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"We are healthy only to the extent that our ideas are humane." So reads the tombstone of downtrodden writer Kilgore Trout, but we have no doubt who's really talking: his alter ego Kurt Vonnegut. Health versus sickness, humanity versus inhumanity--both sets of ideas bounce through this challenging and funny book. As with the rest of Vonnegut's pure fantasy, it lacks the shimmering, fact-fueled rage that illuminatesSlaughterhouse-Five. At the same time, that makes this book perhaps more enjoyable to read.
Breakfast of Championsis a slippery, lucid, bleakly humorous jaunt through (sick? inhumane?) America circa 1973, with Vonnegut acting as our Virgil-like companion. The book follows its main character, auto-dealing solid-citizen Dwayne Hoover, down into madness, a condition brought on by the work of the aforementioned Kilgore Trout. As Dwayne cracks, then crumbles,Breakfast of Championscoolly shows the effects his dementia has on the web of characters surrounding him. It's not much of a plot, but it's enough for Vonnegut to air unique opinions on America, sex, war, love, and all of his other pet topics--you know, the only ones that really count.
Great Every time I read this book, I find something new. It is very funny and not necessarily as grim as some people seem to find it. The book to me seems a comic meditation on being an animal in a world of animals and being just smart enough to know that you don't like your culture (American/Western) and thus have no culture at all to provide you with comfort as you live in such an unjust and brutal world.
Thought provoking right up until the end There were three main characters in this book. The first was Dwayne Hoover. Dwayne was suffering from a chemical imbalance. His decent into madness is chronicled throughout the pages of this novel.
The second character is Kilgore Trout. His journey is more literal than Dwayne's. He travels across the country to end up in the wrong place at the wrong time, so as to be the catalyst to Dwayne's ultimate demise.
The third character is Kurt Vonnegut himself. The author in the first three quarters of the book tells the story from the perspective of the narrator, occasionally coming out of that role to tell the reader something about his mother/father/self etc. In the last quarter or so of the book he enters the story as a character and it's a little bizarre.
The story is written as though it's for something not of this planet that doesn't know what tombstones look like or how we reproduce. It contains many little doodles to act as visual aids.
This book is crazy. The thought process in it is rapid and intelligent.
I didn't enjoy the ending of this book. After being given all of the detail-laden-pages that lead to the last ones it felt rushed. The climax of the story seemed to go by too quickly. I re-read the last chapters because I thought I missed something but I didn't, it just wasn't there.Wow. What more is there to say? This book is quite possibly the best Vonnegut has ever written. He is already my favorite author, but this is simply stunning. However, this book is not a good first if you are just getting into Vonnegut. The style that makes it as good as it is can be hard to digest for people not used to Vonnegut.
This novel, in more ways than one, is a work of art. Vonnegut's novels are like a giant collage. He takes a bunch of meaningless junk, adds some humor, and puts it together to build a coherent picture that tells a powerful story. (Anyone who thinks penis sizes isn't meaningless junk cannot appreciate this book).
All in all, an excellent story, full of witty drawings by Vonnegut himself, that is well worth the time and money.
