I was raised on Kurt Vonnegut, I've grown to middle age with him. I feel as if I know him better than my own father, who died shy of his 50th birthday, when I was in my mid 20s. It was easy for me to adopt Vonnegut after my dad's death. I was drawn to his ethos, which insisted that human beings can be decent, kind, and loving to one another independent of group-think organized religion and lockstep nationalism. He was the first important author with whom I fell in love (I can't include Poe, who scared the pants off me at age 9, or the transcendent William Blake - who had a profound influence on Vonnegut, but who I didn't learn to love until I was much older). So at some level his death represents a kind of re-enactment of my father's death, as it might have hit me had he lived til now. I will miss Kurt because he STILL had important things to say to me. He was still relevant, years after his "literary prime." As with the aftermath of my father's death, I know that I will be able to take solace in happy memories and lessons learned. I can revisit old works, still vibrant and full of ideas I've yet to ponder as I move closer to being an old man. But it'll not be the same.
Listen, Kurt Vonnegut is dead. So it goes.
I went to the library today to try to pick up some Vonnegut, and it was all checked out.
ReplyDeleteRabble, did you ever read Galapagos?
ReplyDeleteI envision KV now, hanging out among us like the ghost/narrator did, watching us devolve into seal-like creatures over the next 10,000 years.
Kurt V., unlike so many of us, has left a mark on the World for the future generations. He lived a long life, but also a full life. A life full of experiences we could never survive. He lived to write stories that touched us and made us think. This are things that a select few aspire to and most will not succeed at.
ReplyDeleteI am better off that he has lived.
There is only one question that he leaves me with; Has there been a better day?
(The semicolon is dedicated to the memory of Kurt Vonnegut.)
I loved Galapagos. It was a book that reflected its times. It was the finest work of his Autumnal period. And to your point, he really did get it! He understood just how intensely destructive a being with an opposable thumb and a big brain can be...
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