Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. Dead-Eye Dick (1982)
I'm beginning to get the feeling that Vonnegut more or less wrote the same book over and over, and by terms more pronounced than with any other author I can think of off the top of my head. It may be only a pattern arisen from the repetition of his very distinctive style, but I don't think so, and in any case, it's not necessarily an objection. If true, I suppose that would mean that the difference between his better and his lesser novels depends on whether or not they count as a good telling of the same story, whether he hit the right notes, and so on.
Dead-Eye Dick probably isn't anything amazing, but it helps that the organised chaos of Vonnegut's narrative never sprawls too far from the main point, at least not without a good reason; so it doesn't irritate like a few of those I've wanted to slap and demand what the fuck are you going on about now? This should probably be considered an achievement given that this narrative occasionally takes the form of scripts for a stage play imagined by Rudy Waltz, our main character, and even recipes; and of course, Rudy's dad was best friends with Adolf Hitler at one point, so it's not like Vonnegut was particularly reigning it in for this one.
As with other versions of the same story, Dead-Eye Dick is about life kicking you in the ass, over and over, things which happen for no good reason, and which break your heart.
I'm beginning to get the feeling that Vonnegut more or less wrote the same book over and over, and by terms more pronounced than with any other author I can think of off the top of my head. It may be only a pattern arisen from the repetition of his very distinctive style, but I don't think so, and in any case, it's not necessarily an objection. If true, I suppose that would mean that the difference between his better and his lesser novels depends on whether or not they count as a good telling of the same story, whether he hit the right notes, and so on.
Dead-Eye Dick probably isn't anything amazing, but it helps that the organised chaos of Vonnegut's narrative never sprawls too far from the main point, at least not without a good reason; so it doesn't irritate like a few of those I've wanted to slap and demand what the fuck are you going on about now? This should probably be considered an achievement given that this narrative occasionally takes the form of scripts for a stage play imagined by Rudy Waltz, our main character, and even recipes; and of course, Rudy's dad was best friends with Adolf Hitler at one point, so it's not like Vonnegut was particularly reigning it in for this one.
As with other versions of the same story, Dead-Eye Dick is about life kicking you in the ass, over and over, things which happen for no good reason, and which break your heart.
She said that there would be a wonderful new world when the war was won. Everybody who needed food or medicine would get it, and people could say anything they wanted, and could choose any religion that appealed to them. Leaders wouldn't dare to be unjust anymore, since all the other countries would gang up on them. For this reason, there could never be another Hitler. He would be squashed like a bug before he got very far.
See what I mean? I should probably just leave it there, because that's what this book is about. It's not his best, but it does it's job very well.
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