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Obituary: Kurt Vonnegut
Visceral visionary, wielder of caustic wit
By Geof Wollerman
gwollerm@mscd.edu

Photo courtesy of The Lavin Agency Kurt Vonnegut (Nov. 11, 1922 - April 11, 2007)

After several weeks of battling complications from a recent head injury, visionary author Kurt Vonnegut died April 11 at the age of 84. He is survived by his wife, the photographer Jill Krementz, and several grown children.

While he often looked toward the future, Vonnegut also pined for the past, and his parables illustrated the many hidden perils of technological and societal progress.

His poignant cynicism and caustic wit engaged the skepticism of activists, protesters and others who opposed the burgeoning influences of the powers that be.

The Indianapolis native witnessed the firebombing of Dresden, Germany, during World War II, and the experience proved to be the inspiration for his best-selling novel Slaughterhouse Five. In almost all of his novels, Vonnegut alludes to the futility of war and humans’ seemingly boundless capacity for destruction and violence.

Despite his cynicism, Vonnegut’s writing remained discreetly optimistic for most of his life, though the tone of his last published work, a collection of essays titled A Man Without a Country, was darkly defeatist. The voice that once rang out with loud, incisive honesty, in the end seemed drowned out by the din of the humanity it sought to elevate.

The author of 14 novels, several plays and numerous essays and short stories, Vonnegut was perhaps not as prolific as some, but the indelible mark he made on 20th century literature is undeniable. His work is used in English classes across the country, and he continues to inspire new generations of writers and humanists alike.

If Vonnegut hadn’t been so playful in dispensing his cutting quips, a first-time reader might dismiss his stories as stodgy and bitter. Fortunately, good humor and benevolence were his true tendencies.

Vonnegut was more in touch at times with the collective we of the human race than we seem to be with ourselves. He was both proud and ashamed of his species, and reminded readers that, “in no matter what era in history, including the Garden of Eden, everybody just got here. And, except for the Garden of Eden, there were already all these games going on that could make you act crazy, even if you weren’t crazy to begin with.”

He made old seem fun, but more precisely, he made young seem like forever. Laced with a curious blend of mystery and truth, Vonnegut’s books can be mulled over and returned to, like rooms in an old house. There is a quality to his writing that sometimes seems as if he is talking to himself and the reader is simply tuning in – not wanting to interrupt, or for the voice to ever grow thin.