
Kurt Vonnegut, the Art of Fiction No. 64 (1977) - dnetesn
http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/3605/the-art-of-fiction-no-64-kurt-vonnegut
======
lotsofmangos
I have a long standing love of Vonnegut books. I cried when he died. There are
some I am putting off reading since then, just so I don't reach a point where
I have no more Vonnegut to read.

I would love to see his grave just to find out if he did get the epitaph he
suggested in Slaughterhouse 5:

" _Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt._ "

------
julespitt
_" Since publishers aren’t putting money into first novels anymore, and since
the magazines have died, and since television isn’t buying from young
freelancers anymore, and since the foundations give grants only to old poops
like me, young writers are going to have to support themselves as shameless
hacks."_

------
616c
Like others here, there is something magical about Vonnegut. I think jmduke
summarized it very welll.

> it's the conflict between his relentless hope for the universe and the
> brutal cynicism he developed during his time spent in it.

As for the war being a formidable cause for this worldview, I guess so. I was
very close to my grandfather, a grizzly WWII veteran, for largely how it
impacted him this way (I still walk around repeating the eerie phrase he would
repeat during war stories: "They taught us to kill, but never how to turn it
off," and how he resented it all). Vonnegut and much later Joseph Heller, I
could never put down. My grandfather passed years prior, but I could find his
vicious cynicism despair and unwavering humor in their writings I assume time
in the army helped solidify.

I was abroad when Vonnegut died. I was studying in the Middle East, and the
library at the universiy had a table with a bunch of Vonnegut books one day. I
was so happy and I commented to friends how wonderful it was. Then they told
me he died last night. I screamed loudly in the library, scaring many people.
I went outside and smoked a cigarette, and was in funk the next few days. Like
someone else commenting, I slowly stopped reading so I do not run out of his
work.

In tribute, speaking of shameless hacks, I would watch Comedy Central re-runs
of Dangerfield's Back to School just to see Vonnegut's cameo and here the
comedian scream: "D [on a paper you wrote, Kurt, for my English class], SCREW
YOU VONNEGUT!"

The idea of someone so influential taking himself so lightly has always been
an influence for my "I will make inappropriate comical comments at everything,
consequences be damned approach" I cannot even help it anymore.

------
ulisesrmzroche
Good read! If you have some time, definitely check out 'Sirens of Titan'. I
re-read it last month and it's still great.

------
jmduke
I have a deep love for Vonnegut's work, and consume it like day-old pizza:
while I still haven't read a couple of his novels ( _Timequake_ and
_Galapagos_ are the last two, I believe), he's one of the few authors whose
writing I cannot stay away from for too long.

Now that I am (relatively) older and the immediate luster of _Slaughterhouse
Five_ has worn off in the opinion of my peers, I think I have a better idea of
what I love about him so much beyond his wit and style and candor -- it's the
conflict between his relentless hope for the universe and the brutal cynicism
he developed during his time spent in it. (I'm fortunate enough to have never
been in a war, but I can imagine that witnessing the horrors of Dresden pretty
much eradicates any aggregate good-will you might have towards the ultimate
fate of humanity.)

My favorite portion of his writing is in an essay that's referred to as
_Vonnegut 's Blues for America_ (apparently adapted from a graduation speech
he gave to Eastern Washington University in 2004, three years before his
passing). The entire thing is
[here]([http://www.rense.com/general69/vonnegutsblues.htm](http://www.rense.com/general69/vonnegutsblues.htm))
-- and mired with the political venom that laces most of his later stuff, but
the part I love:

 _No matter how corrupt, greedy, and heartless our government, our
corporations, our media, and our religious and charitable institutions may
become, the music will still be wonderful.

If I should ever die, God forbid, let this be my epitaph:

THE ONLY PROOF HE NEEDED FOR THE EXISTENCE OF GOD WAS MUSIC

...

It makes practically everybody fonder of life than he or she would be without
it. Even military bands, although I am a pacifist, always cheer me up. And I
really like Strauss and Mozart and all that, but the priceless gift that
African Americans gave the whole world when they were still in slavery was a
gift so great that it is now almost the only reason many foreigners still like
us at least a little bit. That specific remedy for the worldwide epidemic of
depression is a gift called the blues. All pop music today ­ jazz, swing, be-
bop, Elvis Presley, the Beatles, the Stones, rock-and-roll, hip-hop, and on
and on ­ is derived from the blues.

A gift to the world? One of the best rhythm-and-blues combos I ever heard was
three guys and a girl from Finland playing in a club in Krakow, Poland.

The wonderful writer Albert Murray, who is a jazz historian and a friend of
mine among other things, told me that during the era of slavery in this
country ­-- an atrocity from which we can never fully recover --­ the suicide
rate per capita among slave owners was much higher than the suicide rate among
slaves.

Murray says he thinks this was because slaves had a way of dealing with
depression, which their white owners did not: They could shoo away Old Man
Suicide by playing and singing the Blues. He says something else which also
sounds right to me. He says the blues can't drive depression clear out of a
house, but can drive it into the corners of any room where it's being played.
So please remember that._

