One of my latest Fopp acquisitions (actually strictly
speaking my mom bought it for me…). After loving all the other Vonnegut novels
and stories that I had read, the most I can say in this case is that Breakfast of Champions, despite being
one of his most famous works, is alright (which I think is also how he felt
about the novel himself).
Nothing more, nothing less. Alright. The book is not really
a novel and neither it’s a long short story, and I can’t somehow push myself to
label it a novella (it just doesn’t feel right). So, because of its felt pen
drawings and its clear autobiographical traits I’ll just call it a gift that
Vonnegut gave himself for his 50th birthday, or maybe a literary way
out of (or further into?) a mid-life crisis…
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