July 23, 2014 at 2:10 p.m.
Vonnegut left legacy worth remembering (04/14/07)
Editorial
Even when he smiled, there seemed to be tears in his eyes.
That was appropriate, because Kurt Vonnegut saw the world both with humor, laughing wryly at the follies of mankind, and with intense sadness, often provoked by precisely the same follies.
Discovering him in the 1960s, millions of American readers found in his sad, wry, wise vision of the universe a template that - while it never comforted - ultimately made sense.
Stupidity will always be in greater abundance than evil, Vonnegut taught us. But it will also be more dangerous.
You can be whatever you dream, he once wrote, so be very careful what you dream.
Live well and be the best human being you can be, because that's the greatest challenge, his novels and essays reminded us.
While the universe as we know it will someday cease to be, every moment - every single moment of every life - is in its own way eternal and timeless and infinite. Remember that.
It was pretty heavy stuff for a guy from Indianapolis who wrote novels that seemed most appropriately published in paperback and purchased at a drug store newsstand.
In many ways, it's fitting that Vonnegut's death this week came amid an Indianapolis year-long event to recognize his literary contributions.
It's fitting because, in true Vonnegut style, he had to have viewed the Indy celebration as something ludicrous, something not to be taken seriously.
After all, Kurt Vonnegut is the inventor of that wonderful classification, the Granfalloon, and of all the Granfalloons in the world, the ultimate was the Granfalloon of the Hoosier.
What's a Granfalloon? It's one of those arbitrary categories of humans that has nothing to do with who they are.
For Vonnegut, being a Hoosier was a Granfalloon because it had only to do with being born within the arbitrary boundaries of a state government. It had little or nothing to do with who one actually is.
In his case, the arbitrary Granfalloon of being a Hoosier paled when compared to his life-altering experiences as a World War II P.O.W. or witnessing the aftermath of the firebombing of Dresden.
His point was simple and complex, as was often the case with Vonnegut.
Who we are, he was saying, has next to nothing to do with maps and artificial groupings.
It doesn't even have that much to do with our culture, our language, and our heritage. Instead, who we are is tied to how we live, what courses we chart, what experiences touch us at the core, what we value, and what we want to leave behind.
Again, that's pretty heavy stuff for a guy who wrote paperback novels in clear, clean prose.
But it's a worthy legacy, and those who were touched by his work - and will continue to be touched by his work - are grateful to have crossed his path. - J.R.[[In-content Ad]]
That was appropriate, because Kurt Vonnegut saw the world both with humor, laughing wryly at the follies of mankind, and with intense sadness, often provoked by precisely the same follies.
Discovering him in the 1960s, millions of American readers found in his sad, wry, wise vision of the universe a template that - while it never comforted - ultimately made sense.
Stupidity will always be in greater abundance than evil, Vonnegut taught us. But it will also be more dangerous.
You can be whatever you dream, he once wrote, so be very careful what you dream.
Live well and be the best human being you can be, because that's the greatest challenge, his novels and essays reminded us.
While the universe as we know it will someday cease to be, every moment - every single moment of every life - is in its own way eternal and timeless and infinite. Remember that.
It was pretty heavy stuff for a guy from Indianapolis who wrote novels that seemed most appropriately published in paperback and purchased at a drug store newsstand.
In many ways, it's fitting that Vonnegut's death this week came amid an Indianapolis year-long event to recognize his literary contributions.
It's fitting because, in true Vonnegut style, he had to have viewed the Indy celebration as something ludicrous, something not to be taken seriously.
After all, Kurt Vonnegut is the inventor of that wonderful classification, the Granfalloon, and of all the Granfalloons in the world, the ultimate was the Granfalloon of the Hoosier.
What's a Granfalloon? It's one of those arbitrary categories of humans that has nothing to do with who they are.
For Vonnegut, being a Hoosier was a Granfalloon because it had only to do with being born within the arbitrary boundaries of a state government. It had little or nothing to do with who one actually is.
In his case, the arbitrary Granfalloon of being a Hoosier paled when compared to his life-altering experiences as a World War II P.O.W. or witnessing the aftermath of the firebombing of Dresden.
His point was simple and complex, as was often the case with Vonnegut.
Who we are, he was saying, has next to nothing to do with maps and artificial groupings.
It doesn't even have that much to do with our culture, our language, and our heritage. Instead, who we are is tied to how we live, what courses we chart, what experiences touch us at the core, what we value, and what we want to leave behind.
Again, that's pretty heavy stuff for a guy who wrote paperback novels in clear, clean prose.
But it's a worthy legacy, and those who were touched by his work - and will continue to be touched by his work - are grateful to have crossed his path. - J.R.[[In-content Ad]]
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