So it goes.
That’s the three-word refrain that peppers Kurt Vonnegut’s most famous novel, Slaughterhouse-Five (1969), a mantra he drops with laconic grace every time a death occurs in the course of his narrative. Though he famously pledged never to write again after that novel’s publication, he broke his promise time and again—happily for us. His most recent book was a 2005 collection of autobiographical essays entitled A Man Without a Country. Vonnegut died Wednesday at the age of 84. So it goes . . .
(This is an excerpt: you can read the complete post, a tribute to Vonnegut, at my regular blog — J.D.M.)