by Kurt Vonnegut, 1973.

I’ve always loved Vonnegut (who doesn’t?) but I’d avoided this since seeing the painful 1999 movie made of it, proof if ever it were needed that some books are simply unfilmable.

The novel, however, is everything we love about Vonnegut. His clarity, wit, grumpiness and simplicity. The story of ordinary people in a small midwestern town reads like a playful Hemmingway, but forms a therapeutic rumination on the nature of sanity, and the author’s own relationship with it, in the insane world we find ourselves in.

Rating: 7/10 - and so on.