Copyright 2006 Ben S. Pollock
Today’s title is A Man Without a Country, by Kurt Vonnegut, 2005, Seven Stories Press. I got through this volume’s 146 pages in only a part of an evening. I read the sections willy-nilly, and I didn’t care (quite unlike my habit). It didn’t matter, although the essays and sketches are sequential, loosely, so exquisite were the sentences.
Then I considered his previous books listed in the front pages. Was it just the last four that were weak? Maybe the last 12. I’ve read all, regardless. I owe that to the author who above all woke me up in junior high with Cat’s Cradle. I reread Slaughterhouse Five in December and also heard Ethan Hawke read it in a CD set.
On pages 128-30 in the new book, he questions whether he’s lost his sense of humor and now is merely grumpy. He may have been, but he’s in fine form in this (though in promoting the book a few weeks ago on Jon Stewart’s “The Daily Show,” he seemed washed out). Kurt calls humor a defense against the horrors of the world, powerful idiots, death, the frailties of the self. He notes that the good humorists lose it in middle age and the best like Twain lose it toward the end.
Vonnegut at peak is in my third class of humor, the one that’s like a glass of ice-cold apple cider. I try to savor every food and beverage, but I can’t help but gulp apple juice. The feeling of it rushing down is part of the exhilaration. That’s why I drank the whole book in one draft the other night (pun intended).
Humor theory is not where this is going (see Comedy Writing Secrets by Melvin Helitzer, which for being a Writer’s Digest how-to book is backed by serious scholarship). These are rough terms. First, there’s laugh-out-loud humor (none of that e-shorthand LOL beeswax, thank you!), that has maybe a dozen manifestations ranging from physical shtick to cerebral, symbol-laden puns funny only to the over-educated (and in the field to which they refer). Sure, all depend on surprise or reversal or unexpected collision of disparate elements (just like Mel explains it), using a frame and following a set-up.
Second is wit. It is more clever than funny. You smile at it. You — rather, me — admire the intelligence. Wit ranges from slapstick to words, too. Lots of people resent wit, call it failed humor, because it does not cause rollicking mirth. I don’t, because the creator may just be after wit. Also, one man’s hoot is another’s empathetic nod, and all that depends on the mood you bring to the show. Besides, judge humor writing contests, as I’ve done for a few years, and you’ll see what unsuccessful humor is — and how prevalent it is.
I don’t quite know how to capture the third kind of humor (and yes explaining a joke kills it). No. 3 has elements of 1 and 2. Mainly, perceiving the third type provides the recipient joy. It is delight at being on the same planet where one can savor this other fellow’s perceptions. The third humorist is one who sees the folly of everything just as you do, at least at this moment, at least in this one aspect. This ridiculous world is made bearable when seen through their eyes.
Early Vonnegut is No. 3 as is this collection. Robert Benchley is a third man, as is Garry Trudeau. Dave Barry ranges from No. 1 to No. 2. Jon Stewart, No. 3. David Letterman, more No. 1 and Jay Leno more No. 2, although I can see people reversing on those two. Erma Bombeck is a 1 though for many she is the best 3.
What humor do you prefer? What humor do you settle for? I cannot live without access to 1 and 2, but 3 nourishes me. -30-
