“Then again, I am a monopolar depressive descended from monopolar depressives. That’s how come I write so good.”
Let’s get this out of the way: V-O-N-N-E-G-U-T.
What’s that spell?
This is not how you tell stories. This is not how you tell stories.
This is such a bizarre book. I get the sense, reading Vonnegut’s later work, that he was aware that he could write whatever the hell he wanted to. You don’t pass up that kind of a blank cheque. So this book – well, it’s full of risks and crazy things that I wouldn’t do. It’s half-autobiographical and half about Kilgore Trout (who I was very pleased to see) and the timeline resetting. Just read it. Read it, because I can’t explain it, and it’s really excellent. Cliché of the day: Vonnegut aged like fine wine. None of this makes sense together and it all makes sense together.
How does he do that?
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