Kurt Vonnegut: American, veteran, scholar, pacifist, satirist, humanist, author. Masochist?

In Palm Sunday—a collection of short stories, essays, speeches and letters published in 1981—Vonnegut applied letter grades to his past books, some of them seemingly harsh. It was written as follows:

 

I have graded my separate works from A to D. The grades I hand out to myself do not place me in literary history. I am comparing myself with myself. Thus can I give myself an A-plus for Cat’s Cradle, while knowing that there was a writer named William Shakespeare. The report card is chronological, so you can plot my rise and fall on graph paper, if you like:

Player Piano	B
The Sirens of Titan	A
Mother Night	A
Cat’s Cradle	A-plus
God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater	A
Slaughterhouse-Five	A-plus
Welcome to the Monkey House	B-minus
Happy Birthday, Wanda June	D
Breakfast of Champions	C
Wampeters, Foma & Grandfalloons	C
Slapstick	D
Jailbird	A
Palm Sunday	C

 

While I am a fan of Vonnegut, I’m not going to pretend that I’ve read each and every one of these books. Hell, I haven’t even read Palm Sunday (I took it from this website). Of this list, I have only read Slaughterhouse-Five (if you haven’t, it comes highly recommended). And maybe my unfamiliarity with Vonnegut’s work is why I’m curious as to what criteria he used to decide on a final grade (if that information is in Palm Sunday, I’ll feel like an ass). Was it critical reviews? Book sales? Form? Plot? Effort? I don’t know.

And I’ll never know. Vonnegut has declined my interview from his grave. What I do know is that incorrect conclusions could be drawn about the kind of man Vonnegut was when he applied these grades, one of them being he was self-deprecating. Too hard on himself. But if he was, why the humor? Was humor just a way to shrug off the disdain? Was he not happy with how his career had turned out?

I don’t believe that. Any of that. Not for a second. The man gave himself four A’s and two A-pluses. Regardless of the grading criteria, this list is honest. He is simply looking back in time, recognizing what worked, what didn’t, and maybe trying to find where he seemed to have, by his own assessment, fallen off. Vonnegut isn’t only holding himself accountable, he’s holding himself to a standard set by, err, himself.

I think we should do the same. Frankly—and I may be blowing this out of proportion—I’ve grown tired of the attitude that competition is unnecessary. That everyone should hold hands and neglect that which could be fixed in order to focus solely on the positive, on the compliments that will make us feel all gooey. But maybe I’m way out in left field on this. Maybe I’m wrong. Research for yourself and feel free to tell me so. Yet how can anyone—no matter your profession, hobby or past-time—expect to improve themselves without competition?

It’s simple: they can’t. We can’t. But that does not mean we must seek out competition with outside sources to improve; while you should not forget about them, you should not focus on them. Instead, I think the competition needs to always, always start and end with yourself.

Strive for A-plus work every single time. Do your own thing, go your own way, but work to make it better, make the next work better, and the next, and the next after that. Always attempt to top yourself. But also know that twenty years down the road, you may see the work—maybe all of your work—as a failure. If you do, recognize it. Hold yourself accountable and know that you’re capable of more.

But also recognize when you’ve done something great. When you’ve done something really great. Giving yourself a pat on the back, drinking a celebratory beer, giving you deserve an A-plus, they can be some of the toughest things to do. Especially if you’re a writer.

So, Mr. Vonnegut, if this blog post somehow makes it your way, know that you’ve passed, and with flying colors.

 

 

-GD, Creative Nonfiction Editor

 

 

Prompt:

Simple: Grade yourself. F cannot be used; it does not exist. Only use A through D. Look at your work. Really look at it. It can be tough, but try to separate yourself from what you once believed was a surefire A-plus (if it has been months since you’ve looked at this piece, it may be easier). Grab a red pen. Write the grade on the top of the first page—if it deserves an A-plus in your eyes, you sure as hell better write an A-plus. Circle it, but also write why you think it deserves that grade. Where did you go wrong? What did you do right? Give yourself a fair shake here.