Showing posts with label vonnegut. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vonnegut. Show all posts

Saturday, July 23, 2011

Rave Once Again For Kurt Vonnegut's 'A Man Without A Country'

It was George Carlin who said in one of his last tours, if I may paraphrase, 'You can do anything when you get old.' His comments were a satire on a culture, us, that basically tries to put our elderly behind them  ignoring their behavior and justify it as they are simply getting old. George was 70 when he did that routine and I think that George's satire parallels that found here in Kurt's work of 'A Man Without a Country'.

Kurt Vonnegut was age 82 when he published 'A Man Without A Country'. I think he and George Carlin were thinking just alike about aging, society and our behavior. Kurt openly speaks his mind as he always has, but in 'A Man Without A Country' he tends to let it all out in his cynical and humorous methods.

What he give us in these pages is his inner thoughts on his work, on the world and his bleak vision of our species future. I can't totally agree with him on everything in this regard but it was interesting nonetheless.

George and Kurt found a way to the same viewpoints on society by very different paths. I rave and applaud both of them. Read their stories and listen to what they say especially what they say.

If someone has never read any of Kurt's work before, they should start with this title. A peek into how he feels and thinks will open the passages like never possible without these insights first. I want to re-read them all again as if I had never read them before.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Kurt Vonnegut Gets a Rave for Mother Night


I re-visited Mother Night after a 30 plus year separation. I could not appreciate the words he so carefully laid before me at the time. I had not aged enough or seen enough of the world to really grasp the depth he was crafting in those few pages. In those days I never read the preface, never glanced at the introductions and never batted an eye towards any acknowledgements be they further than the opeing pages of 'This book is dedicated to...'. I truly wish I had read them as I do now. Perhaps working for the Library has opened my eyes to allow my mind to see the meanings in these beginnings.

Kurt opens Mother Night with his account of being a prisoner of war during World War II. I had always had a feeling of the affect the war had had upon him as he visited the topic several times. But I never, sadly I admit, had enough curiosity to explore the reasons why. This is something I now regret and I am ashamed to admit. To have read as much as I have and not know who is behind the words other than their name and a few simple facts.

It is with this admission that I begin this rave, this review if it may be called by that term, of Mother Night. Kurt was an expert on the human condition. He manages to engage the reader on every page, every sentence and every well placed word in Mother Night bringing the enormous range of the human existance in clear view. Disgusting, vile, dirty, loathesome, vanity, hatred, compassion, fear, peace and loving are words that can describe Howard W. Campbell, Jr. Traits that are found in many of us at some point in our small lives.

Writing about World War II from the point of view of Howard W. Campbell, Jr., leads the reader into believing the story is true. After all we are told the story many times in history and in other mediums. Yes it is in the cover pages that all accounts and characters are fictious, but I found it very clever to begin the intro as the editor of a manuscript and giving us an account of how it came about. This lends some credibilty to the narative which I for one enjoyed as a reader. It is not an easy task to wrtie about nor easy to read the accounts of the genocide of Nazi Germany. Kurt holds back only the gruesome details leaving the reader their own memories of what they had learned whether it was in school, from books and other media or first hand accounts of those who survived. I cannot in good faith praise the actions of history but I do praise Kurt's skill at triggering my own memories both good and bad.

Our character Howard has been seemingly incoculated to the genocide around him. He knows what is going on but lives as if nothing is going on. How can that be we ask? If one thinks about the question long enough, we will arrive at the answer. We are living it just as he did in the story. Genocide is nothing new to the world but the world had not seen anything of this magnatude in what we know as modern day. But history shows us many examples of entire races wiped away from the Earth as if a bothersome fly. By no means am I condoning or trying to make light of this time in history, but more to be a messenger that genocides have been a part of the workd long before Hitler and remain so today. The very nation I call my own very nearly wiped a race of people form the sight of the Earth simply because they were not considered people. Savages, loathesome savages were what the American Indians were called and many were slaughtered. I bring this up only because it happened on the very soil where we are supposed to believe all men are created equal. Think about that for a moment and then join with me in praising Kurt Vonnegut to have the courage and skill to write about the events of World War II.

Kurt has led Howard through the war and into freedom. A freedom without feeling. A solitary confinement of peace. And as such, this peace is rewarded, as in real life, real war, the peace is broken bits, fragments of ourselves. We are exposed for forever who we truly are. Inside these pages are everything humans have longed for, fought over and died for, as does Howard W. Campbell, Jr..

If you read to discover then this is a book for you. I am glad to have returned to Mother Night after all these years and I promise not to skip the preface and inroductions ever again. In the preface for Mother Night I finally have come to realize the profound impact World War II had upon Kurt's life.

Thank you for taking the time to read my thoughts on Mother Night. Please share yours too in the comments.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Rave For Kurt Vonnegut's 'Little Drops of Water'

Little Drops of Water was published in the short story works of 'Look at the Birdie' by Kurt Vonnegut. I really enjoyed reading the entire collection but I came upon this title one more time by accident recently.

A couple of weeks back I was having a conversation with a librarian about what to read next. She came up with an interesting list after I supplied some of my reading interests. Kurt Vonnegut was at the top of my list and has been for some time now. We talked about his work and others I liked and some titles she thought I might enjoy. Last week she sent me an email that the library was including his early work 'Mother Night' into the library's collection. I asked her to setup a hold for me and she did so right away.

I had completely forgotten all about that conversation's details when later, that very evening, I was browsing an old copy of Harper's looking to read an article about Bill Gates. To my surprise I find 'Little Drops of Water' by Kurt Vonnegut first and I of course read it again.

Reading this title the second time around I really feel I understood what Kurt was trying to say about friendships, relationships and men versus women. He makes it perfectly clear that Larry is egotistical and not really fit for a true relationship of any kind outside of himself. But it is this very selfish quality that becomes the target of a scorned lover. She becomes determined to have him despite his bad qualities. So the struggle to win starts with each believing they will be the victor. But are they really? Did each win? Did anyone win? Or is this the way he wants us to think. After all the story starts out describing a death of a friend whom never dies.

Little Drops of Water goes a long way in a few short pages describing the human condition of wanting to be connected to someone somehow. This is definitely a must read for anyone. Fan of Vonnegut or not there is something to learn here.

Look at the Birdie: Short Fiction
Little Drops of Water