Kurt Vonnegut

This morning I learned the sad news of the passing of Kurt Vonnegut. He is among my favorite writers, perhaps as high as the top three, and on the occasion I've been reminiscing about the books of his I have read and where they came in my life.

My first exposure to him must have been Slaughterhouse-Five, which I read in high school and still numbers among my top ten all-time favorite novels. I don't remember whether I read the book before I saw the movie, but I do remember both making an indelible impression on me. Valerie Perrine's performance as Montana Wildhack certainly got under the skin of an adolescent. I still linger over the concept of Billy Pilgrim as a captive on the planet Tralfamidore, and the amenable alien race bringing the object of his lust to him for mating purposes.

Slaughterhouse-Five, despite that bit of sexiness, is one of the most profound anti-war novels ever written, particularly because the horrors of war are focused on the actions of "good guys," i.e., the Allies in their bombing of Dresden. Although Vonnegut was no Nazi sympathizer, he made clear how the whole war business was supreme folly.

Another bit of Vonnegut I read early was his story EPICAC, which is included in the masterful collection Welcome to the Monkey House. The story of a computer that falls in love, I read it in a high school Science Fiction class, and it made a strong impression on me.

During college, I read The Sirens of Titan, which had one of the most vivid chapter titles in all of literature: "Unk and Boaz in the Caves of Mercury." In my college days I ran with a sci-fi crowd, although I wouldn't qualify myself as a sci-fi fan. Vonnegut, who was classified by some as a science fiction writer, really transcended that genre. He may have written about life on other worlds, but I don't consider him in the same category as writers like Robert Heinlein and Isaac Asimov, or even Ray Bradbury. Vonnegut had a higher calling.

I read a few of Vonnegut's later works as they came out: Deadeye Dick, and Hocus Pocus. Then, a few years ago, I set about trying to catch up, and bought a bunch of his books at once. I haven't gotten to them all, but I have read Player Piano, Breakfast of Champions, and Cat's Cradle. Player Piano, his first work, is a dark polemic about the industrial age, while the latter two are more characteristic of what he is best known for. Breakfast of Champions focuses on his recurring character, the science fiction writer Kilgore Trout, while Cat's Cradle deals with the weighty subject of the end of the world. The essentials I still have yet to read: Slapstick, Mother Night, and God Bless You, Mrs. Rosewater.

Vonnegut was an atheist and essentially a pessimist, but like a flower poking up through the cracks of urban decay, he seemed to kindle a bit of optimism about the human race. An obituary carries this bit of wisdom imparted to new arrivals on planet Earth: "Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It's round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you've got about a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of, babies -- God damn it, you've got to be kind." No arguments here. RIP, Mr. Vonnegut.