2008 Woodie Awards
Vonnegut's influence will last forever
Guest Opinion
Issue date: 4/17/07 Section: Opinions
- Page 1 of 1
When I think about my own death, I don't console myself with the idea that my descendants and my books and all that will live on. Anybody with any sense knows that the whole solar system will go up like a celluloid collar by-and-by. I honestly believe, though, that we are wrong to think that moments go away, never to be seen again. This moment, and every moment, lasts forever.
- Kurt Vonnegut
I heard about the death of my hero around 7 a.m. April 12. It felt like a sharp jab to the stomach. I continued with my morning routine, showered, got ready, and left for work.
In New York City, it was pouring, not your average drizzle that dusts right off your clothes, but a towering downpour, equipped with gusts of ripping wind that bent my umbrella in half.
I proceeded to my Brooklyn subway stop and was bombarded by a mass of downtrodden subway riders, a very familiar scene. I looked around and examined the faces of the commuters, the stoic, empty glares, each crammed into the maze and, often, hysteria of New York City life. I felt like a tiny spoke in a much broader, meaner economic and social wheel, perpetually in a vicious motion, stopping for no one along the way.
I got as far as the Whitehall stop in Manhattan and turned around. Not today, not on the day my hero died.
With the passing of Kurt Vonnegut, I'm left feeling like an aspiring auto mechanic without an instruction manual. The author penned 23 total works, including 14 novels, which is of course, more than anyone could possibly ask for from their favorite author. But what about tomorrow? I worry about my kids, and their children's kids; who will supply them with a voice of decency and reason, of peace and justice?
To read Vonnegut is to be catapulted into a stratosphere of the impossible, where fact and fiction overlap into a hybrid of black humor and serious social criticism, solidifying his status as a rhetorical prankster.
Underneath the roar of Vonnegut's prose is an innocuous plea for decency, for humanity to live up to its highest ideals. Vonnegut loved to quote Mark Twain, Jesus, and former American Socialist Party leader Eugene V. Debs. But it was an existential quote from his son Mark Vonnegut, that Kurt seemed most found of, "We are here to help each other get through this thing, whatever it is."
Above all, Vonnegut railed against the ruthlessness of American political and social culture, what he saw as a society in which bullies are not only rewarded but celebrated. His targets included humans as the ultimate butchers of the environment, menacing corporations, social Darwinism, and the Bush administration.
I'm reminded now of Vonnegut's continued popularity with young people. His words have historically and to this day particularly resonated with those of the younger generation. For Vonnegut's message is consistently aligned with the blanket idealism that only the young seem to posses.
I had a chance to meet my hero, last October. His wife, noted photographer Jill Krementz, was hosting a book signing at Barnes & Noble in New York City. Not wanting to distract people from his wife, Vonnegut gave a few opening remarks but sat out the rest of the event.
He did, however, offer to sign books, and I choked back reverence and approached the author. When my time came to meet him, Vonnegut, dressed in a trademark tweed suit with frumpy tattered hair scattered in every direction, looked up at me with the droopy faded eyes of a halfway-resting sheep dog. The only words I could muster were, "Hey Kurt, I'm Brendan. It's awesome to meet you."
Vonnegut penned his name on the picture of him in his wife's book, along with his signature in between the Kurt and Vonnegut. I accepted my book back from him, and looked down at his writing. He never said anything to me, he didn't have to. I know that moment will last forever.
Brendan Fitzgibbons is a former DI columnist. He currently freelances with The Onion in New York.
- Kurt Vonnegut
I heard about the death of my hero around 7 a.m. April 12. It felt like a sharp jab to the stomach. I continued with my morning routine, showered, got ready, and left for work.
In New York City, it was pouring, not your average drizzle that dusts right off your clothes, but a towering downpour, equipped with gusts of ripping wind that bent my umbrella in half.
I proceeded to my Brooklyn subway stop and was bombarded by a mass of downtrodden subway riders, a very familiar scene. I looked around and examined the faces of the commuters, the stoic, empty glares, each crammed into the maze and, often, hysteria of New York City life. I felt like a tiny spoke in a much broader, meaner economic and social wheel, perpetually in a vicious motion, stopping for no one along the way.
I got as far as the Whitehall stop in Manhattan and turned around. Not today, not on the day my hero died.
With the passing of Kurt Vonnegut, I'm left feeling like an aspiring auto mechanic without an instruction manual. The author penned 23 total works, including 14 novels, which is of course, more than anyone could possibly ask for from their favorite author. But what about tomorrow? I worry about my kids, and their children's kids; who will supply them with a voice of decency and reason, of peace and justice?
To read Vonnegut is to be catapulted into a stratosphere of the impossible, where fact and fiction overlap into a hybrid of black humor and serious social criticism, solidifying his status as a rhetorical prankster.
Underneath the roar of Vonnegut's prose is an innocuous plea for decency, for humanity to live up to its highest ideals. Vonnegut loved to quote Mark Twain, Jesus, and former American Socialist Party leader Eugene V. Debs. But it was an existential quote from his son Mark Vonnegut, that Kurt seemed most found of, "We are here to help each other get through this thing, whatever it is."
Above all, Vonnegut railed against the ruthlessness of American political and social culture, what he saw as a society in which bullies are not only rewarded but celebrated. His targets included humans as the ultimate butchers of the environment, menacing corporations, social Darwinism, and the Bush administration.
I'm reminded now of Vonnegut's continued popularity with young people. His words have historically and to this day particularly resonated with those of the younger generation. For Vonnegut's message is consistently aligned with the blanket idealism that only the young seem to posses.
I had a chance to meet my hero, last October. His wife, noted photographer Jill Krementz, was hosting a book signing at Barnes & Noble in New York City. Not wanting to distract people from his wife, Vonnegut gave a few opening remarks but sat out the rest of the event.
He did, however, offer to sign books, and I choked back reverence and approached the author. When my time came to meet him, Vonnegut, dressed in a trademark tweed suit with frumpy tattered hair scattered in every direction, looked up at me with the droopy faded eyes of a halfway-resting sheep dog. The only words I could muster were, "Hey Kurt, I'm Brendan. It's awesome to meet you."
Vonnegut penned his name on the picture of him in his wife's book, along with his signature in between the Kurt and Vonnegut. I accepted my book back from him, and looked down at his writing. He never said anything to me, he didn't have to. I know that moment will last forever.
Brendan Fitzgibbons is a former DI columnist. He currently freelances with The Onion in New York.
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