| Subject: And so it goes... |
Author:
Ned Depew
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Date Posted: 10:41:30 04/12/07 Thu
Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., died yesterday at the age of 84.
I had the distinct privilege of attending the “installation” ceremony when Vonnegut - then 78, I believe - was recognized as the 2001-2003 New York State “Writer of the Year” (”Go figure,” as we say here).
I brought my kids, who were 19 and 22 and had grown up on his writing, to the ceremony at the New York State Writers Institute at Page Hall on the Albany SUNY campus. My son got to shake his hand as he passed up the aisle, a moment he treasures.
I had seen him years earlier - reading in a bookstore in Cambridge MA in the 1960s - and could see the toll his age had taken, but he was still energetic and gave a wonderful little talk about “The Narrative Arc” - much in the vein of Twainian humor he mined so effectively - and the “writer’s life.”
Most memorable, to the point that I still quote it regularly and often, was a story about one of his uncles who would often inject into family gatherings and other moments his simple and poignant assessment: “If this isn’t nice, what is?” Vonnegut’s short-hand version of “Attention, attention, attention!”
Vonnegut’s sensibility was unique and uplifting, always fresh and alive, fully-recognizing but never overwhelmed by the dark side of the Human condition (although he had reason to be!!). But like a man who never lost the vision of his youth, always full of the sense of delightfully unexpected (although longed-for) possiblity
Beneath the snarkiness and a heavy does of irony that can easily be mis-read as cynicism, is a clear impulse to realize something better and a clearly conveyed sense that it is almost within our grasp, if only we’d open our eyes to it and reach out.
That Vonnegut was convinced of this possibility to the last - “If this isn’t nice, what is?” - is just one more endearing gift from his life and work. He helped make his readers’ lives more than merely bearable, even enjoyable, with humor, forgiveness and a deep compassion. He left us so much of himself, that although he will be missed, he can never be missed.
And so it goes…
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