I have one tattoo on my body, and it's a tattoo I got impulsively out of grief that is not necessarily justifiable. This tattoo is located on my upper right rib cage and it says So It Goes.
There are a lot of authors to whom I have emotional attachments, but in most instances those attachments extend to their work and not far beyond. J.D. Salinger's Franny and Zooey may have literally saved my life on a couple occasions. I understand that that sounds like an extremely dramatic statement, but it might seriously be true. That said, I had mixed feelings about Mr. Salinger as a human, and when he died, my biggest question was whether or not they would find unpublished manuscripts I could enjoy. (Selfish, buddy, so goddam selfish.)
Recently, I was sad when Ray Bradbury died, Tearful when Maurice Sendak died, I have many living authors with whom I would love to correspond forever. But Kurt Vonnegut Jr. is the one I can't get over, and I feel like I owe myself and everyone else an explanation.
First of all, his fiction.
The man wrote novels that were interwoven with one another without being necessary to one another's survival. This requires both foresight and careful respect for one's own work, both of which are admirable qualities. He also wrote a character who was representative of himself without being masturbatory, which is practically unheard of. He also managed to make everything about respect for human life and intellect without making those qualities so pure that they became mythological. He was also alternately funny as fuck and tender as can be. His short fiction is probably some of the most underrated in the American universe. He wrote what he knew and extrapolated it to otherworldly environments, and he was good as shit at it, which is why terms from bokonism became part of his everyday expression of himself.
Secondly his non-fiction:
If you take the time to read essays and opinions that Vonnegut published from the beginning of his career until basically his death, you will find one underlying theme: the value of human life and the dignity that all people deserve. This should not be a surprise, seeing as it is basically the point of all of his fiction, as well. However, seeing it out in stark terms from his own heart and in his own, unfiltered voice, makes it more real. If you have not, everyone in the universe should read the letter he wrote to a member of a school board who decided to burn "vulgar" books:
http://www.lettersofnote.com/2012/03/i-am-very-real.html. Everyone should also check out the collection Wampeters, Foma, and Granfalloons.
This was a strong, principled man with a sharp mind that was backed by a compassionate heart. Too often we forgive nastiness or cheapness from people who are perceived as intelligent.
Thirdly, his life:
We so often think of successful thinkers and artists as tortured people and fuck ups and individuals deserving of leniency when it comes to judgment because of their artistic contributions. Vonnegut needed no leniency nor would he have asked for any. He raised his own children as well as several of his sisters to be successful, honest adults and never even spoke badly about military careers despite his experiences with Dresden.
All of this combined, plus the times when I chose to lean on Vonnegut's humanism and kindness as opposed to nastiness and anger that so many other authors and artists offered, left me feeling like Kurt was a grandfather figure, an American humanist who we could not afford to lose. When he died in 2007 I was really, truly upset. Five years later, in April of 2012, I still felt like I was mourning. Every time I read something of his or even something that REMINDED me of him, I would feel an honest hole in myself. I felt like I needed to pay tribute to my man, declare myself one of his people, and remind myself of what he would say about his own, or any, death: So it goes.
I know this might not seem rational, but it honestly made me feel better, and I still think of my boy Kurt as a family member, and no one can change that.
It is never a mistake to say goodbye.
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