I have always associated the summer months with reading. When I was younger, I always looked forward to summer vacation not particularly because of the many trips that my family would take, either to the beach or to colder climes, but because of the opportunity to meet up with old friends and perhaps meeting some new ones; summer was when I would read. In the same way that extended trips outside the metropolis seemed to provide my parents a much needed respite from their work, burrowing inside a good book seemed to put everything in perspective for me: that this almost intolerable heat, this unbearably long car ride, is a necessary cross to bear on the way to a much nicer place to read in.
This summer has not been kind to writers. First, I said farewell to an old friend, Kurt Vonnegut, whose passing was marked by a wonderfully poignant entry from Jessica Zafra where, in her grief, she wisely lets his work speak for himself, a gently elegant compromise that was carried further by The A.V. Club when they listed down the "15 Things Kurt Vonnegut Said Better Than Anyone Else Ever Has Or Will".
More recently, journalists of all stripes have been mourning the death of Pulitzer-prize winning reporter David Halberstam, who met an untimely end on April 23, 2007 in California. Such was his passion for life that he employed the same unbridled fire and discipline with which he penned his more "serious" works (such as his unyielding coverage of the Vietnam war) towards his supposedly "lighter" but disarmingly profound meditations on sports. A good introduction to Halberstam and his profound influence on American culture in general would be Clyde Haberman's moving obituary piece in The New York Times and the more sentimental, but well-documented encomium penned by Henry Abbott of TrueHoop.
Rest in peace, my friends. Thanks for all the summers.
Photo Credits:
Picture of David Halberstam comes courtesy of Wikipedia.
Picture of Kurt Vonnegut comes courtesy of Reno and its Discontents.
2 comments:
I'm almost embarassed to say that I've never read a single Vonenegut novel, but reading about him posthumously has made me want to read his books.
I'm almost embarrassed by this post, honestly. Too maudlin. But, I'm glad people are reading it, sentimental and all. :-)
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