The Reading Room--"And So It Goes" Gives Us Vonnegut Warts And All

	Fred R. Conrad/The

Vonnegut always thought he would be killed by a dog.  He died in 2007 as the result of a fall from tripping over his frisky dog's leash.  How Vonnegutian!

The Reading Room, an occasional feature of this blog and of The Liberty Express on Manchestertv23 (Monday 10 pm, Tuesday 11 pm, Thursday 9 pm, Sunday at noon and always online at vimeo.com/channels/libertyx) looks at recent books well worth a read.

Back in 1969 when I was supposed to be studying Plato and John Stuart Mill and others as part of a freshman philosophy course at Plymouth State College, a professor name Bob O'Neil provided me with probably the greatest gift of any educator before or since, knowledge of an up and coming writer named Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

I was so enamored by Cat's Cradle that I read everything this guy Vonnegut had ever written and looked forward to every new offering, usually about one every three years.  Since then, I have reread all Vonnegut's novels (except Time Quake--his last effort really was pretty bad--apparently written as he was "waiting to die").

I use that sardonic line because it's typical of Vonnegut and is in fact the final chapter of a tremendous new biography, 400 pages and more, just out by Charles J. Shields who previously wrote the biography of Harper Lee (To Kill A Mockingbird and nothing more).

I suppose I could have put this book down, but as a Vonnegut lover, I didn't want to.  I tore through it in two days and have decided to re-reread all the novels (except Time Quake), beginning with Deadeye Dick which I nearly finished in one sitting last night.

Either you love Vonnegut or you hate him.  I'm in the former category.  I even loved Slapstick which critics panned and the author gave himself only a D for it (in the collection entitled Palm Sunday).

Much of Vonnegut's life story is not secret--he alludes to it throughout his novels, including the story about taking in his sister's four young boys when his brother-in-law is killed in a bizarre train wreck and the sister died of cancer a few days later.

As a student of German history, I've always been fascinated by Vonnegut's presence in Dresden during the firestorm caused by American and British bombers the day before Lent in 1945.  Vonnegut had been taken prisoner during the Battle of the Bulge and had been moved to Dresden where he was on work duty when the raid began.

Of course, Slaughterhouse Five was the result of that experience although it took Vonnegut more than 20 years to get around to writing the book, his classic.

That's an interesting story in itself.  The ideas behind all 14 of his novels are covered in this new biography, but the life of Vonnegut by itself would be worth a read even were he not my second favorite writer (John Irving, who was taught by Vonnegut at the writer's school in Iowa) edges him out for number one).

Unlike many biographies, the subject does not come across as an unadulterated hero in this one.  We get Vonnegut warts, Pall Malls, alcohol, crankiness and all.  His first wife is more like a saint (she died of cancer long ago); he second wife (still living I believe) a real bitch.  The parts about writing to put food on the table are especially good.  Vonnegut became fabulously wealthy but not until he was in his 40s--he'd take in $10,000 for a speech in which he didn't mind insulting his audience.

When I mentioned this book to a colleague, a liberal Democrat (before I'd read it), she was surprised that I'd be so enamored with someone who acquired quite the reputation as an ardent left winger (some would say left wing loonie).  In fact, as the book notes on several occasions, he came from a solidly conservative German family.  While he espoused many left wing causes and was known to rail against the monied element, he was quite the free enterprise capitalist himself--check out his stock portfolio to get an idea of how many "evil" companies he owned.

I also began to wonder why only two novels (Slaughterhouse Five and Mother Night, probably my favorite of them all) have been made into movies.  The author has an answer.  No movie could capture the main character of a Vonnegut novel--Vonnegut himself.

Let's see...I'll finish Deadeye Dick tonight and maybe go right into Galapagos.  Most of these books I have at home (low priced since I bought them so long ago), but you know what, I think I loaned Good Bless You Mr. Rosewater, Mother Night, and Cat's Cradle to a friend who never returned them.

You know who you are.  Please return them. 

I'm back into my Vonnegut mood.  He may not have been a really great man, but he was a really great writer who, unlike me, knew how to keep sentences short.  I get my sense of humor from Vonnegut (if not my writing style).

And so it goes.

Long live Kilgore Trout.

Long Live Billy Pilgrim, wherever he may, Dresden or the planet Tralfalmadore.

Comments

[Rep Steve Vaillancourt]

I went from Deadeye Dick into The Sirens of Titan, one of his most overlooked novels...really good. In the biography, he says it's the only novel that wrote itself. It was published in 1959. Someone wrote me noting that Breakfast of Champions was also made into a movie; I missed it and was never fond of the book either. I was also reminded of an excellent short story made into a movie, Harrison Bergeron. I believe it's in the anthology Welcome To The Monkey House...Vonnegut was always publishing collections....had to feed that family somehow.
Someone else noted that she was never into Vonnegut, but was a student of Bob O'Neil. Anyone in the Plymouth area know if he's still alive?