The last 20-30 pages were an incredible (short) book and admittedly brought the slog through the preceding~270 into focus. I'm amenable toward both the project of "total life through art" and the critique of narrative reality.

But, man, this book was tedious. And while it's clear that Vonnegut was depicting racism, sexism, and homophobia in order to condemn them, he just wasn't landing the tricks.

Not my favorite Vonnegut.