
A Man Without a Country, Maybe

Kurt Vonnegut's latest book, a collection of essays rather than the fiction he's known for, is at turns illuminating, maddening, and depressing, very much like the fiction he's known for.
Vonnegut is focused on his advancing years here, and he comes perilously close to sounding like a grumpy old man. Every time he does, however, he manages to throw in an unexpected zinger of crystalline prose that--agree with him or not--makes you want to jot the passage down for posterity. Pieces like:
Human beings are chimpanzees who get crazy drunk on power. By saying that our leaders are power-drunk chimpanzees, am I in danger of wrecking the morale of our soldiers fighting and dying in the Middle East? Their morale, like so many bodies, is already shot to pieces. They are being treated, as I never was, like toys a rich kid got for Christmas.
This from a WWII infantryman and POW who famously lived through the firebombing of Dresden and wrote about it in Slaughterhouse-Five, my favorite Vonnegut novel. He's pissed off and in full-on man without a country rant. But just when he gets you wound up and fed up, he hits you with this:
When you get to my age, if you get to my age, which is 81, and if you have reproduced, you will find yourself asking your own children, who are themselves middle-aged, what life is all about ... I put my big question about life to my biological son Mark. Mark is a pediatrician ... Dr. Vonnegut said this to his doddering old dad: Father, we are here to help each other get through this thing, whatever it is. So I pass that on to you. Write it down, and put it in your computer, so you can forget it.
He gives you Candide's laughter in the face of tragedy--he mentions Voltaire's work in the book--and its deep satire and irony as so few have managed since. It's a quick read, and worth the ride.
Review ID: 10000000002572163

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