Novelist Kurt Vonnegut, the ‘son and grandson of architects’, was born in Indianapolis on November 11, 1922 (Veterans Day in the U.S., Poppy Day in Canada). I read that he died in New York City on April 11, 2007 – last night.
That made me sad.
I didn’t know Kurt Vonnegut personally, though I, (like millions of his readers, I suppose) felt like I did. His short fiction, novels, plays and collections of essays opened my mind to new worlds, new ideas, new ways of thinking, new forms of humanity. He made a turn of the phrase delicious to read. He was bitterly funny, ironic, honest, smart as a whip and a truly original voice. And what stories!
And it always was.
It was Vonnegut’s novels that inspired me to write. That shaped my approach to life. That taught me I could start a sentence with ‘and’.
He was a remarkable human being who will live on through his work.
Let me remember Kurt Vonnegut by quoting one of Bokonon’s Calypsos (from Cat’s Cradle):
‘Oh a sleeping drunkard up in Central Park
And a lion hunter in the jungle dark
And a Chinese dentist and a British queen all fit together in the same machine
Nice, nice, very nice
Nice, nice, very nice
Nice, nice very nice
So many people in the same device…’