This is a beautifully written book about the pointlessness of war. It’s brilliance is that Vonnegut manages to make his point in a gentle way without getting angry or blaming anyone. It is very, very sad but also funny, whimsical and occasionally psychedelically weird (the aliens look like sink plungers with hands).

The lead character drifts aimlessly through the story as the people around him die in pointless ways. So it goes. His lack of agency which would normally annoy me, but in this case it’s fundamental to the point of the novel. The aliens have taught him that the past, present and future all exist forever and can’t be changed. Pilgrim’s consciousness veers wildly through time as he visits each important moment in his life. He knows where and when he will die and is as stoical about that as he is about the things that happened in the past.

Vonnegut’s tone and light touch make the weird, dream like story wonderfully readable. It’s probably one of the best books I’ve ever read and definitely one I’ll come back to in the future.