I agree with Vonnegut‘s own assessment that this novel gets a grade of C. It reads as his own catharsis or purging of ideas. He writes in the intro, “I think I am trying to make my head as empty as it was when I was born into this damaged planet fifty years ago.” That holds up. If it wasn‘t for the excellent Kilgore Trout appearances and the rather scathing first chapter, I would have panned this. ⬇️