The Great Vonnegut

by Thomas M. Pender

I have to sing the praises of Kurt Vonnegut Jr. for those who have never read his works!

Vonnegut (November 11, 1922 – April 11, 2007) wrote such amazingly worded novels, he could sway his readers’ emotions and thought processes.  Not everything he wrote is worthy of praise – in fact some is so repetitive and cyclical, you will think you’re trapped in rap lyrics! – but a few gems are well worth crowing about.

Player Piano was his first novel, and it tells the story of man versus machine in a society where machines are replacing humans.  Right out of the box, I have to say I loved the title.  Having nothing to do with the story, the player piano is a simplified image of a contraption that, while normally operated by a human, runs on its own.  Brilliant!  The story immediately grabbed my attention, and held it through every page, so I immediately went on to his next work.

The Sirens of Titan astounded me, plain and simple, for the accomplishment in the writing itself.  Without changing anything about his main character’s actions or motives, Vonnegut manipulates how the reader sees him and changes how we think of him.  You spend the first third of the book thinking the hero is the best guy in the world, the second third wondering what the heck he’s really doing, and the last third thinking he’s the worst guy in the world . . . all through the power of Vonnegut’s wording!  As a writer and aspiring novelist, I see this as superhuman skill and talent.

Slaughterhouse-Five is about a man who becomes “unstuck in Time.”  He is constantly juggled through scenes from his past, present and future.  He experiences World War II Dresden, the planet Trafalmadore (as a human zoo display!), 1950s American married life, and his own murder in 1976 Chicago.  (Published in 1969, this would be in the near future.)  You feel for the character, and you learn from his predicament, as well.

Mother Night had a profound effect on me.  The theme is “You must be careful what you pretend to be, because in the end, you are what you pretend to be!”  This was meant as a cautionary tale, featuring an American who pretends to be a Nazi in World War II Germany.  The character has good reason to do so, but sees himself as a monster because his reason does not change the evil he is doing.  Still, I took this lesson as a positive: If you pretend to be the person you want to be, you become that person!

I was also very affected by a story written in screenplay form, Fortitude.  Published in the short story collection Wampeters, Foma & Granfalloons, it tells the story of a very rich woman who should have died long ago, but is being kept alive by a building full of machines.  Only her head remains in its original form.  She is prevented from committing suicide when she becomes too depressed over her situation, so she exacts some wonderfully poetic revenge.  Here again, I was impressed by how Vonnegut evokes strong emotional reactions from his reader.

While I was incredibly disappointed in one of his most lauded books, Breakfast of Champions, I find Vonnegut’s work to be completely original in tone, and I will miss his writing.   In general, his work makes you want to laugh, but before you can laugh, it makes you think, and in thinking, you realize that what you just read isn’t funny, but kind of sad or infuriating.  I have no idea how he did that, and I’m incredibly jealous.  However, as a reader, his books are a playground for the mind.  If you’ve never read his work, I recommend you start with the first novel, Player Piano.  It’s a fine introduction to his style, and if you like it, you can easily progress from that.  If you love the written word, and the magic that a masterful writer can conjure, give Kurt Vonnegut Jr. a try.  In whatever way you are affected by his words, you will certainly be affected, which is a rare and wonderful thing in the world of literature!

Darned by Pete

by Thomas M. Pender

While it seems that children – particularly very young children – are running around screaming and engulfed in their own little imaginary worlds, what they are really doing is observing.  Soaking in the world like little sponges, taking notes, investigating curiosities, and deciding who to be and how to act.  Their first and strongest influences are their parents.  These two giants of authority (ideally) have the most focused time with the children, and are the primary examples to the youngsters of how people should behave.

My sisters and I were blessed in this sense by two parents who were loving and unique.  “Unique” is the textbook politely flattering term.  “Goofy” is the truth.  Thus, the blessing.

Around the same time I figured out that my mother had two distinct laughs used for two distinct purposes – the softer, short bursts of inhalations for the telephone and the open-mouthed gale of laughter for in-person humor – I learned that she also had some favorite sayings.

Adults who have children, as many comedians have certainly taught us, edit themselves when their children are born and in the more sensitive stages of growing up.  My mother was never a cursing type, being raised by a Sunday School teacher who never ever cursed in front of ladies, but the way in which she “sort of” cursed was a bit like someone would if they were toning themselves down for the kiddies.

My mother “darned” herself an awful lot.

Mostly on the phone, and generally in situations where she was amazed, surprised or stumped, she slowly shake her head and say, “I’ll be darned.”  This verb took some years to nail down.  I had to wait years and get out into the world to meet less cordial adults who freely damned themselves whenever something unexpected came their way.  Only then could I retroactively understand what my mother was saying.

And then there was Pete.

My family consisted of a father (John), a mother (Joan), an older daughter (Debi), a son (Tom . . . that would be me!) and a younger daughter (Kristi).  For a few years, the household was also peopled by my mother’s parents, Claude and Ferrell.  None of the many dogs who came and went had typical human names.  Yet somehow, one of the most important and influential people in my mother’s life was named Pete.

No one knew who Pete was, nor ever met him, but as teens we used to tease my mother about her “boyfriend” Pete.  He must have been somebody that close to her, for she was often heard saying “for Pete’s sake.”  This would happen quite a bit while she was inhale-laughing on the phone.  Not for Debi’s sake or Kristi’s sake or even John’s sake.  Mom did it all for Pete.  Whoever he may be.

Connecting the two didn’t help to answer these baffling questions, either.  Mom never darned herself for Pete’s sake, or I’d believe he was a mender of socks.  Years later, after Dad had passed and Mom started dating, she brought around a couple of men for us kids to meet, but no Pete.  If she was, in fact, doing everything for his sake, I’m sure he would have disapproved of her seeing other men and not even giving him the courtesy of a dinner.  She eventually married a Jerry, but his middle name isn’t even Pete.

Wherever this Pete may be, I sure hope he appreciates how devoted my mother was all those years.  If he came to realize it someday, I bet he’d be darned.