So I finished, a few nights back, reading Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five -- number eighteen on Modern Library's top 100 novels of the 20th century list. It was one of those that I'd always felt I should read. A lot of "classics" don't do a great deal for me, but this one was by Vonnegut, who I'd previously enjoyed, so why hadn't I read it? Seemed like everyone else had, at some point.
In any case, it was really good, but you already knew that, I bet. It's barely 200+ pages long, so it's not a big time investment, and it's funny, sweet, sad, angry, apathetic, grouchy, exuberant and just about every other emotion wrapped up into one big, at times (intentionally) confusing, whole. It has something to say on well nigh every topic, and what it says is worth considering, even if you don't subscribe to the same set of viewpoints.
Billy Pilgrim, the protagonist, is a great blank slate upon whom Vonnegut scrawls his lessons... yet he doesn't come off as one dimensional. It's interesting: there are no characters drawn in a completely negative light, even in a book about war -- a book which is anti-war in an "Oh well, it's certainly not going to end just because I don't like it" way.
Enough out of me. You'll either read it, in which case you'd probably have read it without my input, or you won't. So it goes.