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.

 

I originally passed on The Fates Will Find Their Way by Hannah Pittard, because the summary said it was about a girl who went missing and the effect on those close to her.  Then I saw that Indiespensable chose it as their current installment, so I had to read it.  I’m glad I did.  This book is about so much more than a missing girl.  It is about a group of people who share a defining moment in their lives.  More importantly, it’s about what they do with that moment.  Like all good literature, it is about us.

The book opens with a statement of facts:

Some things were certain; they were undeniable, inarguable. Nora Lindell was gone, for one thing. There was no doubt about that. For another, it was Halloween when she went missing, which only served to compound the eeriness, the mysteriousness of her disappearance.

Those facts are the defining moment shared by the group of neighborhood boys who went to school with Nora- the collective “we” that narrates the book.  Those opening sentences set the stage for the fantasies and conjecture that make up much of the rest of the book and the rest of the boys’ lives.

First and foremost, Hannah Pittard is a superb writer technically.  As mentioned, the book is written in the collective “we,” which is no easy task to believably sustain.  Though the book revolves around Nora Lindell’s disappearance, it does not progress in the usual mystery genre fashion.  It is not organized chronologically, and a solution to the mystery (in a traditional sense) does not steadily evolve.  Yet, Pittard perfectly crafts every sentence and scene to manage the pace and keep the reader going.

As the book progresses, the boys, who are later middle-aged men, construct possible scenarios to explain Nora’s disappearance based on snippets of details gathered from various sources over the years.  The reliability of many of the sources is questionable, but that’s not the point.  The point is the boys have a remarkable event in their youth that is open to interpretation and full of possibilities.  They share it.  They are in control of it.  They always return to it.

The boys’ personal lives develop around the collective obsession over what happened to Nora.  The reader learns how events surrounding Nora’s disappearance have supposedly affected the boys’ individual lives as they grow older.  I say “supposedly” because the boys make the connection to Nora when explaining the unfortunate events surrounding their individual lives. One has sex with another’s 14-year-old daughter. One has an adulterous affair. One becomes obsessed with Nora’s younger sister, and so on.  But are the boys reliable narrators?  Isn’t their judgment skewed by their obsession?  After all, people do these kinds of things all the time without ever knowing a girl who went missing.  In fact, the truth is  the collective is not really likable, and yet, the reader can’t help but empathize with them.

Nora’s disappearance becomes more than just a passing fantasy to the collective.  It becomes something they use to give their lives meaning and purpose.  And don’t we all go to some event in our youth, in our past, some decision, and imagine, “what if?”  And whether we realize it or not, we partially judge ourselves and where we are by those passing fantasies.  I don’t want to go into the boys’ individual stories in detail because I’m afraid it will give away too much. The careful unfolding of their lives around the core of the disappearance is partly what gives the book pace.  But the collective narrator ponders the events, not just those regarding Nora but their own lives, during funerals, at dinner parties, even at the grill in the backyard:

Often it would take a wife’s hand on the shoulder to pull us away from these reveries. “Honey,” she might say, “the coals.  Are they ready? The kids are hungry.” And they would always be tender at these moments, always impossibly understanding, as though they could see our thoughts, read our fears, our worries.  Sometimes, it’s like they almost understand how incredibly overwhelming it all is—to be a man, to be a father, a husband, a human being, responsible for the lives of others.

And of course, after learning about our collective narrator, we are to read the satire in that statement.  The book is full of dark humor, and I will use that as a segue to how I connect it to Cat’s Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut, a personal favorite.  Cat’s Cradle is also full of dark humor, but more importantly to this book, one of themes in Cat’s Cradle is how people often believe in the fantasies (lies by any other name) they construct themselves.

In Cat’s Cradle, the people on the island of San Lorenzo have created their own elaborate religion and hero.  The people on the island know it is all made up.  It is all lies, but they believe it and practice it anyway.  When I taught the book, my students often asked, “Why do they believe it if they know it is a lie? That’s stupid.”  They believe it because the lie gives them purpose. It makes their mundane lives bearable.  It is escape.

In The Fates Will Find Their Way, a reporter believes she has stumbled upon an explanation to the mystery behind Nora’s disappearance, but she needs assistance from Nora’s family.  The collective boys, men at this point in the book, do not want the family to give the reporter what she needs.  They do not want the reporter to solve the mystery.  Why?  They have wondered what happened all these years.  Ultimately, they do not want it to end.  They do not want the truth, because then they would no longer own the fantasy.  They would only have the reality around them.

I imagine The Fates Will Find Their Way will find it’s way to many “best of” lists this year. It is published by Ecco, an imprint of HarperCollins publishers.

 

Several of the blurbs for this book say it is as close as we will get to a memoir from Vonnegut.  Honestly, if you have read Cat’s Cradle, Slaughter-House Five, and his collections of lectures, speeches, etc. you have read everything in this book before.  That doesn’t mean it isn’t worth reading. It is full of Vonnegut wit and misanthropy.   It is fragmented, like his novels.  It is funny, like his novels.  The humor is to deal with the fear and hopelessness.  He states that he has given up on mankind, and in particular, America.  He strongly disliked the Bush administration, and he strongly believed that humans have destroyed the Earth.  In typical Vonnegut fashion, he doesn’t have any hope for us. To some degree it reads like a really depressed Al Gore- if Al Gore had a personality and was funny.  I like Vonnegut’s fiction.  I liked it even more in my twenties when I was just as negative as he is, but now I have a family and the unabandoned gloom with no solutions or alternatives is starting to seem a little immature and emo.  Don’t get me wrong.  He’s a great American writer.  Cat’s Cradle is still one of my all-time favorite books.  

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