Deadeye Dick by Kurt Vonnegut
277 pages
Published 1982
Read May 7
Rating: ★★★★ out of 5
I haven't read a "new" Vonnegut book in ages. My first was Timequake, in my late teens, which I was probably too young to "get"; it's no doubt due for a reread. My favorite was Slaughterhouse-Five,
which I read shortly into my brief military career. It remains the only
book that (without hyperbole) changed my life. In my early twenties I
went through Cat's Cradle, The Sirens of Titan, and God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater. Most recently I read Breakfast of Champions, but I couldn't have been more than 24 or 25 when I read it.
I don't remember much about Mr. Rosewater, and I had to reacquaint myself with Cat's Cradle via Wikipedia, but I think it's safe to say Deadeye Dick
is among my least favorite Vonnegut books. It is certainly the bleakest
one I've read. Classic Vonnegut's blend of fatalism and cynicism with
wry humor and a fundamental (if sometimes overshadowed) sense of joy in
simply being alive was what got my me hooked on his work. Deadeye Dick's
tone was entirely joyless, which made it a heavy read at times, a
little too good at depicting overwhelming depression. But even my new
least favorite Vonnegut novel is still an excellent book.
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