Years ago, after my husband helped his parents move into a condo, he brought home a boxed set of Vonnegut that had belonged to his siblings. The girls had, rather touchingly, divided the books and inscribed their names, along with the dates of their graduation, on the flyleaf. When I came across this set the other day, I intended to read Breakfast of Champions, but the cover fell off, so so I read Wampeters, Foma & Granfalloons instead. (In case you want to know what the title means, it refers to concepts in his novel Cat’s Cradle. My post is here.)
Wampeters, Foma & Granfalloons, published in 1974, is a brilliant collection of essays, magazine pieces, and speeches. And I have to say, Vonnegut’s witty, charming, sometimes indignant and angry nonfiction may be his best work. Vonnegut always sees the larger picture, which is difficult for the rest of us to do. He is also a moralist, but not in a way that interferes with the pleasure of reading.
In my favorite essay, “Yes, We Have No Nirvana,” he manages to be both sympathetic and sarcastic about Transcendental Meditation. His wife and eighteen-year-old daughter practiced it enthusiastically, so he investigated it for Esquire in 1968. At the Maharishi’s press conference in Cambridge, Massachusetts, Vonnegut finds the Maharishi likable, even adorable, but does not believe in the technique. He notes its appeal to celebrities like Mia Farrow and the Beatles, and the astounding publicity and media attention. While Vonnegut was in Cambridge, Mia Farrow was initiated by the Maharishi in his hotel room; Vonnegut notes that his wife and daughter “had to make do with a teacher in the apartment of a Boston painter and jazz musician who meditates.”
Like Vonnegut, I was unwilling to pay money for a mantra, and some of my friends walked out of the lecture in disbelief when they learned they had to pay. According to Vonnegut, who deems himself “too lazy” to meditate, one must first attend boring lectures, be interviewed by the meditation teacher, and then bring gifts of fruit, flower, and a fee to the teacher to complete the process and get a mantra.
Vonnegut thinks it is harmless but a sop for the middle class. He writes, “This new religion (which-is-not-a-religion-but-a-technique) offers tremendous pleasure, opposes no institutions or attitudes, demands no sacrifices or outward demonstrations of virtue, and is risk free. It will sweep the world as the planet dies–as the planet is surely dying–of poisoned air and water.”
So much of the charm of this collection has to do with Vonnegut’s style and quirky criticism. In “Excelsior! We’re Going to the Moon. Excelsior,” he expresses cynicism about the importance of the moon landing and believes the money could be better spent on cleaning up “the smoke and the sewage and trash” on Earth and disposing of military weapons. In “Why They Read Hesse,” he writes about the romantic appeal to the young of Hermann Hesse’s romantic novels, which became best-sellers in the ’60s and ’70s.
Let me leave you with a quote from one of the best essays, “In a Manner That Must Shame God Himself”(Harper’s Magazine). Vonnegut imagines the thoughts of visitor from another planet on the American people in 1972.
“The two real political parties in America are the Winners and the Losers. The people do not acknowledge this. They claim membership in two imaginary parties, the Republicans and the Democrats, instead.
“Both imaginary parties are bossed by Winners. When Republicans battle Democrats, this much is certain: Winners will win.
“The Democrats have been the larger party in the past–because their leaders have not been as openly contemptuous of Losers as the Republicans have.
“Loser can join imaginary parties. Losers can vote.”
Really glad I read this book. A great way to rediscover Vonnegut.