Charles Shields’ authorized biography of Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., And So It Goes, has caused some controversy lately.  Vonnegut died a little less than a year after beginning to work with Shields on the biography.  Jill Krementz, Vonnegut’s widow, refused to participate even when Kurt was alive, and Mark Vonnegut, his son and co-executor, refused to let Shields quote directly from Vonnegut’s letters after his death.  Mark has even publicly denounced the biography recently.  Nonetheless Shields conducted extensive interviews and combed through more than 1,500 letters for five years.  And So It Goes presents Kurt Vonnegut as a human, a complicated mix of good and bad.  He was a writer by trade trying to make sense of the world he lived in.

I thought the biography was fairly extensive (roughly 400 pages) and paced well.  Vonnegut was shaped by a series of complicated events and Shields does a good job documenting those critical events: his childhood marked by his family’s fall from fortune during the Great Depression and as a result his mother’s suicide; the struggle between his brother’s excellence at science and his desire to write; his experience as a prisoner of war in Dresden, which most people know later became the critical impetus for his most beloved novel, Slaughter-House Five; excelling as a PR man for General Electric; and his sister and brother-in-law’s tragic deaths that led Vonnegut to adopt their three children, which placed six children total under his wife at the time, Jane, and his care.

Shields does an especially good job capturing Vonnegut’s struggles as a new writer with a family of six children.  Vonnegut was diligent in his writing regime, waking every morning and hunching over his typewriter for hours.  It was the era of magazines, and Vonnegut paid his dues selling stories.  Vonnegut’s novels didn’t come easily, but he followed his morning writing ritual for much of his life.  Shields gives critical analyses of Vonnegut’s early novels, but his later novels don’t receive as much attention.  Vonnegut was troubled by critics for much of his career, but especially with his later work.

I also found Vonnegut’s experiences at the Iowa Writer’s Workshop especially interesting.  It was that experience that ultimately gave him the inspiration and motivation to complete Slaughterhouse-Five.  I was also unaware that Vonnegut taught and befriended many great writers, like John Irving and one of my favorites, Andre Dubus.  It was the first time that he felt like part of the literary community.  His time at the workshop also led to an extra-marital affair that sped the end of his already stressed first marriage.

Writer Naeem Murr once told me, when he was the writer-in-residence at my my college, he didn’t think it was a good idea for artists to have children, because the art often takes everything the artist has.  If you look at the lives of famous writers, you’ll find that this is often true.  Vonnegut was no exception.  Though he had enduring relationships with his wives and children, those relationships were often strained due to his work and his life-long battle with post-traumatic stress disorder and depression.

Shields begins the book with an appropriate quote from Vonnegut’s Wampeters, Foma & Granfallons (1974), “I keep losing and regaining my equilibrium, which is the basic plot of all popular fiction.  And I myself am a work of fiction.”  That quote sums up what I found most revealing about the biography.  Much of Vonnegut’s image among his loyal readers, myself included, is part of the fiction.  Vonnegut was on the cutting of edge of the new metafiction technique in literature, and he became popular during the 1960s.  Shields writes about the film adaptation of Mother Night:

…in the film, Vonnegut is not there to intervene the way he could in metafiction—there is no safe, ironic distance in the storytelling—so that the film Mother Night unfolds pretty much as straight drama.  The problem, Vonnegut later came to realize, was that filmed versions of his novels are one character short: himself.

Placing a fictional character of himself in his books is what makes them great, but the demand for that fictional character on speaking tours, as a creative writing teacher, and during interviews was something Vonnegut often wrestled with throughout life.  Shields touches on that struggle throughout the biography:

His readers assumed the voice they trusted in the novels was rooted in a combination of wisdom and sophistication, but the truth was different.  Vonnegut was more like his readers than they could have guessed.  His themes of community and extended family for persons who are naïve or lonely had much to do with how he saw himself, and he idealized some of his boyhood.  His summers at Lake Maxinkuckee had been his communal paradise lost…

I didn’t find the fact that Vonnegut was sometimes sad, cruel, or distant surprising.  He’s human.  If you’ve ever read his nonfiction essays, you will see all of those things, as well as humor, love, and kindness.  What I found most surprising were the seeming contradictions between how his readers viewed him and his conservative nature.  For example, Vonnegut was a shrewd investor in companies like Dow Chemical and Texas International Drilling Funds.  Shields explains that Vonnegut didn’t object to capitalism, but the use of capitalism to “justify the power of the rich over the poor.”  Vonnegut’s views of sexuality and society were also relatively conservative.  Shields writes:

Unfortunately, many of his younger readers and fans misjudged him…Sometimes their wrong impression created awkward, man-behind-the-curtain moments when at last they saw him in person.  In the spring of 1972, for instance, he spent one morning at West Point visiting classes and in the afternoon delivered a lecture.  At the end of the lecture, a cadet who had been looking forward to the event approached him. “And he said, ‘I can’t imagine you wrote those books,’ and I had, I swear to God I had, but I was not the man he thought should have written those books.”

Vonnegut was a brilliant PR man.  He created his own image, much like Mark Twain, which is discussed in the book as well.  Whether that image conflicts with him in reality doesn’t matter.  His work stands on its own.  In fact, that image is part of the artistry.  I believe much of the controversy over this biography is unwarranted.  Krementz and Mark Vonnegut may use the premise that they are defending Kurt’s image, but the truth is they are likely more worried about how they are portrayed.  Shields’ work is heavily annotated and documented.  Anyone who is a fan of Vonnegut should read this biography.

 

Joe Strummer TelecasterI was in the market for a telecaster after I regretted selling my custom built Warmoth tele.  The thing about the Warmoth I loved the most was the neck.  It had a unfinished smooth feel to it that felt very “worn in.”  After a little research, I stumbled on the Joe Strummer edition Fender Telecaster, which is heavily reliced.  The neck was supposed to have a great feel, so I bought it. I went on a Clash kick, which led me to borrow the biography from a buddy at work.  Strange how we end up where we are.

It took me longer to read the 613 pages than I originally guessed, and I have a lot of excuses.  My wife and I had our fourth child, a second daughter. We now have an even set- two boys and two girls.  I’ve been busy with the kids and various projects.  The book is dense, a veritable Moby Dick of rock biographies.  But the truth is, I’ve just been slack in my reading habits. Revolution Rock

When I say the book is dense, I mean Salewicz includes dizzying amounts of details.  I think he recorded every trip Joe made to the pub.  In case you didn’t know, Joe was powerful thirsty.  That’s not to say the book isn’t good.  It’s very good. But you have to be committed to finishing it.

I was a little wary at the beginning because Salewicz obviously adored Joe Strummer, which often leads to biographers airbrushing their subjects’ warts and blemishes.  Once you get past the first three chapters, which recount the funeral, some of Salewicz’s last moments with Joe, and a trip to Joe’s ancestor’s home in Scotland; Salewicz gives a very balanced account of Joe’s life – his faults, as well as his virtues.

The book is fairly evenly divided between Joe’s early years, his years with the Clash, and his solo years.  If you don’t know, The Clash began as a punk band in the late seventies, but quickly turned into a genre-breaking band fusing punk, rock, reggae, and world music.  You’ll learn, with plenty of specific examples, Joe loved people.  The cast of characters is endless and includes some unusual suspects.  He genuinely loved music from all over the world, especially reggae, cumbia, and African music.  He always had a “ghetto blaster” with him.  Joe also loved a bar and could talk the owner into keeping it open until dawn.  Perhaps his last great love was a campfire, which connected all of the above – people sitting around drinking, talking, and listening to music.

Salewicz writes towards the end of the book, “…Those who knew him, that international group of interconnected old souls who formed his and The Clash’s posse, knew he wasn’t Saint Joe. No, he was much more interesting than that.”  Joe felt his biggest mistakes were firing two of the four essential members of The Clash- Topper Headon and Mick Jones.  But throughout his life, he wasn’t the easiest person to work with.  He had trouble handling situations, especially if they involved people close to him.  He could be the kindest guy in the world giving bums $50 bills, but whip a microphone at the drummer’s head on stage for missing a change.   He would apologize later, but the damage was usually done.

As with most biographies dealing with a hero, the reader wants the hero to rise above the fray (synonym of “clash,” me trying to be clever).  Joe was able to maintain his integrity through the years and revive his career in the late 90s and early 2000s with his last band, The Mescaleros.   But he was still heavily abusing substances  and just generally not taking care of himself, often only getting four or five hours of sleep.  His relationships with the muscicians in the band were often shaky, but perhaps that’s what fed his creative energy.  His last album, completed posthumously by the band using Joe’s guide vocal tracks, is a great, driving rock record.  Something Joe had been striving to make for years.  He officially died of an undiagnosed congenital heart defect, but one has to think that the alcohol, drugs, and late nights took years off his life.

On an interesting note, the book literally fell apart as I was reading it.  Large chunks of pages came unglued from the spine.  I’ve never had that happen before, so I’m not sure if I did something to cause it or what.  The bad thing was I borrowed it from a buddy at work, so I ended up buying a copy to replace it.

Redemption SongRedemption song 2

 

touching-from-a-distanceI was a little shocked by Touching from a Distance.  The biopic Control, which sticks to the mythical post-punk  ideal of Ian Curtis as a tortured epileptic poet / musician who was torn between his love for two women, is based on Deborah Curtis’ memoir.  She even had a hand in producing the biopic.  What’s shocking is Deborah does not champion that myth in her memoir.

Deborah makes it clear very early in the memoir when discussing the budding stages of her and Ian’s relationship that Ian had some issues that went beyond the typical late-teenager brooding.  He told her from the beginning that he had no intention to live past his twenties.  He loved the melodramatic.  He had wild mood swings and was often unpredictable and awkward socially.  One day he was kind and generous, the next he was controlling and cruel. As Ian and the band become more successful, Ian shut Deborah out of that part of his life, going so far as to tell the band and friends invented stories about Deborah and their home life so there would be no communication between the two parties.  He became a master manipulator, juggling two lives.

It would be easy to chalk up Deborah’s recollections as that of the scorned woman, but I felt she was genuinely trying to figure out the big question everyone has when a loved one commits suicide- why?  And I don’t think she felt obligated to safeguarding his mythical rock status if it kept her from getting closer to answering the question.  It was a liberating read in the sense that the fans rarely get to see how petty, selfish, and cruel our heroes are.  We hold them above such base human characteristics.  The media sells the myth.  We focus on the talent, the art, as if that is all that makes them who they are.

Deborah never doubts or demeans Ian’s talent.  She often applauds his work ethic and drive.  He was a great performer.  The music is what it is- beautiful and original.

But in the end, Ian had little connection to the realities of life.   He went from living with his parents who took care of him, to living with Deborah who took care of him, to being in a band where the manager took care of him.  His mental disorder, whatever it would have been diagnosed as, was compounded by the fact that he never had to focus on anything outside of  himself, and everyone wanted him to give more.  Ultimately, he did the most selfish thing he could think of.

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