Afterlife and creation mean nothing to me in the context of religion. But Bokonism's "sitting-up mud" nails my sense of reverence for life. Nothing more is required. Bokonists cloak their wonder at the mystery in something close to Christianity, but it is far more pidgin than formal. A mask donned for the purpose of expressing a feeling. Strictly as-if, not cosmological.

This is the book that finally caved me to Vonnegut's writing. Written while the cold war was still an active menace, relevent in today's political climate, i was saturated with a certain disturbance of a society whose dysfunction was a growing infection shutting down all semblance of life.

everyone considers this classic vonnegut. i don't. it's good, not great. clunky and heavy handed for my tastes. the end of the world is deep subject matter. but, as with all vonnegut, i couldn't put the book down. a "non-classic" vonnegut is still better than 99.999% of anything written.

A well written book. Enjoyed reading it.

Too twisted. Certainly not meant for light reading.

i read this awhile ago - maybe five, six years.

as of right now, this is the only vonnegut novel i've read...and i'm not a fan.

there is a very large possibility that i completely missed the whole novel. when i finished, i had no urge to ever pick up a vonnegut novel again.

i know that the previous statements may threaten some of my friendships, but i must be honest.

A well written book. Enjoyed reading it.

Greatest post-modern book in American literature. Fast read, quirky tone, the author/narrator line is blurred and makes for a personal feel throughout. Vonnegut is a master. (PS - This book was Vonnegut's Master's Thesis).

+1 star for short chapters, -1 for sending me into an existentialist spiral

"Charmingly real"

When I first read Cat’s Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut I loved it for its stream of conscious style, fluid prose, and witty references. I always liked books that were referential. This one was not an exception.
Looking back, I can appreciate more than just the non sequitur, diving nature of the prose. Page by page I started to see what the writer was up to as he cast a spell. I realized that I enjoyed the writing not only because I liked the storytelling, but because I was noticing each moment and more importantly perhaps each movement of the character’s working memory, family and educational life, inner world. I was falling into step with a pattern of being that would never, couldn’t possibly, be replicated in my own life or otherwise. I knew that I loved the fictional story. But what I loved more? It was so charmingly realistic.

I always love Vonnegut, although. like other reviewers have said, I get the sense that there's something I'm missing as I read. It's the same feeling I got reading The Crying of Lot 49. When you reach the end, you think, "If this is all the book is supposed to mean, then it's sort of a poor excuse for a book." And then you think back on what you read, and it makes you giggle a little, and you think, "Well, even if my conscious brain didn't get it, some part of me did," and you're okay with that.

This book has so many delightful quotes. One of my favorites was from little Newt:

" 'No wonder kids grow up crazy. A cat's cradle is nothing but a bunch of X's between somebody's hands, and little kids look and look and look at all those X's...'
'And?'
'No damn cat, and no damn cradle.' "

Maybe that quote is a metaphor for finding meaning in the novel.

A revisitation: not shown, another half-star reduced by as much. This was not what I recalled so much from my first attempt at reading "Cat's Cradle" (during my Vonnegut-period) back in the 1970s when I couldn't get enough of his black humor and cosmic encounters with a menagerie of fairly atypical characters set against vivid backdrops mixed in time between historic and futuristic interpretations. I remember at the time the fantasy and science fiction genres trended toward invented vocabularies ("The Hobbit," "Dune," etc.) and that my desire to indulge such fabricated syntax had pretty much run its course so that I put the book down after some 50 pages, and never picked it back up. That's not to say it's not worthy. His prose, however, strikes me as rather stripped-down to a basic beginner's level of style. Shortened sentences, minimal structure. The briefest bursts of dialogue interspersed with observation for clarification and/or elaboration for the Bokononics learner in the first-person narrative. But true to KV's trademark style, is his undeniable wit in passing references which are gems scattered liberally throughout: Asked by a cab driver to ride along on a side trip to visit a maker of tombstones "I wasn't a Bokononist then, so I agreed with some peevishness. As a Bokononist, of course, I would have agreed gaily to go anywhere anyone suggested. As Bokonon says: "Peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God." It was in the tombstone salesroom that the narrator, John (First sentence, chapter one, page one..."CALL ME JONAH.") experiences his first "vin-dit." More Bokononist-speak. You have to want to go along with it, for the ride, as it were. So I stayed with it this time to the end which, though not telegraphed particularly, seemed for my own anticipation, inevitable and, therefore, predictable. No spoilers here. Overall, Vonnegut's obsessing with character sketches of the main players struck me as being a less-than-satisfying contrivance since none were complex nor conflicted enough, after taking up so much ink and attention, as to make their interaction meaningful or even contributory in some way that could otherwise elevate the quality of the storytelling. Very mediocre in that regard. And while others claim to judge the book as Vonnegut's best, I would have to defer, instead, to young Newt holding his hands six inches apart, his fingers spread. "See the cat? See the cradle?"