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The Kurt Vonnegut Museum and Library, now almost ten years old, moved into new premises in Indianapolis (Vonnegut's birthplace) this November. In one of those ostensible coincidences which Vonnegut appreciated, I was reading an article in The Economist which celebrated this event. It referred to the founder and CEO of the KVML, Julia Whitehead. While it is very unlikely that she is a relative of mine, it is almost impossible to prove that she is not, and I am proud to be connected no matter how tenuously. So I am particularly pleased to congratulate cousin Julia.
Vonnegut mural, Indianapolis, by Pamela Bliss.
What explains Vonnegut's enduring appeal? The Economist suggests:
"An unassuming candour that is native to the American Midwest, argues Ms Whitehead, a quality that disarms readers and forces them to confront eternal questions. His books are not simply criticisms of war; they are meditations on human nature and the meaning of life, wrapped up in zany plots and deadpan wit."
I started reading Vonnegut's books in the 1960s - before Slaughterhouse-Five made him very famous, I think. Vonnegut sometimes reminds me of another midwestern writer and humorist, James Thurber (1894-1961) identified with Columbus, Ohio, who I discovered even earlier.
News of the opening of the new KVML led to two thoughts - first that I must re-read some of his books, and second that one day it would be nice to visit Indianapolis - especially now that I'm a member of the Vonnegut Library. The Vonnegut Mural, illustrated above, is at 345 Massachusetts Avenue, and is 38 feet (almost 12m) tall. The mural features on the visitindy.com wesbite, with other attractions. I clicked on "get directions" and found that the best choice in terms of price flies out of Avalon Airport and takes 25 hours. The price (A$1979) includes a trip back home. The best option takes about the same time, and has a single stop, in Los Angeles.
I've just finished re-reading Vonnegut's novel about how to handle life if you have more money than you can imagine (God bless you, Mr Rosewater). It includes a memorable statement about human nature and the meaning of life - "There's only one rule that I know of, babies 'God damn it, you've got to be kind.'" Perhaps echoing Henry James, and many many others.
Inspired by the opening of the new home for the KVML I've taken a census of my Kurt Vonnegut collection (which turns out to include most of his books) and started to re-read them selectively. I started with Cat's cradle (1963) a few months ago, then Slaughterhouse-Five (1969) and last week, God bless you, Mr Rosewater (1965). There are a few which I don't have, and they are all available from the online shop of the KVML. I'm buying Player piano (1952).
I think that next, I'll browse Palm Sunday (1981) subtitled an autobiographical collage.
Ron Goulart's novel, When the waker sleeps (1975), starts with a quote from Alfred North Whitehead (1861-1947, no relation, as far as I know) "The progress of civilization is not wholly a uniform drift towards better things." In the novel Goulart demonstrates the truth of this in his anarchic way, through the experiences of a group of people who wake up every fifty years, to experience, briefly, the world as it is at the time. Goulart's images of the future of our civilisation are bizarre, unexpected, anarchic. Artwork for the book is by Michael Whelan, later the first living artist elevated to the SF Hall of Fame.
Ron Goulart (left) re-entered my consciousness last year (2018) when I bought a copy of his novel The Wicked Cyborg, published by Daw Books Inc in 1978. This was an impulse purchase, in the nice Russian Hill Bookshop in Polk Street, San Francisco. I was looking for something else.
Goulart is a prolific author of almost 200 books including many under a variety of pseudonyms. In the 1970s I mainly read his science fiction. In fact, over the last years of decluttering, a small collection of books by Ron Goulart has survived. I still have (including the new book) fifteen of his SF novels.
Goulart is 86 now, and has written a lot. When one thinks of words, as one does in this blog, no-one has invented more of them than Ron Goulart. It is one of his trademark devices. Some of his themes are prescient - the fallibility of technology, its ubiquity in our lives, the fragmentation of America, the transformation of the artefacts we use, environmental decay, and more. The current interest in the internet of things was preceded by Goulart's often hilarious portrayal of automated devices; they are often on the fritz, as Goulart referred to a malfunctioning robot machine.
Malfunctioning is also a characteristic of the United States in some of Goulart's works, starting with After things fell apart (1970). The United States, in Goulart's imagining, has been superseded by a plethora of new political entities, such as the Frisco Enclave, in Goulart's inventive but still relevant political satires.
Goulart makes up new words. His works provide the language for an eccentrically dystopian world, an often cheerful world of the ersatz and the new, words like neowood, the airfloat bed, naugahyde (an actual product), plazpaper, pixphone, landmobile, pros (prosthetic limb), syntin box (synthetic tin), Nondenominational Gift Day ("it used to be called Christmas"), hypogun, leisuresuit, stungun, pseudoplateglass, plyoball, simwickerchair, syncaf, jamsub (on soytoast), syntin sling chair, and pixwalz (or pixwalls).
One thing to observe is that most of the neologisms are runtogethers. I discussed these in a post twelve years ago.
You can obtain Goulart's books still. The best way to do this is to go to the extremely comprehensive list from Fantastic Fiction, and this also includes links to places which sell copies of these books - mostly Amazon.
"The elephant in the room" is a wonderful English expression, partly because it relies for its usefulness not only on the visible presence of an elephant in the room, but also the fact that no-one mentions this.
The Wikipedia defines the expression as "a metaphorical idiom in English for an obvious problem or risk that no one wants to discuss." It is said to derive from an 1814 fable by Ivan Krylov (1769—1844), poet and fabulist, entitled "The Inquisitive Man"; the protagonist notes many small details of his visit to the museum, but fails to notice an elephant. The same approach might be taken with this photograph of the cats on my mantelpiece.
There are many suggestions about the origins of the expression in English, but my favourite is from a 1935 Broadway musical, Jumbo, in which a police officer stops Jimmy Durante as he leads a live elephant and asks, "What are you doing with that elephant?" Durante's reply, "What elephant?" was a regular show-stopper. Durante reprises the piece in the 1962 film version of the play, Billy Rose's Jumbo, with Doris Day.
The Jimmy Durante example reflects most clearly the true significance of the elephant, which is to deny, tacitly or explicitly, that there is an elephant, despite the fact that its presence is obvious to everyone.
The Oxford English Dictionary gives the first recorded use of the phrase, as a simile, in The New York Times on June 20, 1959: "Financing schools has become a problem about equal to having an elephant in the living room. It's so big you just can't ignore it."[4] This is not a great example, since our experience tells us that there is pretty much no problem, no matter how large, that can't be ignored by most people.
There is a nice example in press release from the Climate Council recently. “The leaked COAG agenda paper indicates Federal Energy Minister, Angus Taylor wants to ignore the elephant in the room. Reducing emissions isn’t even officially up for discussion,” said the Climate Council’s energy expert, Petra Stock.
The artist Banksy illustrated the elephant in the room in this charming artwork, in which the elephant blends nicely into the room.
The poet Terry Kettering has a nice poem about the elephant in the room.
"Can I say his (her) name to you and not have you look away?
For if I cannot, then you are leaving me....
alone....
in a room....
with an elephant"
There are many books - an example is The Elephant in the room: silence and denial in everyday life, by Eviatar Zerubavel (2006). The review in Library thing by devil_llama suggests, rather oddly, that the book tends to ignore the real elephant in the room: "The author spends all too much time on issues like sex (especially presidential sex) which is really no ones business to know about anyway, and all too little time on the real denial issues that are creating serious problems" such as global warming.
The elephant in the room is a much loved, essential and over-used expression. For something which happens so frequently (that is, agreeing not to discuss a plain reality) it is surprising that we do not have a word. The expression is used for book titles, gifs
, cartoons, wines and most recently, a Nigerian movie directed by Asurf Oluseyi. The Kilivila language, spoken on the Trobriand islands of Papua New Guinea, has a word, mokita, which means "truth we all know but agree not to talk about."
Other expressions carry similar messages, and the most common relates to the emperor's new clothes.
Why not mention the elephant? The Wikipedia suggests that "the term is often used to describe an issue that involves a social taboo or which generates disagreement, such as race, religion, politics, homosexuality, mental illness, or even suicide. It is applicable when a subject is emotionally charged; and the people who might have spoken up decide that it is probably best avoided."
All the same, there are some elephants in the room which cannot be ignored.
They have even ignored the clear sign "Please keep to the path."
