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Reread October 2017: Well, I gave this five starts the first time around and that's just not right. It's Vonnegut's last novel and it shows - and he admits that it's more of a biography mixed with a novel draft. It's so strangely hateful and yet sentimental towards Kilgore Trout. It's peppered with anecdotes that don't really make sense, and it seems like maybe Vonnegut was afraid he'd never have the time or energy to stick them in anything else. It's endearing but also frustrating, because we get more of the autobiography than we do the novel. And I remembered really liking the novel.