I had never wondered until today if a writer, American or otherwise, has helped to shape me, shape part of who I am today. But when I heard the news of Kurt Vonnegut's passing, I realize that dear Kurt was my American Idol.Don't get me wrong, I was never a #1 fan. I've never read Cat's Cradle. I barely got through Slaughterhouse-Five. But at the tender, impressionable age of 16, I was entranced by the Beat Writers of the 60's and their thumbs up at the writing establishment. (I went to high school in Berkeley, sue me.) Richard Brautigan, Ferlinghetti, Vonnegut. They were all anti-establishment without reeking of the typical Hippy Dippy Acid Tripping stereotype that San Francisco is known for. These guys were sharp, funny, satirical, brooding, depressed, suicidal. What more could a 16-year-old ask for??? I remember quite distinctly my very first term paper was about Kurt Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions and God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater. So while others toiled away on the symbolism of East of Eden or the heady nature of To Kill a Mockingbird; I sat and chuckled at beaver jokes and protagonists who suffered from Echolalia. His apocolyptic humor always struck a note of kinship within me.
I often pretend around these parts that I feel at ease with writing. Any writer could tell you that "ease" is rarely ever the case. It took Vonnegut 22 years to write his classic Slaughterhouse-Five, the Great American Novel. So thank you, Kurt, for helping me to be at ease with my own writing. Thank you for lighting my way through the treacherous years of teendom. Thank you for showing there is more than what is spoon-fed to me. Thank you for showing me writing doesn't always have to "come naturally" or be "serious" to be good, no, great, NO, brilliant.
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