Kurt Vonnegut is dead.

There were a crop of exceedingly talented writers that came out of that World War II generation. Philip Roth is still (in general) practicing his craft at the highest levels. Joseph Heller is dead. Now Vonnegut. When you live 84 years on this planet, you've had a good run at it. It doesn't make it any less terrible.

I was 14 years old when I read "Slaughterhouse-Five" for the first time. It remains the best book that I have ever read.

Take note of the poem that appears at the end of the obituary in the New York Times (hyperlinked above and again here).

The world has lost another genius, and I fear that we're running out.

Labels: Slaughterhouse-Five, Vonnegut