There must be a million different reviews of Kurt Vonnegut and his fiction. He was a legend, who sadly left this mortal coil after many fruitful years at the typewriter. For me, this is the first Vonnegut I’ve had the pleasure to read. I should hear crickets at this point, if you’re still interested in what a complete Vonnegut virgin has to say, please read on.
I heard or read a few very nice reviews of this book, but none more pleasing than Mr. Dave Eggers shocking love letter to Vonnegut, (it says so in the press material I got in a personal letter, the book came to me through another publisher source, unsolicited, if they’d asked me I would have said, “it’s up to you, I’ve never read the guy”. Let me not stare a gift horse.But reviewers have to take chances, I guess). Still interested? I like his brevity, the crisp quality to the writing, but these stories were unpublished for a reason. Why? Ask Vonnegut, oh right, you can’t he’s dead.
That’s right, it’s a rare first electronic printing. This pal of mine even named his son Kurt. Weird? I named my son Jackson, after a nasty bastard who happens to be one of the greatest painters of the last hundred years.
Look at the Birdie, is a great collection of short stories, and for me, a wonderful introduction to a writer that I just said, “fuck it, I don’t have time in my life to go back and read all these books, jesus, who has the energy, forget time?” Now I guess I have to go back. I love the story at the end of the collection, The Good Explainer, about a Doctor who is a complete asshole and bullshit artist. He’s pulling the wool over a poor bastards eyes because he doesn’t have the stones to fess up to a really shitty deed from his past. And this story is slicker than deer guts, and you know what? I feel for the Doctor, and worse I feel for the husband who is trying to conceive a child with his stone cold wife. Getting pregnant is hard when you try. But what’s easier than lying to other people, lying to yourself of course.
How about this line from Hello, Red. “He was a heavy young man, twenty-eight, with the flat, mean face of a butcher boy.” I don’t know any butcher boys, personally, but heck, if Vonnegut says they look like this, I have to assume he’s right. Red Mayo, who names a character that? Sounds a lot like Jack’s aching libido, yes, I’ll say it, Vonnegut had a love child, with Ayn Rand, his name is Chuck Palahniuk. Everyone says Chuck is Vonnegut, but Fight Club is my greatest love as a reader. But Red Mayo, yes, he’s watching a little girl he’s named Red (her real name is Nancy, to tell you why he calls her Red, well, that would be unkind on my part), his own namesake, he watches her everyday from his spot on the bridge, and one day he confronts her father. You can’t really get this story unless you’re a dad, and I dare say that Vonnegut gives the stories best moment to the reader, it’s towards the end when Red can’t bare it anymore, and tells everyone he’s, or wait, what he has in the…never mind. Read the story, what good would it do to spoil it?
Writers come a long way in their lives, and Vonnegut has seen a lot. I’m always pleased when a writer says, “to hell with it, I’m using some cliches,” like I’ve just witnessed in Little Drops of Water. “Still waters run deep” and “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” both used to death, then dug up and used again. Vonnegut is drifting towards Carver country with this story, and it’s not half bad, the other half, well, you’ll have to read it. Larry was this guy who used to train women how to sing, and he’s teaching them a thing or two between the sheets. Obviously, Vonnegut is making fun of this foolish man, and by describing him as a succesful bachelor, even more fun can be had when love finds its way into the hearts of all involved. By writing their emotions or, excuse me, having the characters use cliche to sum up an action or emotion, Vonnegut is getting to the heart of the story, telling it like it is, and saving the best for last. He’s making the point that all people bend towards the common when they speak about themselves, it’s easier to understand and to be understood. Larry drifts from one end of the story to the other like a man unsure of which three piece suit to wear, so he try’s them all on.
Vonnegut rights faster than falling rain, and it’s fun to watch. This is a worthwhile collection, and a great way to get to know the writer. Just because people say it’s a classic, doesn’t make it good, just look at Hemingway, God he is awful. My pal said that to me years ago, right after he told me he named his son after Kurt Vonnegut. You should hear who he named his second son after…
-JR
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