This is the Vonnegut novel that called death, "shut his or her peep-hole". This is the Vonnegut novel that had cooking recipes sprinkled here and there throughout. And dialogue written in the form of short plays as well. This is the novel that had the misinformation about the Creole language only being in the present tense and the neutron bomb not wrecking anything but the living things. And so on.

This is a most depressing novel about a small town in Ohio that nobody cares about. Where all the people that live in it are frauds. The novel that has a twelve year old committing an accidental ... Its a novel about the line where one's life ends and becomes an epilogue.

Not my favourite Vonnegut novel but a great one just the same.

Underrated

Like many of his books this one starts slow but it picks up and is thoroughly enjoyable. As always he has something to say about society in his witty way and paints it flawlessly. There are even a few crossovers to his previous books.

A good book overall.

Mr Vonnegut is now my most read author of all time.

Another great Vonnegut novel down! The more you read Vonnegut, the more you realize that each of his books is simply a different cynical riff on some aspect of his personal microcosm. This one is more of a tangent to the others, great reading as a sort of appendix or precursor to Breakfast Of Champions. The story stands completely alone, but it would be a very odd place to start if you were not yet initiated to his world. I wouldn't start here, but if your burning through his books, make sure you hit this one.

nie wiem czy to jest 4, jak to jest 4 to na styk bo brakuje temu jakiegos polysku, ale tyle robi dobrze ta ksiazka ze zasluguje nawet jak mi nie dotknela nadwyraz podczapia. Najlepsze aspekty to ta Ameryka jako wielki nieczuly potwor w tle, podejscie do piekna i sztuki, dramaturgia i przepisy kulinarne jako cudowne uzupelnienie fabuly, ktora jest tak amerykanska i prosta ze chyba tylko to mnie jakos swoja trywialnoscia potrafilo zbic z fascynacji ksiazka. Definitywnie najlepiej wychodzi tutaj stylizacja, ekscentryzm i tak czule zglebienie mentalnosci bohaterow mimo tego ze wydaje sie to jakies niepasujace to mam wrazenie ze narrator faktycznie oddaje im hold i czuc w tym jakas immersje lepsza przez to. im done with this review. im losing my shit losing my shit losing my shit not writing anymore byeeee

Leggere Vonnegut è sempre uno spasso: beffardo, caustico, ironico, esagerato. Ogni evento narrato nasconde la sua visione di lucido ed impietoso osservatore di una società malata, pronta ad accogliere e far crescere nel proprio grembo qualsiasi tipo di aberrazione. Che cos’è la famiglia Waltz se non la rappresentazione grottesca di un modo di vivere che vorrebbe essere anticonformista nel senso più nobile del termine, ma che è in realtà non altro che caos, fallimento. Fallimento nel modello educativo del figlio secondogenito (Rudy) dal cui gesto prende il titolo in romanzo, di cui è complice tanto il padre (Otto), improbabile bohemien affascinato dal nazismo, quanto la madre (Emma), una non-madre, bambina in un corpo da donna. Si salva, forse, solo Felix (il primogenito), ma fino ad un certo punto. E poi che dire dello stile narrativo, anch’esso caotico, debordante, ricco di immagini, spesso allegorico. Leggi Vonnegut e ti capita spesso di sorridere, ma è sempre un riso amaro.

“That is my principal objection to life, I think: It's too easy, when alive, to make perfectly horrible mistakes.”

if I have to describe the most pervasive theme of the book using one sentence, it would be this one. the protagonist, rudy waltz, accidently commits a double-murder when he is twelve, and the lives rest of his life as sort of a redemption for his horrible deed in the past- 'i concluded that the best thing for me and for those around me was to want nothing, to be enthusiastic about nothing, to be as unmotivated as possible, in fact, so that I would never again hurt anyone.'

there are moments in our lives where we find ourselves standing on the diverging paths, roads that lead us to different versions of ourselves. it is the our choices in those moments that come to define the rest of our lives - what if i had chosen a different college? what if i hadn't changed cities? what if i chose to give some relationships a second chance? what if i had gone to my grandmother's funeral, would i still be carrying guilt? what if, as rudy waltz would say, i hadn't fired a bullet into the seeming nothingness that day? but the thing about choices is, that sooner or later - we have to own them. we have to stop escaping our responsibilities by blaming the circumstances, the unfairness, the randomness of life. because if there is any connecting dot in our past and our future - it is our ability to make choices.

vonnegut, in his book, is trying to explain that the greatest tragedy in Rudy's life, and in ours, is not the occurrence of the murder, not our choices, rather the abandonment of them. Rudy, despite given another chance, fails to live - almost similar to us, when we fail to come out of our past selves.

my first by vonnegut, and i have to admit that nobody else could use the word 'peephole', still somehow manage to sound intelligent, write a book filled with various disturbing scenarios coated with his dark humor, and throw in recipes of dishes instead of acknowledgment of grief!

I like different Vonnegut novels for different reasons. I enjoyed the space epic that was The Sirens of Titan for the scale of its journey. I liked Slaughterhouse-5 for the incredibly powerful anti-war message it conveyed —not to mention its absurd sadness. Mother Night was beautiful in a picturesque way. I actually thought Galapagos was a little dry, but the ideas it explored made it more memorable than some other works. What was common to all of them was the strength of the satire and the gripping prose that made it a pleasure to devour these novels.

The plot of Deadeye Dick is something I fear I'll forget when I think back to it. I'll remember Rudy Waltz's unfortunate double murder and the name he had to live with forevermore, but everything else will likely remain blurry with only the characters' attempts at escapes from their demons remaining vaguely memorable. Nevertheless, what I will remember about Deadeye Dick is the emotions that I had the fortune of tangling with whilst reading. I'll remember how gripping the novel was, I'll remember wading through the characters' sadness and melancholy, I'll remember the glimpses of the terrifying and most importantly, I'll remember how certain parts were able to unleash my laughter.

While it may not measure up to other Vonnegut novels, I can safely say that I thought Deadeye Dick was absolutely brilliant.

Felt much less enamored of this particular Vonnegut after re-reading all these many years later. Vonnegut always has a light touch, but this novel just felt light in general.
Maybe it was the absurdity of the father that kept any deeper parts from fully landing?
Oh well...

Even “lesser” Vonnegut (is this lesser Vonnegut? is there such a thing?) is top-shelf, top-notch Vonnegut.

To the as-yet-unborn, to all the innocent wisps of undifferentiated nothingness: Watch out for life.

I have caught life. I have come down with life.

That is my principle objection to life, I think: It is too easy, when alive, to make perfectly horrible mistakes.

"Deadeye Dick" starts out with a vintage Vonnegut gem, as the opening paragraph of chapter one is a lovely and unique statement about how we set our values in life. Actually it is about how our values are placed on us by the environment in which we are raised and nurtured. He sets up the motif of our lives as peepholes which open when we are born, and close when we die, and that is it. It is a clever and original method of presenting this thought.
This novel reads and feels like a typical Vonnegut in its style and simplicity, and I will not complain about that. The novel is told in first person by the protagonist Rudy Waltz (who earns the unfortunate nickname Deadeye Dick early in his life) and once again Vonnegut employs simple childlike language to deceive you into zipping along with the reading and then suddenly finding yourself immersed in the middle of a profound thought. Then you are stuck thinking about it, and it is off to the races. The narrative is told as Rudy recounts for us his life, and for the most part it is told in linear flashback scenes. Vonnegut also incorporates an interesting device here, as Rudy likes to examine bits of his life as little "playlets". This device is effective for a couple of reasons as it breaks up the narrative style of the novel, and it also highlights the idea of our lives as short bursts of theater or stories. We are all "tales told by an idiot signifying nothing."
Chapters twelve and thirteen of this text are mesmerizing in their simplicity and depth of theme, and in chapter twelve especially Vonnegut does something that is nothing short of amazing. He makes you feel immense and deserving pity for a person who accidently and arrogantly shot and killed a pregnant woman on Mother's Day. The reader finds themselves embarrassed when they recognize the fact that we seem to lose our humanity when we are confronted by the worst among us and fail to see that they too are human. Shame on us Vonnegut is saying, and it stings. Of special mention is an editorial that the husband of the murdered pregnant women writes in the local paper. It ends chapter thirteen, and although I don't agree with all of it, wow oh wow is Vonnegut on fire in this part of the book.
On page 127 of the novel Vonnegut put his theme right out there for all to see. Rudy has spent his life connecting with no one and nothing. He is a virgin, has no friends, no real career, etc. All of this out of fear of hurting other people. It is foolish nobility, as pain is a part of life and is to be accepted, maybe even embraced as a sign of being alive. Vonnegut seems to be saying that the tragedy in Rudy's, and our, life is not that he has done an awful deed that forever changed his and others lives. It is that he gave up and stopped living once it happened. Vonnegut is warning us... Not you too! You will hurt and be hurt, but live damn it!
At one point in the novel a character obsesses about a parachute while flying, wanting to guarantee a safe landing. "Deadeye Dick" seems to be saying keep looking, and don't stop flying in the meantime. Many reviews have said this is a dark novel. I disagree. I think it is urging us to live. At one point a character says, "This is as much Shangri-Lai as anywhere." That is the point folks. Embrace your own place in this world, and make it work to some extent. Rudy Waltz is the example of what not to be. Vonnegut is not celebrating him; he is using him as a warning bell.
Heed the warning, and read this book.

Cannot believe Vonnegut ever wrote a better book than this. Brilliant from beginning to end.

Some gems:

"If a person survives an ordinary span of sixty years or more, there is every chance that his or her life as a shapely story has ended, and all that remains to be experienced is epilogue. Life is not over, but the story is."

And: "I suppose that's really what so many American women are complaining about these days: They find their lives short on story and overburdened with epilogue."

And: "It is virtually impossible to harm a Timex watch. For some reason, the less you pay for a watch, the surer you can be that it will never stop."

And: "We were raised by servants -- do you know that? This lady here out to get switches and coal every Mother's Day! My brother and I know so much about black people and so little about white people, we should be in a minstrel show."

This is the type of offbeat book where one misstep, and the whole enterprise comes crashing down. But there's not a single one. What a book, what an imagination. Even the intermittent recipes... I've seen that done in another book, I forget which, and it worked. Here, it's perfect. I might even try the recipes.