I read this in one sitting on a plane and thoroughly enjoyed it.

Often struggle to get into a book on a flight, there's so much noise around, I usually find I have to read the first page or two over and over before I really find my focus. But with this book it came to me and I was into it straight away, and couldn't stop turning the pages until I'd finished.

As he explains in the prologue (so I'm not classing it as or marking it as a spoiler) this is not an autobiography but something vaguely close to one, an oddball fairy tale about how he thinks of and feels about the world. In that regard the story is very personal to him despite being quite fantastical in plot and themes.

Kurt writes tales of family and kinship, or allegiance and the oddities of human tribalism, of loving and of... not loving.

Though the plot was even a little more haywire than Kurt's usual fare, and so it wasn't my favourite of his, nonetheless I really enjoyed taking another walk through Kurt's psyche. I rarely feel at home as much as when I'm reading Vonnegut.

Hi ho