The Sirens of Titan, Again
April 08, 2008
I read a Vonnegut book a few years ago; The Sirens of Titan. Within a few months I had read everything he'd ever written – or published and made publicly available at least. I picked up magazines when they mentioned or interviewed him. I lit up when people talked about him, had read his books. I was shocked when he delivered a lecture in Second Life; but I wouldn't have admitted it – as if I should have guessed. As if I should have known. As if we were buds.
Kurt Vonnegut died awhile back. I've lost childhood friends. Lost some family friends. Lost some personal heroes. I don't remember ever being too broken up about losing people though. In fact, I specifically remember not being broken up sometimes when it seemed appropriate. I remember how awkward that was. When Vonnegut died I was sad. Shocked. I felt loss and panic, realizing that I would never meet him.
An asteroid was named after Vonnegut. I found this out several months after he died. I remember finding this out, and I remember calling an observatory. I was going to find that asteroid, maybe get a picture of it. This was a bit out of character for me. Desperate and irrational even. I spoke with a scientist at that observatory. They're sponsored by the Discovery Channel, not a two bit operation. I asked how to go about finding 25399 Vonnegut, how to go about getting a picture of it. That scientist looked into it for a minute, verified the asteroid's name and everything. He told me that it was just a small lonely rock way out in space somewhere. He said there had probably never been a picture of it, probably only radio imaging. He told me it was just a rock, in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of other rocks. I forgave him eventually.
I bought a copy of The Sirens of Titan a few days ago. I read it today. I haven't read Vonnegut since I ran out of Vonnegut years ago. I'm not going to write a review. I'm not going to craft a witty acclaim. Suffice it to say I loved it. After I read the last page, I teared silently; for joy I think. I felt warm and tired. I put on some jazz, showered, and slept a warm sleep for two hours. When I woke up I read the last page again, jazz still playing. I still felt warm. Warm and grateful.
Tags for this piece: vonnegut books reading