In Kurt Vonnegut's God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater, our drunken hero crashes a convention of science-fiction writers. "I love you sons of bitches," he says. "You're the only ones with guts enough to really care about the future, who really notice what machines do to us, what wars do to us, what cities do to us, what tremendous misunderstandings, mistakes, accidents and catastrophes do to us. You're the only ones zany enough to agonize over time and distances without limit, over mysteries that will never die, over the fact that we are right now...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
