Goodbye, Mr. Vonnegut

Kurt Vonnegut passed away last night. I don’t know how widely read he is these days, but several of his books are among my favorites. Underneath the irreverent humor and seemingly extemporaneous structure is a heart heavy with human-ness - both its capacity for malice as well as kindness and beauty. To him, God is a concept. Saints are people who act decently in an indecent society. Music represents the apotheosis of mankind.

In the face of all this madness - neo-conservatism, global warming, war, jihads, genocide, Paris Hilton - we must seek out those things, however small or fleeting, that can evince some glimmer of sanity. Whenever I stumble across such a moment, I always hearken back to this speech Vonnegut gave a few years ago reminding us to practice art, however poorly, and notice when we are happy. Perhaps an odd sentiment from a writer of dark humor, but Vonnegut called himself a Humanist and his canon reflects this duality.

Speaking of canons and, well, cannons, Hunter S. Thompson propelled his ashes into the atmosphere through one. I don’t know if Vonnegut had any last wishes as grand, but I can’t think of a better commemoration of the man than picking up a book of his one languid afternoon, laughing and thinking, If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.