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La 4e de couverture indique : "Voici l'histoire d'une rencontre entre deux hommes solitaires, maigrichons et plus tout jeunes. Le premier, Kilgore Trout, obscur auteur de science-fiction, passe ses soirées à prédire l'apocalypse à son seul ami, une perruche du nom de Bill. Quant à Dwayne Hoover, riche concessionnaire Pontiac dont l'unique compagnon est un chien nommé Sparky, il est sur le point de perdre la tête. Lorsque, au cours d'un festival d'art, Kilgore Trout rencontre Dwayne, celui-ci a lu un de ses romans et cette lecture va le transformer en monstre."… (plus d'informations)
I never understood people who say Vonnegut is funny. He's never made me laugh out loud, and I never suspected he tried too hard. Funny? No. Clever? Sure. But he's no comedian.
Vonnegut's real talent, to me, is explaining things simply, concisely and elegantly. He's like a good teacher. Able to say it in the way that the whole class both understands and gets it. I get that that style might be infuriating to some, but it never feels like he's talking down to you. Sure, I know how the American national anthem goes. But now that you mention it, it is pretty preposterous.
This is a book about physical bodies. It is incredibly thematically dense with this. It's also a book about race, and as good as any white american could write it. The links from humans as machinery, to humans literally used as human machines, to the fact that their skin colour was the only factor that assigned them to this role are all incredibly deftly done. Everything comes back to this physicality - Vonnegut's and Trout's aging, Dwayne Hoover's bad chemicals, even the constant dick jokes.
And tying into this, it's also a book that is desperately asking us to think of other people as more than just machines. That the danger of thinking of yourself as the only aware person in the universe is something propagated by the art we're fed, and is a natural way to think about things, a way of thinking to fall into. That we are the only people who feel real pain, who feel the ecstasy of pleasure and happiness fully, that we are the only ones that really matter. That we are the main character in our story. But we're not. We're just another band of unwavering light. And we should probably go about life seeing all the other bands. ( )
This book just made me feel like an idiot the whole time I was reading it. The worst Vonnegut book I have read to date, and I didn't even like his other stuff very much... ( )
I absolutely loved his unconventional writing style. Nothing was told in the same order in which the events occurred and the drawings were elementary at best but added to the hilarity. ( )
I probably would have liked this better had I read it when I was 13 or 14, but now, while I can spot much that is clever in it, this book feels dated and too geared towards adolescent boys. I will still try Cat's Cradle, though not for awhile. ( )
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais.Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
When he hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold. -JOB
Dédicace
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais.Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
In Memory of Phoebe Hurty, who comforted me in Indianapolis-- during the Great Depression.
Premiers mots
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais.Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
This is the tale of a meeting of two lonely, skinny, fairly old white men on a planet which was dying fast.
Citations
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais.Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
Roses are red and ready for plucking; you’re sixteen and ready for high school.
Here is a picture of a wide open beaver.
Sometimes I wonder about the creator of the universe.
The chief weapon of sea pirates, however, was their capacity to astonish. Nobody else could believe, until it was too late, how heartless and greedy they were.
New knowledge is the most valuable commodity on earth. The more truth we have to work with, the richer we become.
There is no order in the world around us, we must adapt ourselves to the requirements of chaos instead.
His situation, insofar as he was a machine, was complex, tragic, and laughable. But the sacred part of him, his awareness, remained an unwavering band of light.
It was during that minute in nineteen hundred and eighteen, that millions upon millions of human beings stopped butchering one another. I have talked to old men who were on the battlefields during that minute. They have told me in one way or another that the sudden silence was the Voice of God. So we still have among us some men who can remember when God spoke clearly to mankind.
This was in a country where everybody was expected to pay his own bills for everything, and one of the most expensive things a person could do was get sick.
As I approached my fiftieth birthday, I had become more and more enraged and mystified by the idiot decisions made by my countrymen. And then I had come suddenly to pity them, for I understood how innocent and natural it was for them to behave so abominably, and with such abominable results: They were doing their best to live like people invented in story books. This was the reason Americans shot each other so often: It was a convenient literary device for ending short stories and books.
I thought Beatrice Keedsler had joined hands with other old-fashioned storytellers to make people believe that life had major characters, minor characters, significant details, insignificant details, that it had lessons to be learned, tests to be passed, and a beginning, a middle, and an end.
Once I understood what was making America such a dangerous, unhappy nation of people who had nothing to do with real life, I resolved to shun storytelling. I would write about life. Every person would be exactly as important as any other. All facts would also be given equal weightiness. Nothing would be left out. Let others bring order to chaos. I would bring chaos to order, instead, which I think I have done.
The undippable flag was a beauty, and the anthem and the vacant motto might not have mattered much, if it weren’t for this: a lot of citizens were so ignored and cheated and insulted that they thought they might be in the wrong country, or even on the wrong planet, that some terrible mistake had been made. It might have comforted them some if their anthem and their motto had mentioned fairness or brotherhood or hope or happiness, had somehow welcomed them to the society and its real estate.
Derniers mots
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais.Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
La 4e de couverture indique : "Voici l'histoire d'une rencontre entre deux hommes solitaires, maigrichons et plus tout jeunes. Le premier, Kilgore Trout, obscur auteur de science-fiction, passe ses soirées à prédire l'apocalypse à son seul ami, une perruche du nom de Bill. Quant à Dwayne Hoover, riche concessionnaire Pontiac dont l'unique compagnon est un chien nommé Sparky, il est sur le point de perdre la tête. Lorsque, au cours d'un festival d'art, Kilgore Trout rencontre Dwayne, celui-ci a lu un de ses romans et cette lecture va le transformer en monstre."
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5
Vonnegut's real talent, to me, is explaining things simply, concisely and elegantly. He's like a good teacher. Able to say it in the way that the whole class both understands and gets it. I get that that style might be infuriating to some, but it never feels like he's talking down to you. Sure, I know how the American national anthem goes. But now that you mention it, it is pretty preposterous.
This is a book about physical bodies. It is incredibly thematically dense with this. It's also a book about race, and as good as any white american could write it. The links from humans as machinery, to humans literally used as human machines, to the fact that their skin colour was the only factor that assigned them to this role are all incredibly deftly done. Everything comes back to this physicality - Vonnegut's and Trout's aging, Dwayne Hoover's bad chemicals, even the constant dick jokes.
And tying into this, it's also a book that is desperately asking us to think of other people as more than just machines. That the danger of thinking of yourself as the only aware person in the universe is something propagated by the art we're fed, and is a natural way to think about things, a way of thinking to fall into. That we are the only people who feel real pain, who feel the ecstasy of pleasure and happiness fully, that we are the only ones that really matter. That we are the main character in our story. But we're not. We're just another band of unwavering light. And we should probably go about life seeing all the other bands. (