A Man Without A Country
October 10, 2005
It needn't be all doom and gloom and the oh-so-serious wringing of hands. Sure, the world is going to Hell in a handbasket, or is it that we've merely captured today's Hell in a Palm Pilot? But what is to prevent a chuckle at the Apocalypse? Out of nothing and with all that talent, and this, this reeking hulk of a planet lurching no place in particular, this is all you could do? So might Job say to God.
And what of Martians who pee gasoline?
These thoughts are inspired by a short book I recommend with a glad heart. The author by now familiar to all, Kurt Vonnegut. The book, A Man Without A Country, (Seven Stories Press, 2005).
I expected not to like the book. The title offended. Was it going to be another tart serving of the sort of irony that suggests the fear of commitment? Look Ma, no country! Vonnegut is not a favorite of mine. A dozen or so books of his have passed through my hands, and mind, without leaving much of a trace. Why would this be different?
Vonnegut is now 82 and he writes as one surprised to still be kicking. I guess I can identify with that. I turned 50 last month, and, I swear by the gods, the world looks different to me. Where once I clawed, I now peck. Things seem more precious; I am suddenly more careful about the obvious, or, perhaps, simply mindful of the obvious truth that the world can swirl quite well without me.
So I read Vonnegut's ruminations with pleasure, and a smiling sense of recognition. We are killing the Earth, true. We are governed by boobs, true. And, the greatest gift of all, a recommendation of a book on how to recognize folks with personality disorders -- a must for all trial lawyers trying to make a living by sorting the psychic wheat from the psychic chaff in all the chaos that clients bring.
Read A Man Without A Country. Find a rainy Sunday morning sometime and curl up in a corner. Read what a friend has to say about a tightly wound ball with rubber bands snapping all around. A sting here, a chuckle there, the sound of knowing despair coming to terms with the joyous possibility of despair. I loved the book and plan now to reread a man I have apparently underestimated, or perhaps misunderstood.