Goodbye, Kurt Vonnegut
April 12th 2007 23:39
It's been some time now since I've contributed anything new to this blog. Other obligations, distractions, and endless whatnots have kept me from focusing attention here. But, when a figure as essential and irreplaceable as Kurt Vonnegut departs the world, there is no justifiable way to allow him to go unheralded. So here it is, my few, fumbling words of tribute to a man who has already been drowned in it. Consider this writing one more drop in an ocean -- it makes no real difference, but every little bit helps.
My first exposure to Mr. Vonnegut's writing was about 8 years ago, when I picked up Slaughterhouse Five on a whim. I don't know what I expected, but surely it was not the seemingly-unfocused-science-f iction-but-actually-sharply-f urious-and-sadly-humorous tome that I worked through. I say worked, because while the book was slim, and the writing simple, the emotions were so genuine that one could not simply read the words and call it a day. I had to take on their weight, feel the pain, loss, and fragile hope embedded in them. This was work. Never have I read a book so seemingly light, and yet so deceptively heavy. When I was finished, I was left with the sensation of having learned something truly profound. If pressed, though, I would have had a hard time saying exactly what.
From there I was hooked. Cat's Cradle. Sirens of Titan. Breakfast of Champions. Galapagos. And on. With each book I began to understood their creator a little more. When each was finished and set down, the world seemed to make a little more sense, at least in knowing that it didn't make sense in the least. The worlds Vonnegut laid out for us were not alien at all. They were each our own, every one of them, with all the mystery, inhumanity, fear, violence, whimsy and hope of our own, only with the volume turned up to 11. Reading Vonnegut was like taking lessons in human behavior. These lessons were seldom flattering, but often true.
He had learned a great secret, it seemed, through his life of pain and misfortune. He said it best this way: "Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward." So he laughed, though the humor was as black as the bottom of the sea. Laughed at the knowledge that ultimately fate is the same, whether the path leading up to the end is good or bad, easy or hard. He took inhumanity and despair, and from these things he spun humor and hope. The hope may have been mingled with skepticism, but it was there all the same, pointing to our capacity for a better world if only we'd stand on our tiptoes and reach for it...
Now he is gone. A great light has gone out, as all lights great and small must, in time. I would like to wish him peace in the next life, if I believed in heaven. I would like to honestly give words of comfort to those who mourn him, and say that he has gone to a better place. I would like to believe that.
But I don't. And neither would he. The world will certainly go on without him, as I'm sure he would be the first to say. We will all continue on, with our lights going out in our own times. Eventually, we all end up as just old pictures in the family album. We all end up as faintly remembered moments in time, snapshots in the history of the old world. While we can, let us recall Kurt's picture fondly and often, before it fades. So it goes.
My first exposure to Mr. Vonnegut's writing was about 8 years ago, when I picked up Slaughterhouse Five on a whim. I don't know what I expected, but surely it was not the seemingly-unfocused-science-f iction-but-actually-sharply-f urious-and-sadly-humorous tome that I worked through. I say worked, because while the book was slim, and the writing simple, the emotions were so genuine that one could not simply read the words and call it a day. I had to take on their weight, feel the pain, loss, and fragile hope embedded in them. This was work. Never have I read a book so seemingly light, and yet so deceptively heavy. When I was finished, I was left with the sensation of having learned something truly profound. If pressed, though, I would have had a hard time saying exactly what.
From there I was hooked. Cat's Cradle. Sirens of Titan. Breakfast of Champions. Galapagos. And on. With each book I began to understood their creator a little more. When each was finished and set down, the world seemed to make a little more sense, at least in knowing that it didn't make sense in the least. The worlds Vonnegut laid out for us were not alien at all. They were each our own, every one of them, with all the mystery, inhumanity, fear, violence, whimsy and hope of our own, only with the volume turned up to 11. Reading Vonnegut was like taking lessons in human behavior. These lessons were seldom flattering, but often true.
He had learned a great secret, it seemed, through his life of pain and misfortune. He said it best this way: "Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward." So he laughed, though the humor was as black as the bottom of the sea. Laughed at the knowledge that ultimately fate is the same, whether the path leading up to the end is good or bad, easy or hard. He took inhumanity and despair, and from these things he spun humor and hope. The hope may have been mingled with skepticism, but it was there all the same, pointing to our capacity for a better world if only we'd stand on our tiptoes and reach for it...
Now he is gone. A great light has gone out, as all lights great and small must, in time. I would like to wish him peace in the next life, if I believed in heaven. I would like to honestly give words of comfort to those who mourn him, and say that he has gone to a better place. I would like to believe that.
But I don't. And neither would he. The world will certainly go on without him, as I'm sure he would be the first to say. We will all continue on, with our lights going out in our own times. Eventually, we all end up as just old pictures in the family album. We all end up as faintly remembered moments in time, snapshots in the history of the old world. While we can, let us recall Kurt's picture fondly and often, before it fades. So it goes.
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Comment by Wendi
It's a shame it took tragedy to bring you back to Orble-land, but it's good to have you back.
Your last paragraph is profound.
-- Feeling significantly insignificant today (but in a healthy way)
W
Comment by Winston
Small Thoughts on Big Questions
I was genuinely and deeply sad yesterday at this news. I feel as though I've lost a dear old relative. It's rather inexplicable. All I can say is that his writing has been some of the most influential literature I've had the pleasure of ingesting.
Thanks for the kind words. I don't know if I'd call any of this profound, I just wanted to try to put into words some of what I've taken away from his work. I don't think I really succeeded, but I gave it the old college try.
Comment by Lilla
From The Home Front
Enviro Warrior
Dream Herald
Esoteric Bookshop
It's nice to have you back for new brain teasers as humanity continues to exploit itself???
... and it seems, you have said all the things I couldn't!
...particularly, true.
I don't know about heaven, but he did say we could think of him there. I do however believe in recycling, and that includes the great cosmic recycling bin of Reincarnation. I've no doubts Kilgore Trout will rise again.*chuckle* but until then? .. we have a slightly darker world to trudge through, no doubts.
...and so it goes... indeed.
Great Tribute Winston.
Lilla ...
Comment by Winston
Small Thoughts on Big Questions