Good morning, it's 2am and I just woke up.
My breath smells like mustard gas and roses.
I have become unstuck in time.
I just read that Kurt Vonnegut is dead.
Here's an even better obituary at the NY Times
Kurt Vonnegut was a dark humorist and fantasist, a clear moralist, someone who could make the inherent tragedy of the human condition sadly funny. He lived through the firebombing of Dresden in World War II as an American soldier. With that experience he became a devout humanist, one of the most clear headed people to point out our flaws as a species.
When I was twelve I read Galapagos in an attempt to impress an older girl, my sister's friend. I didn't really want to read it. Up to that point I read only science fiction and fantasy, and likewise only listened to classical music. But puberty and girls, that heady cocktail, had me at age twelve scrambling to try all sorts of things. Reading Vonnegut for the first time was a crucial, defining moment for me. It had the imagery and ambition of science fiction and fantasy, the surrealism, but none of the cliches. It was a book narrated by a ghost a million years in the future, watching over humanity who had solved all its problems by evolving into seal like creatures. It was surreal, funny, dark, sad; all often at the same time. But its sense of humanity never seemed surreal. It seemed even more true despite the liberty it took with reality. My mind finally opened up, and that's when I started to really discover books, any book. And from there an interest in everything.
His books always make me want to laugh, kill myself, and save the human race from extinction, all at the same time.
From Mother Night: We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be.
And more of his wisdom.
He often joked about dying and wanting to die. All I know is that there will be no more depressing jokes from one of the greatest writers this country ever saw, easily on par with Mark Twain. As he said:
I am, incidentally, Honorary President of the American Humanist Association, having succeeded the late, great science fiction writer Isaac Asimov in that totally functionless capacity. We had a memorial service for Isaac a few years back, and I spoke and said at one point, "Isaac is up in heaven now." It was the funniest thing I could have said to an audience of humanists. I rolled them in the aisles. It was several minutes before order could be restored. And if I should ever die, God forbid, I hope you will say, "Kurt is up in heaven now." That's my favorite joke.
And so it goes.
Poo-tee-weet.
My breath smells like mustard gas and roses.
I have become unstuck in time.
I just read that Kurt Vonnegut is dead.
Here's an even better obituary at the NY Times
Kurt Vonnegut was a dark humorist and fantasist, a clear moralist, someone who could make the inherent tragedy of the human condition sadly funny. He lived through the firebombing of Dresden in World War II as an American soldier. With that experience he became a devout humanist, one of the most clear headed people to point out our flaws as a species.
When I was twelve I read Galapagos in an attempt to impress an older girl, my sister's friend. I didn't really want to read it. Up to that point I read only science fiction and fantasy, and likewise only listened to classical music. But puberty and girls, that heady cocktail, had me at age twelve scrambling to try all sorts of things. Reading Vonnegut for the first time was a crucial, defining moment for me. It had the imagery and ambition of science fiction and fantasy, the surrealism, but none of the cliches. It was a book narrated by a ghost a million years in the future, watching over humanity who had solved all its problems by evolving into seal like creatures. It was surreal, funny, dark, sad; all often at the same time. But its sense of humanity never seemed surreal. It seemed even more true despite the liberty it took with reality. My mind finally opened up, and that's when I started to really discover books, any book. And from there an interest in everything.
His books always make me want to laugh, kill myself, and save the human race from extinction, all at the same time.
From Mother Night: We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be.
And more of his wisdom.
He often joked about dying and wanting to die. All I know is that there will be no more depressing jokes from one of the greatest writers this country ever saw, easily on par with Mark Twain. As he said:
I am, incidentally, Honorary President of the American Humanist Association, having succeeded the late, great science fiction writer Isaac Asimov in that totally functionless capacity. We had a memorial service for Isaac a few years back, and I spoke and said at one point, "Isaac is up in heaven now." It was the funniest thing I could have said to an audience of humanists. I rolled them in the aisles. It was several minutes before order could be restored. And if I should ever die, God forbid, I hope you will say, "Kurt is up in heaven now." That's my favorite joke.
And so it goes.
Poo-tee-weet.
2 Comments:
I really enjoyed your comments on KV. I was so sad to read that Kurt Vonnegut was dead. When I was a high school student, Slaughterhouse Five was the book I read the most number of times. I think I have read it at least 10 times, though not in many years. I have also read several others of his books--Mother Night, Sirens of Titan, and Don't Shoot the Piano Player are the three I remember.
Slaughterhouse Five was nonlinear many many years before that became a trendy way to write. I first understood the concept of deconstruction by remembering Vonnegut's books. I think he was the author who influenced me most on so many personal and professional levels. I haven't thought of him in many years, but today that seems to make no difference because I have become unstuck in time like Billy Pilgrim.
Crud, I just read his interview in the Paris Review anthology! Interesting, smart guy, to say the least.
-mw
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