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I wasn't the biggest reader growing up. I mean I read like hell when I just learned how to, and I read almost every Encyclopedia Brown when I was in third grade, each of which took about two hours to complete, but by the time I reached the latter stages of junior high, I was more interested in other things: sports, tv and girls.
That all changed when my tenth grade english class was assigned to read Welcome to the Monkey House, a collection of short stories by Kurt Vonnegut. I was mesmerized. I hadn't realized what writers could do to the english language, their ability to tell a story, spin a tale, leave you on the edge of your seat. I still remember the feeling I had while reading the Euphio Question, a short story within Monkey House, during a free reading session in class. I got high. I do not know how Vonnegut did it, but I got stoned while reading in class. It was awesome. Reading would never be the same.
After Monkey House, I wanted to read everything Vonnegut, and I was more interested in all sorts of authors, helped by the assignment of reading Vonnegut's Slapstick and John Irving's A Prayer for Owen Meany the following year (with the same teacher). Vonnegut gave me the joy of reading, and I love Vonnegut for that.
God bless you, Mr. Vonnegut, may the children's crusade you have started reveal the humanity beyond.
Labels: vonnegut
