We lost one of my favorite authors yesterday. Kurt Vonnegut was our modern day Mark Twain. He passed away yesterday at 84 of complications from a head injury he received a few weeks ago.
From CNN: Vonnegut once said that of all the ways to die, he’d prefer to go out in an airplane crash on the peak of Mount Kilimanjaro. He often joked about the difficulties of old age.
“When Hemingway killed himself he put a period at the end of his life; old age is more like a semicolon,” Vonnegut told The Associated Press in 2005.
“My father, like Hemingway, was a gun nut and was very unhappy late in life. But he was proud of not committing suicide. And I’ll do the same, so as not to set a bad example for my children.”
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Sad to say, I’ve never read Vonnegut. Anyone shocked by such a confession, though, should really get together with me in private, off the record (so to speak), as anyone who’s lived more than a few years on this planet should surely be able to confess to more significant transgressions.
Regardless, I have seen movie adaptations, read reviews, and even saw him interviewed on The Daily Show recently, so I have some appreciation of the man. Furthermore, I laud his sentiment towards his children… A [seemingly] never ending responsibility, parenthood is.
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