whose dark comic talent and urgent moral vision in novels like
“Slaughterhouse-Five,” “Cat’s Cradle” and “God Bless You, Mr.
Rosewater” caught the temper of his times and the imagination of a
generation, died Wednesday night in Manhattan. He was 84 and had homes
in Manhattan and in Sagaponack on Long Island.
There was a time in high school when Vonnegut was all I read. I was even Mr. Vonnegut for the ubiquitous "be a historic literary figure" day in 10th grade. It was great. I wore an old wrinkled suit, threatened to smoke in class, was grouchy, got to loudly express my liberal political views and cursed all day long (and this was catholic school so it was twice as sweet). Cats Cradle, Slaughter House Five, Player Piano, Sirens of Titan, Galapagos, Breakfast of Champions and all of his short stories – these were my armor, they carried me through what was probably the most formitive and horrendous years of my life.
Thanks, Mr. Vonnegut.