Kurt Vonnegut 1922-2007

I came home from a lovely evening with my friend Amanda to find that my favorite author, Kurt Vonnegut, had died in his home in New York. I feel a great sense of sadness at this, as Vonnegut's work, so much more than any other writer, seemed as if it had always spoke directly to me. During my junior year of high school, outside of my required reading for school, I read every single Vonnegut novel. The first one I read was Slaughterhouse-Five, a completely brilliant anti-war satire that I found funnier and more affecting even than Catch-22. I read Slaughterhouse-Five at least once a year, and although I am not exactly the same cynical slightly angry kid I was in high school, I may have to go back and revisit Vonnegut's body of work and try and refresh my memory as to why I loved him so much. To me, he was always the writer equivalent of Robert Altman, who also died last year. If there is any kind of afterlife, I am sure Altman and Vonnegut are having a hell of a time laughing at all of us.