Palm Sunday

Bluebeard

Breakfast of Champions

Cat’s Cradle

Deadeye Dick

Galápagos

God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater

Jailbird,

Mother Night

Palm Sunday

Player Piano

The Sirens of Titan

Slapstick

Slaughterhouse-Five

Wampeters, Foma & Granfalloons

Welcome to the Monkey House

Grateful acknowledgment is made for permission to use the following material:

“An Account of the Ancestry of Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., by an Ancient Friend of His Family” by John G. Rauch: Used by permission of William Rauch.

Excerpts from
Indianapolis
magazine used by permission.

“How to Write with Style” by Kurt Vonnegut: Reprinted by permission from International Paper Company’s “Power of the Printed Word” Program.

“Self-Interview” appeared originally in
The Paris Review
, Issue #69. Copyright 1977 by The Paris Review. Reprinted by permission of The Viking Press.

“Who in America Is Truly Happy?”: Reprinted from
Politics Today
, January 1979. Used by permission.

Review of SOMETHING HAPPENED by Joseph Heller: © 1974 by The New York Times Company. Reprinted by permission.

“Introduction” to WRITE IF YOU GET WORK: THE BEST OF BOB AND RAY by Bob Elliott and Ray Goulding: Used by permission of Random House, Inc.

“Class of ’57” by Harold Reid and Don Reid: © Copyright 1972 by House of Cash, Inc., Hendersonville, Tennessee 37075. Used by permission.

Viking Penguin, Inc. for “Louis-Ferdinand Céline” as the Introduction to the Penguin edition of CASTLE TO CASTLE, RIGADOON and NORTH by Louis-Ferdinand Céline.

“Dresden Revisited” was originally an introduction for the limited edition of SLAUGHTERHOUSE-FIVE published by the Franklin Library and signed by the writer. The work is reprinted with the permission of the Franklin Library.

“Flowers on the Wall” by Lewis DeWitt: Copyright © 1965, 1966 by Southwind Music, Inc. Rights controlled by Unichappell Music, Inc. (Rightsong Music, Inc., Publisher). International Copyright Secured. All Rights Reserved.

Lines from “Howl” by Allen Ginsberg: Copyright © 1956, 1959 by Allen Ginsberg. Reprinted by permission of City Lights Books.

Acknowledgment is made to the following publications in whose pages these essays first appeared:

The New York Times
for “Un-American Nonsense”;
Again, Dangerous Visions
edited by Harían Ellison for “The Big Space Fuck”; and
The Nation
for “Mark Twain” and “Palm Sunday” as “Hypocrites You Always Have With You.”

For my cousins the de St. Andrés everywhere. Who has the castle now?

INTRODUCTION

1
THE FIRST AMENDMENT

“Dear Mr. McCarthy”—
letter by KV to head of school committee in Drake, N.D., where his books were burned

“Un-American Nonsense”—
essay for
The New York Times
by KV, about the banning of his books by the school committee of Island Trees, N.Y
.

“God’s Law”—
speech by KV at a fund raiser for the American Civil Liberties Union in Sands Point, N.Y
.

“Dear Felix”—
letter by KV to a Russian friend about the harassment of writers in the USSR

2
ROOTS

“An Account of the Ancestry of Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., by an Ancient Friend of His Family”—
formal essay by the late John G. Rauch of Indianapolis

3
WHEN I LOST MY INNOCENCE

“What I Liked about Cornell”—
speech by KV to an annual banquet of
The Cornell Daily Sun
in Ithaca, N.Y
.

“When I Lost My Innocence”—
essay by KV for
Aftonbladet,
a Swedish newspaper

“I Am Embarrassed”—
antinuke speech by KV at rally in Washington, D.C
.

4
TRIAGE

“How to Write with Style”—
essay by KV for a campaign by the International Paper Company to encourage literacy

5
SELF-INTERVIEW

Replies by KV to questions put by himself for
The Paris Review
No. 69

6
THE PEOPLE ONE KNOWS

“Who in America Is Truly Happy?”—
essay by KV on William F. Buckley, Jr., for
Politics Today

“Something Happened”—
review by KV for
The New York Times Book Review
of Joseph Heller’s second novel

“The Rocky Graziano of American Letters”—
speech by KV at banquet in honor of Irwin Shaw at the Players’ Club, New York City

“The Best of Bob and Ray”—
introduction by KV to book by the great comedians Bob Elliott and Ray Goulding

“James T. Farrell”—
speech by KV at Farrell’s funeral in New York City

7
PLAYMATES

“Lavina Lyon”—
speech by KV at the funeral of an old friend in Lexington, Ky
.

“The Class of ’57”—
song by Don and Harold Reid of the Statler Brothers, a country-music quartet

“The Noodle Factory”—
speech by KV at the dedication of the new library at the University of Connecticut, New London

8
MARK TWAIN

“Mark Twain”—
speech by KV at the one-hundredth anniversary celebration of the completion of Mark Twain’s fanciful residence in Hartford, Conn
.

9
FUNNIER ON PAPER THAN MOST PEOPLE

“How Jokes Work”—
commencement address by KV at Fredonia College, Fredonia, N.Y
.

10
EMBARRASSMENT

11
RELIGION

“Do Not Mourn!”—
speech written by KV’s great-grandfather, Clemens Vonnegut, to be read at his own funeral

“Thoughts of a Free Thinker”—
commencement address by KV at Hobart and William Smith Colleges, Geneva, N.Y
.

“William Ellery Charming”—
speech by KV on the 200th anniversary of the birth of the great Unitarian minister, First Parish Church, Cambridge, Mass
.

12
OBSCENITY

“The Big Space Fuck”—
short story by KV

13
CHILDREN

“Fear and Loathing in Morristown, NJ.”—
speech by KV to the Mental Health Association of New Jersey

“Dear Mr. X”—
letter by Nanette Vonnegut, waitress, to disgruntled restaurant customer

14
JONATHAN SWIFT MISPERCEIVED

“Jonathan Swift”—
rejected introduction by KV to new edition of
Gulliver’s Travels

15
JEKYLL AND HYDE UPDATED

The Chemistry Professor—
treatment by KV for a musical comedy based on Stevenson’s
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

16
A NAZI SYMPATHIZER DEFENDED AT SOME COST

“Louis-Ferdinand Céline”—
introduction by KV to paperback editions of the controversial author’s last three novels

17
A NAZI CITY MOURNED AT SOME PROFIT

“Dresden Revisited”—
introduction by KV to new edition of
Slaughterhouse- Five

18
THE SEXUAL REVOLUTION

“Flowers on the Wall”—
song by Lew De Witt of the Statler Brothers

19
IN THE CAPITAL OF THE WORLD

“Palm Sunday”—
sermon delivered by KV at St. Clement’s Church, New York City

T
HIS IS
a very great book by an American genius. I have worked so hard on this masterpiece for the past six years. I have groaned and banged my head on radiators. I have walked through every hotel lobby in New York, thinking about this book and weeping, and driving my fist into the guts of grandfather clocks.

It is a marvelous new literary form. This book combines the tidal power of a major novel with the bone-rattling immediacy of front-line journalism—which is old stuff now, God knows, God knows. But I have also intertwined the flashy enthusiasms of musical theater, the lethal left jab of the short story, the sachet of personal letters, the oompah of American history, and oratory in the bow-wow style.

This book is so broad and deep that it reminds me of my brother Bernard’s early experiments with radio. He built a transmitter of his own invention, and he hooked it up to a telegraph key, and he turned it on. He called up our cousin Richard, about two miles away, and he told Richard to listen to his radio, to tune it back and forth across the band, to see if he could pick up my brother’s signals anywhere. They were both about fifteen.

My brother tapped out an easily recognizable message, sending it again and again and again. It was “SOS.” This was in Indianapolis, the world’s largest city not on a navigable waterway.

Cousin Richard telephoned back. He was thrilled. He said that Bernard’s signals were loud and clear simply everywhere on the radio band, drowning out music or news or drama, or whatever the commercial stations were putting out at the time.

•   •   •

This is certainly that kind of masterpiece, and a new name should be created for such an all-frequencies assault on the sensibilities. I propose the name
blivit
. This is a word which during my adolescence was defined by peers as “two pounds of shit in a one-pound bag.”

I would not mind if books simpler than this one, but combining fiction and fact, were also called blivits. This would encourage
The New York Times Book Review
to establish a third category for best sellers, one long needed, in my opinion. If there were a separate list for blivits, then authors of blivits could stop stepping in the faces of mere novelists and historians and so on.

Until that happy day, however, I insist, as only a great author can, that this book be ranked in both the fiction and nonfiction competitions. As for the Pulitzer prizes: this book should be eligible for a mega-grand slam, sweeping fiction, drama, history, biography, and journalism. We will wait and see.

•   •   •

This book is not only a blivit but a collage. It began with my wish to collect in one volume most of the reviews and speeches and essays I had written since the publication of a similar collection,
Wampeters, Foma & Granfalloons
, in 1974.
But as I arranged those fragments in this order and then that one, I saw that they formed a sort of autobiography, especially if I felt free to include some pieces not written by me. To give life to such a golem, however, I would have to write much new connective tissue. This I have done.

The reader should expect me to chat about this and that, and then to include a speech or a letter or a song or whatever, and then to chat some more.

I do not really consider this to be a masterpiece. I find it clumsy. I find it raw. It has some value, I think, as a confrontation between an American novelist and his own stubborn simplicity. I was dumb in school. Whatever the nature of that dumbness, it is with me still.

I have dedicated this book to the de St. Andrés. I am a de St. André, since that was the maiden name of a maternal great-grandmother of mine. My mother believed that this meant that she was descended from nobles of some kind.

This was an innocent belief, and so should not be mocked or scorned. Or so I say. My books so far have argued that most human behavior, no matter how ghastly or ludicrous or glorious or whatever, is innocent. And here seems as good a place as any to include a statement made to me by Marsha Mason, the superb actress who once did me the honor of starring in a play of mine. She, too, is from the Middle West, from St. Louis.

“You know what the trouble is with New York?” she asked me.

“No,” I said.

“Nobody here,” she said, “believes that there is such a thing as innocence.”