Vonnegut experienced a minor renaissance as a novelist during the 1980s, starting with this wonderful, engrossing tale, arguably his last true long-form masterpiece. It is curious that he sets the novel in Midland City, Ohio, clearly linking it to "Breakfast of Champions," a connection which is bolstered by numerous common characters. In this sense, the two books are intriguing companion pieces. "Deadeye Dick" also echoes Vonnegut's early masterpiece, "Mother Night," in its depiction of the effects of WWII on the collective psyche of the German-American population. This novel also resonates strongly with the author's two previous collections of non-fiction in that many of the themes and sentiments expressed in the former are explicated in the latter. And while "Deadeye Dick," in common with "Slapstick," fails to achieve a definitive climax, in this case the meandering, unresolved nature of the narrative works favorably, mainly as a result of the confidential tone which the narrator achieves.

As with most of Vonnegut's best novels, there is a central theme here: If a person lives long enough, they will eventually hurt other people badly, whether they mean to or not. This theme is explored over and over again: in the accidental childhood crime of the narrator, Rudy Waltz; in the scene in which Rudy (again, accidentally) overhears his brother's wife demeaning him; even in the Epilogue when a clash of cultures between Rudy's brother and their Haitian business partner threatens to create a schism between friends.

Recurrent motifs abound. These include short "playlets," which is how Rudy chooses to recall certain past events; his penchant for scat singing; and the numerous recipes which pepper the text. All of these help to break up the narrative, but without ever seeming intrusive or forced, which in lesser hands might be problematic. Perhaps the most interesting feature of this novel, however, is the way in which the Epilogue, without providing an explicit denouement, encourages the reader to extrapolate one. In the end, we are left with the sense that -- yes! -- Rudy Waltz has found his peace, that better-adjusted, more tolerable, if not necessarily happy, days lie ahead of him.

3.5

What an interesting, unique book. I have read others by this author but way, way back in high school. This is my first for a long time and I really enjoyed it. An author’s main job is to make readers think, to spark emotions and Deadeye accomplishes both, what a read. The story is in first person and is written so close that the “I” disappears, terrific writing craft. I rarely, if ever experience a voice like this one. “Voice,” is the “everything” in writing and this one has it.
The structure is a running narrative that starts historical and moves forward. The conflict is not even set until page 21. The details—some of which are quirky—gives the prose authority, and at the same time authenticity that is irresistible. This creates a world that seems real and yet we know it can’t possibly be. And still I wanted to read on and on.
The book jacket reflects the quirky tone in the prose. It doesn’t have a written author description on the back flap, instead there’s a photo of the author’s legs that winds around to the back page to the author taking a nap on a couch with his cat. Brilliant marketing.
Well-wrought fiction sparks emotions, I cringed at the telling of Hitler and his father’s relationship with the despot. It made me stop and think this is also a sign of great fiction. And lots of irony, a thick sauce for the prose, made me chuckle at times.
If you want a break from your regular reading, if you want to clear your pallet with a bit of ginger the same as you would in a sushi restaurant, this is the book for you. It reminds me a little of Spooner by Pete Dexter, (I love Pete Dexter, especially Train and Paris Trout two marvelous books solid five star works).
David Putnam author of the Bruno Johnson series.

Vonnegut has a way of making the most bland seeming stories into crazy, entertaining, meaningful lives. I think there is meaning I have yet to find from this one, I think the last page says a lot, but what I don’t know yet. He is one of the funniest authors I’ve read.

The weakest Vonnegut book I've read so far (having read all except Player Piano and Hocus Pocus). Very little in the way of a story, which is not always a bad thing in itself, but it feels rather aimless and doesn't really go anywhere. It's a shame as it's full of brilliant Vonnegut-isms, little philosophical witticisms and remarks, but there's nothing really to hang it on. Actually, thinking about it, there is quite a lot going on, but it's rather a mess and without some kind of direction or story to hold it together, it reads less like a novel and somewhat like a compendium of existential sadness, and not in a good way.

As a Vonnegut fan I do not regret reading this, but it's not one I'll return to in a hurry, and I certainly would not recommend it to someone new to Vonnegut.

To be honest I'm a bit of a Vonnegut fanboy. And by a "bit" I mean, "He's my favourite author." I like everything I've ever read by him, a lot. I just love his writing style, I love how he uses simplistic language but explores much bigger, heavier issues with it. I love his brand of satire. I love his weirdness, how he often puts slightly odd plots and plot devices in his books.

While Deadeye Dick isn't his best, it's still pretty awesome. He expertly explores the death of innocence. While I'm reading a Vonnegut novel, I never realize just how dark everything is. I don't take it all in. It isn't until after I read a plot summary that I go, "Well, this is some depressing shit." I think that was a gift Vonnegut had: he could tackle this kind of stuff with finesse. Not too depressing, but obviously not upbeat. He can make you laugh, make you sad.

Vonnegut was so ridiculously talented.

Deadeye Dick isn't a long book. It's everything I expect in Vonnegut. He flip-flops between different areas in the characters lives. Vonnegut is the type of author that can tell you exactly how something is going to end and the journey is so interesting and memorable you keep reading. Deadeye Dick is just like that.

While it's not Cat's Cradle, The Sirens of Titan, Slaughterhouse-Five (I appreciate that it's a classic but it's not my favourite Vonnegut) or Breakfast of Champions (He didn't really like it, but it's really the only book by him that made me cry, and I really really like it), Deadeye Dick is worth a read, especially if you love that conversational, satirical style that he had.

Hea raamat.

"To be is to do." Socrates
"To do is to be." Sartre
"Do be do be do." Sinatra

Only Vonnegut can make a book overloaded with recipes, the use of the word "peephole," and Hitler references a genuinely lovely thing to read

For a book that is set to explore death of innocence, it quite can get cycnical. Sometimes it seems like cynicism and apathy become Vonnegut's go to move when dealing with subject that requires absolute empathy. Not always losing innocence would mean gaining knowledge. Not always does losing innocence means gaining experience. Sometimes its losing a bit of faith and looking at the world with narrow eyes. Sometimes it's not believing in human suffering. Sometimes its lack of hope in becoming something bigger than we can ever be.
Sometimes it's just a seed of doubt that grows and grows and takes over the smallest possibility of contentment.

I don't think I'm ever going to get used to Vonnegut's writing style, I just find it a little jarring. Wasn't a particular of how he wrote the story from A to B but then mixed in a whole bunch of flashforwards and flashbacks. It was a relatively interesting little story but I feel it was inherently flawed to write a story about a guy who fucks up his life before he's a teenager, and as a result has a shit life and does basically nothing. I'm sure there's plenty in here for open minded English student to mull over, but not a lot for the critically illiterate like myself.

This reads like a typical Vonnegut book. It was stylistically unique (the recipe and play interludes were fun), and a joy to read, but at times felt rambling. Knowing Vonnegut, that could be and probably is the point.