Vonnegut’s been my hero ever since I read Cat’s Cradle in seventh grade.  His relentless humanism in spite of deep pessimism created some of the most bittersweet and memorable pieces of writing in the second half of the 20th Century.

It’s a huge crime that this towering talent never got what he deserved, namely the Nobel Prize.

For the first time in 25 years, I don’t have the prospect of a new Vonnegut book to look foward to.  Quelle drag.

Thanks, Kurt.  Thanks for Eliot Rosewater and Ice-Nine and Bokonen and Tralfamadore, granfaloons and Kilgore Trout.  Thanks for Cat’s Cradle, Mother Night, Slaughter-House Five, The Sirens of Titan, Galapagos, A Man Without a Country and Breakfast of Champions.