A posthumous collection of six fiction and one non-fiction unpolished odd and ends. Clever, dark, and occasionally sweet, I found the short stories quite enjoyable, but lacking a certain Vonnegut essence. This is good example of why I am often uncomfortable reading unfinished stories by authors I love. It feels like I’m prying into a notebook of ideas, and I hope Kurt isn’t mad he didn’t get to work on them more. You know… as he’s looking down from heaven. So it goes.
The non-fiction rant and unfinished story about the struggle of human robots after WWIII were captivating in their bittersweet, wistful commentary on human nature.
“To “stand around with egg on one’s face” is not to be confused with “standing around with one’s thumb up one’s fundament,” which means not knowing what to do next, as does “not knowing whether to defecate or wind one’s watch.”