I just want to link one of the pieces memorializing Kurt Vonnegut. During my first break in service, from 1973-77, I was one of the baby-boomers — albeit one of the damaged goods coming back from Vietnam — who waited for more… and more… Vonnegut. I have to credit him as one of those who triggered a lifelong allergy to easy explanations, even if I was slow.
Kurt Vonnegut’s death on Wednesday does not end an era. In the age of globalisation, this bard – a champion of the simple, decent man being slapped in the face by one invisible hand after another – represents the future.
I last met Vonnegut as he sat in the morning sunshine on the steps of the building that houses the British Mission to the UN, a few yards from his 47th Street apartment. He was reading a newspaper he’d picked from the waste bin and was chain-smoking as well, which he had claimed to be a “fairly honourable form of suicide”.
A life-long reader FULL