Selfishly, the first thing I thought when I heard that Kurt Vonnegut had died was that I would never be able to meet him in person, which depressed me a lot. Certainly, I felt sympathy for his family and loved ones, and I wish them all the best. But, having been a Vonnegut fan ever since I was able to think critically about literature, I had always hoped that I would be able to meet the man who defined a whole new realm of thought to me- cheerful pessimism.
His books are full of sad characters making their way though a life that has not exactly treated them how literature should; neither glamorously nor ruinously. He dealt with people that seemed – despite his simple and sparse descriptions of them – real. The dramatis personae of his works, many of whom were recurring and became friends to me, were old men with nowhere else to go, women whom nobody loved, misfits and losers all around. Yet there was something lovable in the way he treated all of them, like a creator looking over his flock, and while unable to change their lives for the better, always gently leading them through the toils of life.
Edward Abbey once wrote that “a pessimist is just an optimist who is well-informed,” and this is, I think, an apt description of both Vonnegut and his literary works- someone who wanted to see the world through rose-coloured glasses, but knew too much to take that plunge. Probably his experience as a POW in World War II and his witnessing of the fire-bombing of Dresden were enough to put him off of sugar-coating anything for the rest of life. His work traversed some of the darkest spots of human existence, yet still even the most depressing facets of life he treated with the gentle cynicism of “so it goes.”
So while I’ll never meet you, Kurt, I can take solace in what the Tralflamadorians in Slaughterhouse-Five have taught us: that you and your universe of volunteer firemen, intergalactic travelers, smut sci-fi writers, industrialists, and madmen are, and always will be what they are when they are, for all time. You live on and in your works, and will continue to make me think and laugh.
“Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.” So it goes.
April 14, 2007...2:35 pm
Listen. Kurt Vonnegut has become unstuck in time.
Selfishly, the first thing I thought when I heard that Kurt Vonnegut had died was that I would never be able to meet him in person, which depressed me a lot. Certainly, I felt sympathy for his family and loved ones, and I wish them all the best. But, having been a Vonnegut fan ever since I was able to think critically about literature, I had always hoped that I would be able to meet the man who defined a whole new realm of thought to me- cheerful pessimism.
His books are full of sad characters making their way though a life that has not exactly treated them how literature should; neither glamorously nor ruinously. He dealt with people that seemed – despite his simple and sparse descriptions of them – real. The dramatis personae of his works, many of whom were recurring and became friends to me, were old men with nowhere else to go, women whom nobody loved, misfits and losers all around. Yet there was something lovable in the way he treated all of them, like a creator looking over his flock, and while unable to change their lives for the better, always gently leading them through the toils of life.
Edward Abbey once wrote that “a pessimist is just an optimist who is well-informed,” and this is, I think, an apt description of both Vonnegut and his literary works- someone who wanted to see the world through rose-coloured glasses, but knew too much to take that plunge. Probably his experience as a POW in World War II and his witnessing of the fire-bombing of Dresden were enough to put him off of sugar-coating anything for the rest of life. His work traversed some of the darkest spots of human existence, yet still even the most depressing facets of life he treated with the gentle cynicism of “so it goes.”
So while I’ll never meet you, Kurt, I can take solace in what the Tralflamadorians in Slaughterhouse-Five have taught us: that you and your universe of volunteer firemen, intergalactic travelers, smut sci-fi writers, industrialists, and madmen are, and always will be what they are when they are, for all time. You live on and in your works, and will continue to make me think and laugh.
“Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.” So it goes.
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