Managed to finish another book of the PBS Great American Read List, Vonnegut's second novel. While I didn't love it as much as Slaughterhouse-Five, it definitely laid the groundwork for one of my all-time favorite books. I don't feel like I have the literary chops to pick apart a Vonnegut novel, but I do like the things his books make me think about: existence, god and lack of belief, the greater world and beyond, meaninglessness. It sounds very dark, but it's not. Reading Vonnegut takes me back to the seeking teenager I once was and reminds me that life is never all figured out. Maybe I need a reminder every now and then.
And I have to give my old friend Kurt credit. He is the only writer that has ever kept me interested beyond the first few pages in anything that could vaguely be called science fiction. It's almost strange how I admire him and was sad when he died back in 2007. He was a witty, charming, insane old uncle. I guess that's why I keep his portrait on the back of my little Nissan.
I think Uncle Kurt would both love and hate that. So it goes.