. Catch-22 burstsuponuswithsuperfluous,almostblasphemousmirth,thejokeofitsbeingamanwithwhomYossarian,liketheheroineofsomehighschlockromance,hasfallen madlyinlove,andachaplainatthat,throwingeverything, includingcredibility,intoconfusion.Who’splayinggames withwhomhere?
Almostatoncetheseductiveseeming-logicalitieswhich constitutetheCatchitselfaresetinmotion.Yossarianisin hospitalwithapaininhisliverthatfallsjustshortofjaundice.Ifitbecomesjaundicetheycantreatit.Ifitdoesn’t becomejaundiceandgoesawaytheycandischargehim.But solongasitfallsjustshortofjaundicetheycan’tdoanything. Thisprefigurestheconditionsforbeinggrounded:thatyou havetobeinsanebeforetheywillletyouflynomoremissions,butthefactthatyouwanttoflynomoremissionsis proofthatyouarenotinsane.ThephraseCatch-22has passedintothelanguage,tostandforasituationwhichfrustratesyoubytheparadoxicalrulesorcircumstancesthat governit,somethingthatgetsyouwhicheverwayyoumove, asortofexistentialSod’sLaw,butthemeaningswhichaccrue toitinthenovelaremorevarious,moresubtlyabsurd,and moreuniversallyintractable.InthecaseofYossarian’sjaundice,itisasthough wearefacedwithafalsesyllogismatthe veryheartofbeing.Youcanseethedoctors’pointofview. Theyarecaughtbetweenindeterminates,ajaundicewhich hasn’tstartedandajaundicewhichhasn’tfinished.Itmakes perfectsenseofnonsensethattheyarerenderedimpotent, doctorswhocannotdoctor.Justasitmakesperfectsensethat inthecircumstances,whenyou’dexpectromancetobethe lastthingonanybody’smind,Yossarianshouldfallheadover
heelsinlovewiththechaplain.OrthatNately’swhore shouldsaythatifhereallycaredforherhewouldsendher awayandgotobedwithsomeotherwhore.Littlebylittle,or maybeallatonce,everythingcomestomeanitsopposite; unreasonarguesitselfintoreason,andviceversa,andwe cannotseetheseams.
IfCatch-22andallthelittlelesserCatchesthatsupportit provideapeepintoKafka’suniverseofmetaphysicalslippage,theyareequallyreminiscentofDicken’sCircumlocutionOffice,wheresuchslippageisinstitutionalized,where peopleandtheirgrievancesarelostintheserviceofHowNot To DoIt,whereineffectiveness,assumedtobealawof nature,iswroughttothelevelofscience.Hummingthrough thenovelyouhearthegreatsatiresonmeaninglessnessofthe past.Andyetneverdowefeelitis‘literary’.Thedoctorswho scratchtheirheadsoverYossarian’sjaundice,forexample, comportthemselveslikeHollywoodcomediansandknockabouts;andwhileit’struethattheybecomemoresinisterby thetimetheygettohiminhospitalagain500pageslater–
‘Let’scuthimopenandgettotheinsideofthingsonce andforall.Hekeepscomplainingabouthisliver.His liverlooksprettysmallonthisXray.’
‘That’shispancreas,youdope.Thisishisliver.’
‘No,itisn’t.That’shisheart.I’llbetyouanickelthis ishisliver.I’mgoingtooperateandfindout.ShouldI washmyhandsfirst?’
–theyarestillinhabitinginatraditionofmusic-hallvillainousness.W.C.FieldsandMelBrooks?Sowhat,iftheynever performedtogether.Theydoin Catch-22. JustasabsurditybegetsabsurdityinHeller’sworld,sodoes characterbegetcharacter.Ilovethesensethatdawnsearlyin thenovelofasortofperpetualmotionofhumanpersonality, OrrbegettingtheyoungHuplethanwhomhewassmaller, andHuplebegettingHungryJoewithwhomhesharedatent, andHungryJoebegetting...andsoon.Itisasthoughthere issomeinfectionoffertilityinthem,asthoughtheverymentionoftheirnamesisatriggerforthenamesofthoseothers
viii
‘They’vegotallmypals,’Yossarianwails,whenthereis almostnoonelefttowailfor.NoonebuthimselfandHungry Joe.OnlyitturnsoutthatHungryJoehasgoneaswell,suffocatedbythecathealwaysfearedwasgoingtositonhis faceandsuffocatehimwhileheslept.Theblackestofblack jokes,waitinginthewingsformostofthenovel,nottokeep itfunnybuttokeepitsad.Provingthatintheend,nothingis tooludicroustoeventuate.
‘MrHellerisafirst-ratehumorist,’Vonnegutwroteina reviewofHeller’ssecondnovel, SomethingHappened,‘who crippleshisownjokesintentionally–withtheunhappinessof thecharacterswhoperceivethem.’
YossarianperceivesthejokeaboutHungryJoeandthecat thatsatonhisfaceandsuffocatedhim,andweeps.Allhis palsaregone.Andit’sonlyashenamesthem,recalling deadlymissionafterdeadlymission,thatwetakethemeasure ofhisloss.
NomeanfeatonHeller’sparteither,tokeepallthesemissionsflying,butthetechnicaltriumphofthenovelinmyview isitsmanagementofthenarrativeintime.Youcouldwaste yourlifetryingtoseehowHellerdoesthis,slitheringusfrom nowtothen,andbackagain,conjuringhorrorsoutofaclear bluesky,asinistermemorysuddenlysparkedoffinsome treacherouslyintermediateperiodorotherwithoutabreak inwhoever’sconsciousness,letaloneinthepunctuation. Techniqueisonlypartofit:thenovel’sveryhumanityis
ix withoutwhomtheycannotbeadequatelypresentedor understood.Allverywelltosaythat Catch-22 teemswith character–almostsniffilyonesometimeshearsthatlevelled, withtheimplicationthatcharacterfulnessinanovelisindulgence–butanoveldoesn’tteemofitsownaccord.Youcan nomore‘shout’thecharactersontothepagethanyoucan ‘shout’thewords.Ittakesformidabletechnicalskillsto createthissenseofhumanitylurkinginhumanity,andto poweranarrativebyit,butitisahumaneachievementtoo,a makingactive,tothepointwhereonecannolongerbearit, ofthedictumthatnomanisanisland,ademonstrationthat wedonotalwaysknowwhereweendandanotherman begins.
Drowningintime,hisdoubtsanddepressionsoverwhelminghimfromallquarters,timepresent,timepast,andtimeto come,itisthechaplainwhomostarticulatesthesecompunctions.Theymakeforterrificverbalfun,rightenough,hisjugglingswithhisinsightsoraretheyrevelationsorarethey hallucinationsoraretheyjustillusionsofillusions– déjàvu or presquevu or jamaisvu –causinghimtowonderwhether heisblessedormad.Asthemoodturnsmoresombrearound him,though,hebecomestheconscienceofthenovel,andthe spokespersonforthehopelessnesswhichforawhiledescends onit,hisinabilityevertorecallatimewhenhehadnot alreadymetYossarianandfailedhim,a‘foredoomingadmissionthattherewasnothing,absolutelynothing,hecoulddo tohelphim.’Notthen,notnow,notever.
WhichisitselfbothanechoandapremonitionofYossarian’sfailuretohelpSnowden,thedyingbombardierwhose sufferingwereturntoagainandagain,nownearinginonit, nowwatchingitrecede,hisplaintivecryof‘I’mcold,I’m cold’prickingatthenovel’sslapstickuntilitbecomesa refrainofthemostawfulominousness,theterriblesecret hiddeninthenovel’spastwhichwillatlast,elsetheheartwill break,becomethenovel’spresent.Thefinalrevelationofthe extentofSnowden’sinjuries,ishardtotake.Gruesomeinits anatomicalpessimism–‘HerewasGod’splenty,allright... liver,lungs,kidneys,ribs,stomachandbitsofthestewed tomatoesSnowdenhadeatenthatdayforlunch’.Brutaland bitterinitsrefusalofallspiritualconsolation–‘Manwas matter,thatwasSnowden’ssecret.Drophimoutofawindow andhe’llfall.Setfiretohimandhe’llburn.Buryhimandhe’ll rot,likeotherkindsofgarbage.Thespiritgone,manis garbage.’Facileasphilosophy,maybe,butit’sYossarian thinking,andYossarian,likethechaplainearlier,isfaceto facenotjustwithdeathbutwithhisowninadequacybefore it.‘There,there,’isallhecansay.Ayoungman,hisinsides
x implicatedinthesetide-likesurgesofrecapitulationand re-remembering,asthoughweapproachcompassiononly fitfully,goingbackandthengoingbackagain,becausewe canonlybeartodoitinstarts.Butalsoasthough,forpity’s sake,wecanneverdoitenough.
spilt,isfreezingtohisdeath,whimperingpiteouslyforhelp. And‘There,there,’isthebestYossarian,nodoubtlikeany ofus,isabletomanage.‘There,there,’asyoumightsayto achildwhohasburnthisfinger.‘There,there.’Likeeternal pleaandcounter-plea,ringingthroughalltime–‘I’mcold, I’mcold’:‘There,there.’Intheverybanalitywehear ourinsufficiency,butalso,atthelast,ourcompassion.To thedegreethatthereissolittlewecandoorsay,andto thedegreethatwearehorrifiedwecannotdoorsaymore,are wehuman.
AfterwhichthereisnooptionlefttoYossarianbuttomake arunforit.
Forsomereaderstheovertseriousnesswhichtakesover muchofthesecondhalfof Catch-22 isadisappointment,not tosayamarkoffailure.Idon’tsharethatview.Yes,thereis acertainbluntpredictabilityinthefamousDostoevskyan journeythroughaRomebecomenightmarishnessinits senselessnessandcruelty,andnodoubttheveryinvokingof Raskolnikovbynamegivesthegameaway:therewasnever needtoalludedirectlytoKafkaorDickenswhentheirinfluenceswereintegratedandworkingwell.Butthosescenes apart,theencroachmentofadarkersortofcomedyisentirely ofapiecewiththenovel’sstrategyfromthebeginning–juxtaposingYossarian’sloveforthebemusedchaplain,for example,withthemacabrefigureofthefacelesssoldierinhis deathlycerementsofwhite,ameregapingholeinbandages; shadingthe unmeaningnessoffarceintotheunmeaningness ofmelancholy;turningthescrewsonthelikesofMiloMinderbinder(corngod,raingod,ImamofDamascus,Sheikof Araby),andAarfy(goodoldAarfywhowon’tpayaprostitutebutwillrapeaservantgirl)untiltheirpreposterousness becomescrimeandtheircrimeshorror.
Neveralightnovel,orwhatwethesedayscallaneasy read, Catch-22 catchesusoutwithcomedy,makingplaywith whatisneverplayful,employingthehyperboleofunlikelihood–MajorMajorMajorMajorMajor,foreternity–until werecognizethatthekingdomofunlikelihoodhasalready beenrealisedhereonearth,andthatitistheworldweknow. Kafkapopularizedrightenough,Kafkamadeavailableto
xi
Thattheknockabout,too,shouldturnedgierandmore violentisthereforeonlytobeexpected.TheclubbedandhelmetedmilitarypolicecomingtoarrestAarfyforrapeand murderareinfactcomingtoarrestYossarianforthemore seriouscrimeofbeinginRomewithoutapass.Funnystill, yes,butit’sgettinghardertobreathe.Andwhilethere remainsworkforAbbottandCostelloinscenessuchasthe onewhereColonelKornsitsswinginghislegsonColonel Cathcart’sdesk(‘hissludge-brownsocks,garterless,collapsedinsaggingcirclesbelowanklesthatweresurprisingly smallandwhite’),inanattempttopersuadeYossarianit’s timetheyburiedtheirdifferencesandbecamepals–
‘Sure,pal.’
‘Thanks,pal.’
‘Don’tmentionit,pal.’ ‘Solong,pal.’
–intruththecomedyhasbecomeasblackashell.Theobservationnolongerquitesohallucinatory,menandobjects grownmoredefined,theirmotivesdeadlier,Korn’ssludgebrownsocksandpallidanklesnothingshortofice-clear murderous.
Andnottobethwarted,Nately’swhore,devotedto Nately’smemorysuddenly,shewhocouldn’thavebeenmore boredbyhimalive,determinedtoavengehisdeathby assassinatingYossarianonwhomsheblamesit.Part deusex machina,partavengingangel,part fatamorgana,part belle damesansmerci andpartCato,InspectorClouseau’sindefatigablykarate-crazedvalet,Nately’swhorewaitsbetween everysentence–sometimeswithoutevenhavingthemanners toletasentencefinish–toplungeherknifeintoYossarian’s heart.Inthisguisesheisanutterlyfantasticalcreation, hyperboleincarnate,whosetirelessnessissomehowHeller’s, tothepointwhereyouwonderhowhecanpossiblyfindthe energyorthedaringtorisklettingherstrikeagain.Fora moment,thoughwedonotknowwhenthemomentwillend,
xii thosewhowouldnevergonearKafka,butbynomeans Kafkaalleviated.
itisasthoughwehaveenteredoneofthosechildren’sgames whereneitherpartywillstoptormentingtheotherandyou feeltheywillgrowold,neitheroneofthemgivingway.Never tobeeluded,shestabsatYossarianinthefinalsentenceofthe novel,andwhilethelastwordisasitwerehis,ashedodges herandtakesoffwedon’tknowwhere,it’sherspiritweare leftwith–indomitable,unforgiving,insaneandyetreasonableallatonce,possessedofapurposewecannomore fathomthanwecandeflect,likedestructivelifeitself.
HowardJacobson,2004
TheislandofPianosalies intheMediterraneanSeaeight milessouthofElba.Itisverysmall andobviouslycouldnotaccommodateallof theactionsdescribed.Likethesettingof thisnovel,thecharacters,too, arefictitious.