Vonnegut. It is impossible to think of anything to say about this miracle of a man. I cannot stand to think that such a light in my life, and the lives of others is gone. One who wishes to relive the beauty, humor, and pure joy of Vonnegut can pick up this book any time. They may also pick up another one of his books, whatever it takes to get their fix. I can't think of anything better than spending a day reading Vonnegut.

A collection of essays, speeches and magazine articles, this work feels a bit 'thrown together'. But there are some gems within, including some good advice for fledgling writers: "Did you ever admire an empty-headed writer for his or her mastery of the language? No... Find a subject you care about. It is this genuine caring, and not your games with language, which will be the most compelling and seductive element in your style."

Every Vonnegut reread is a fresh and wholesome new read. I fully intend to keep rereading until I either drop dead or the inevitable chaos of utter boredom with life itself overcomes me.

Vonnegut is always enjoyable to read. Of his nonfiction books that I've read, this is probably my second favourite (Wampeters wins) as it offers unique insight into who he was as a person that his other nonfiction books don't necessarily. The way it was told, combining excerpts with his reflections and additions, was also engaging. Some of the essays were a little boring, and I probably wouldn't have been super interested in most of them had I not been researching Vonnegut, so my rating isn't super high. Nonetheless, I love Vonnegut as a person, so it's always rewarding to read his thoughts and opinions.

Для меня наследие Воннегута как мыслителя и публичного спикера интересно не менее, а может и более, чем его рассказы или романы. Читая эти «плоды тщеславия», как он выражается, поневоле заражаешься его ощущением сво��оды, восхищаешься способностью высказывать свое мнение и смелостью поднимать наиболее острые темы современности. Он не стесняется говорить о том, что ему действительно важно, не боится показаться наивным или недалеким человеком. Он называет вещи своими именами, даже если это кому-либо и не понравится. А таких недоброжелателей за его жизнь, судя по книге, находилось немало. Для меня было открытием, что в США его книги не только изымали из библиотек, но даже сжигали, что конечно только придало им дополнительной закалки. «Вербное воскресенье» - не просто сборник подзалежавшейся или вообще ранее не опубликованной публицистики, это своеобразный жизненный путь автора, его убеждения и заблуждения, его радости и печали, его надежды и разочарования. На первый взгляд он беззаботен и щедро сыпет остротами, но очень быстро становится ясно, что вездесущий юмор — это только средство, помогающее ему говорить о действительно серьезных вещах, избегая пошлости и нравоучения.
В процессе чтения, понимаешь, что нам в Украине здорово не хватает таких писателей, с такой же внутренней свободой, видимой бесшабашностью и в то же время способностью говорить на самые серьезные темы. Нередко среди нас преобладает зашоренность, ограниченность и узость мышления, что конечно не сочетается с хорошим чувством юмора. Последнее, как известно, является индикатором интеллекта, и творчество Воннегута, конечно, служит лучшим тому подтверждением.
Благодаря такому преимуществу, книга читается легко и приятно. Ощутимым препятствием на пути может стать только незнание американского контекста.
Множество имен, событий и географических локаций были хорошо известны американскому читателю 1980-х и мало что скажут современному читателю-иностранцу. Тем не менее, это не уменьшает значимости произведения.
Многие вещи, сказанные стариной Куртом, остаются актуальными и по сей день.

Reading Vonnegut is such a rewarding experience. It's also such an easy one, his words flow with such ease - as if he is in the room and addressing you alone.

I enjoyed this, but I so longed for it to be a story, for the appearance of Trout or Pilgrim - or even Hoover. I miss Mr Vonnegut.

God Bless You.

And so he went.

This was my first Vonnegut, almost twenty years ago to the day. Maybe an unusual starting point, being an "autobiographical collage," a "blivet," etc. It definitely intrigued me enough to dig for more by him. Upon re-reading it, I definitely see what made me want to dig in for more by the guy, and I might even recommend others start with it, rather than one of the handful of Vonnegut "classics" you'd think someone would want to begin with. If you think you'd enjoy Vonnegut talking about politics and religion, giving his family history (probably more than you'd expect-- but it's also more interesting than you might expect!), exploring some surprising and some not-so-surprising topics, and even including lyrics to a couple of Statler Brothers (!) songs, I recommend digging in! The short story and play he includes in this one aren't among his best creative work, but the short essays, speeches, and other writings in here include some of my favorites.

Hard to rate. This is his second "autobiographical" piece I've read. As far as fiction, I've only read Slaughterhouse Five. I didn't like it. I get it, I understand his humor, but I just don't like it. Yet, reading his nonfiction, I feel I would have really liked him as a person. I agree with many of his thoughts. Some I just don't get. He spends a lot of pointless time exclaiming about pointlessness (see Jonathan Swift and Jekyll and Hyde). At other times, especially about religion, spirituality, and the state of being agnostic, he seems to me profound. He was without a doubt, a very complex individual. What else is a cynic but a wounded idealist?

Lost count in my "Grandpa" Kurt Vonnegut Read/Re-read. Most of 'em.

Listen: of all the collections of non-fiction that he published, Palm Sunday is now my joint-favourite with A Man Without A Country. This is due to the balance of ragged and polished. I found it invigorating. This "all frequencies assault on the sensibilities" or "blivit", has a lot of added commentary which all non-fiction collections could benefit from. As "Grandpa" says in his self-interview for the Paris Review, it's no good interviewing writers live. They struggle to express themselves if it's not on the page where they jiggle the wording around and polish the goddamn turd until it shines. I get that totally. I am horrible at communicating with people by voice if it's more than an odd sentence of four or five words. Once I get to an explanation of an event, I panic and start lobbing words in almost randomly and hope I'm being witty/interesting enough to keep them entertained but I'm fighting a losing battle. Their eyes glaze over when I'm perhaps halfway into the story so I cut myself short, and scuttle away to hide under the nearest table, ashamed, ashamed.

(Metaphorically. Obvs.)

The most amusing thing about my second-hand copy is that a previous owner has annotated it. Through the first half, there are pencilled crosses, + rather than x. I see no running theme to this. There are a handful of underlinings, an answer to a maths question (21), and two responses. WRONG! shouts one after a paragraph about an American woman who had married a German and was brainwashed into thinking Hitler was an OK kind of person etc. NO! Shouts the other after a sentence pondering whether "Grandpa" was wrong about marriages being more perfect if one or other spouse dies peacefully before they can louse it up (oh! The paraphrasing!) How I'd love to sit down with the person and see if their opinions have changed since they owned it. Alas, they have not inscribed their name in the front so we will never know.

Do people even write their names in the fronts of their books, anymore? I don't.

My favourite quote (there are quite a few good ones here) is "The lesson Destouches learned from this true story, in my opinion, if he hadn't already learned it from an impoverished childhood and a stretch in the army, is that vanity rather than wisdom determines how the world is run."

Never a truer word said, old man. Never a truer word said,

It's been a couple months since I read a work from one of my favorite authors and this week I completed Palm Sunday on my second attempt. This first attempt I made on this I dropped it after the first chapter because I felt the organization was choppy and the themes a bit repetitive. Part of that is my fault because It's quite simple for an author to get repetitive when you're reading book twenty something from the same author.

I wasn't as amazed with this as I was with Wampeters, Foma and Granfalloons. I did overall like the book because at this point I like anything from Vonnegut with the exception of Slapstick and Timequake. Despite being one of the driest sections of the book I thought the genealogy chapter was the most fascinating because it added a depth to my knowledge of Vonnegut and helped me put more perspective on his life.

Reminiscent of Just Kids, I did like the chapter in Palm Sunday where Vonnegut talked about all of the notable figures he'd met and I did get quite a laugh out of his commentary on Gore Vidal. I was personally fascinated that Vonnegut went to bat for Celine despite his awful stances. I do have a copy of Journey to the end of the Night that I will make another attempt to read at some point.

My least favorite part of the book by a mile was the section with the "play" and I don't even know if you can call it that. After taking some time with Miller and Williams recently, to read Vonnegut's hack job at drama was off putting.

Overall I liked the book, but it is something that I would only recommend for die hard fans.

This book is a bit of a weird one, because despite the fact that I’m a Vonnegut fan, I wasn’t impressed. In fact, I had to switch it out and read it as a bedtime book instead of as a main read, because I found it difficult to get too invested in it.

Part of that is probably because of the very nature of the book. As the blurb explains, it “weaves together speeches, letters, fiction, articles and autobiography”. To be honest, it’s a bit of a mess and reminds me of what you get after an author dies and an editor sorts through their archives to try to patch together one last book to make a few extra quid.

Because of that, I felt a little bit cheated as a reader, and that’s also the reason why this is easily the weakest of all of the Vonnegut books that I’ve read. In fact, I wouldn’t recommend it unless you’re hoping to read everything that Vonnegut ever wrote or you want to learn a little bit more about his life. Even then, though, it felt like I was learning more about his extended family than I was about the man himself, and that’s a shame.

Overall then, I feel like this was just a bit of a wasted opportunity, a book that could have been good but which just wasn’t. With all of the other great stuff that Vonnegut has out there, I just don’t know why you’d want to pick this on up instead of some of the others. I mean, for goodness’ sake, I still haven’t read Slaughterhouse Five. And this was just such a big miss that I wonder what I’m actually doing.

kurt vonnegut himself gave this book the letter grade ‘C’ so i feel much better about rating it lower