A Man Without a Country [Hardcover]

In my review of "Timequake," I labelled Vonnegut as "Novelist Emeritus," noting that his writing is still enjoyable, you read it with half a smile on your face. But you are laughing and smiling with polite respect towards the old master.

I picked up "A Man without a Country" at the Coop and opened at random, and read this paragraph:

"In case you haven't noticed, as the result of a shamelessly rigged election in Florida, in which thousands of African Americans were arbitrarily disenfranchised, we now present ourselves to the rest of the world as proud, grinning, jut-jawed, pitiless war-lovers with appallingly powerful weaponry- who stand unopposed."

He continues on in this vein, and draws parallels between the current worldview of America and the way the world viewed Germany as the Nazis rose to power. He has the clarity and honesty to refer to the characters running the Bush administration as psychopaths.

Wow! I take it all back. Perhaps, in "Timequake" he was burdened with the artifact of a failed novel, but wanted to make something out of it, colored it with his unique perspective but ended up with a softer version of his usual fare. It felt a little lazy, like Vonnegut imitating Vonnegut.

But here, freed from the artifice of fiction, we get classic Vonnegut. In fact, more than a return to form, but better than ever. This book finds him clever and witty, but also very angry and indignant, and righteously so. I have the same concerns and emotions but lack the ability to formulate it and express it in words so beautifully. So it's refreshing to read Vonnegut, and it's inspiring to know that he is not the doddering old professor but a wise old lion with still plenty of bite left.

I won't try to tell you it's all great, that there are none of the soft, self-indulgent moments that detract from his later novels, but there is plenty of greatness on display. Buy it, read it, enjoy it. Thank you for listening.

Reviews like the one below by the 23-year-old who never had read Vonnegut before this current volume remind me of Mr. V.'s statement (I paraphrase, perhaps grotesquely) that the cumulative effect of the Vietnam-war protests and of '60s activism in general was that of a banana-cream pie hurled off a stepladder: here is unquestionably the Greatest of contemporary American novelists, whose work and vision as a whole provide clarity, wisdom, and guidance with humor and love for both the survival of the species and for America--yet he remains largely ignored and neglected by the current American demos, for whom democracy is named, and reviewed by only 24 or so while the latest potboiler gets 345 Amazon reviews the very day it's published.

Certainly Vonnegut himself is well aware of these vagaries of fame and influence.

But let me heartily proclaim the obvious--that we truly should declare Mr. V.'s birthday a new national holiday (strapping it firmly to the one, for some, it already is on 11/11); schoolchildren should compete in Vonnegut Declamation Contests, vying to repeat from memory the longest and most salient passages from his works; we should have Vonnegut Festivals, Seminars, Television sitcoms, toothpaste, bottled water--even a Vonnegut Party in national, state, and local elections, which might well take the place of the corrupt and anemic Democrats.

Alas, it seems we are repeating the past as the Old Reliables (Studs Terkel, John Leonard, and company) trot out their appropriate praises; some teevee interviews are conducted; the bored Harvard and Yale crowds clap politely; the schoolchildren continue with their videogaming and baby-producing; and New Orleans is reduced to a new Love Canal, Iraq civil-wars, the wealthy bolt their gated enclaves, and the rest of us, debt-torn and grief-fatigued, stew in our own juices.

Look: if you haven't done so recently, go back and reread (or first-read) SLAUGHTERHOUSE-FIVE, CAT'S CRADLE, HOCUS-POCUS, GALAPAGOS, GOD BLESS YOU MR. ROSEWATER, and MOTHER NIGHT (among others: but start with these).

Think about what the man is saying. Look around you. Maybe turn off your television for a moment of silence.

Here is the real deal, folks.

This is our guy. Ignore him at your peril.

Let's get those "Sermon on the Mount" plaques up in every corporate lobby.

Let's get tap-dancing. There's not much time left for a party.

Kurt finally concludes the half-century journey on which he has taken us with this hilarious, heartfelt, charming epilogue. Vonnegut gives us literary polaroids of his childhood and day-to-day life, places us at the dinner table with Mark Twain, Jesus, Abraham Lincoln, and Eugene Debs, and manages to answer the question: "What does it mean to be human?" All the while single handedly battling George W. Bush, H-Bombs, and the "Guessers."