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A review by smart_as_paint
Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut
4.0
► Slaughterhouse-five is a world-renown book about the trauma of the bombing of Dresden, a horrific tragedy in which American airplanes dropped firebombs on a German city, killing thousands of bystanders in a lowercase-h holocaust.
And so it goes.
► Breakfast of Champions is a less renown book about the trauma of the writing of Slaughterhouse-five. That act made its writer the only person who profited from the Dresden tragedy. To any sane writer (and to many insane ones as well), selling Slaughterhouse-five feels like selling pornography. After all, both are candid leaks into an private realm— both are intimate stories of raw emotionality— both bring profit to someone who doesn't have to deal with the consequences. Only no one gives prizes to the writers of pornography.
And so on.
► Breakfast of Champions makes liberal use of the N-word. I don't like this choice because in my day that word is a context independent taboo for white writers like Kurt Vonnegut and I. I think this taboo is a good thing. But in this moment, I like this book too much to care. In the future, I perhaps will look back on this book less fondly.
► My favorite quotation from the 1972 book Breakfast of Champions is "What kind of a man would turn his daughter into an outboard motor?" This is said in reference to Mary Alice Miller, the fictional world champion in the two-hundred meter breaststroke and a young woman whose father "made her swim at least four hours a day, every day, since she was three." Sharon Lynn Wichman won a gold medal in the Women's 200m breaststroke at the 1968 Olympics. On page 52 of the July 24 1968 issue of the Indianapolis News, in a article titled "Shanon Eyes Olympic Spot", Wichman describes how she would "Practice up to four hours a day"
► There isn't a correct way to write about trauma. Trauma is a ghost. It's invisible to the direct address. It exists in the margins of conscious thought and the leaks of reflection. It's that figure in the corner of your eye. If you turn your head fast enough then perhaps it will come into focus and you will be able to sort things out. But turning your head fast enough makes my head ache. So instead you write about the trauma in detached seconds person reviews, chalk outlines of the unknowable specter.
► I like how Kurt Vonnegut writes about trauma because he doesn't write about trauma. He writes about everything else.
And so it goes.
► Breakfast of Champions is a less renown book about the trauma of the writing of Slaughterhouse-five. That act made its writer the only person who profited from the Dresden tragedy. To any sane writer (and to many insane ones as well), selling Slaughterhouse-five feels like selling pornography. After all, both are candid leaks into an private realm— both are intimate stories of raw emotionality— both bring profit to someone who doesn't have to deal with the consequences. Only no one gives prizes to the writers of pornography.
And so on.
► Breakfast of Champions makes liberal use of the N-word. I don't like this choice because in my day that word is a context independent taboo for white writers like Kurt Vonnegut and I. I think this taboo is a good thing. But in this moment, I like this book too much to care. In the future, I perhaps will look back on this book less fondly.
► My favorite quotation from the 1972 book Breakfast of Champions is "What kind of a man would turn his daughter into an outboard motor?" This is said in reference to Mary Alice Miller, the fictional world champion in the two-hundred meter breaststroke and a young woman whose father "made her swim at least four hours a day, every day, since she was three." Sharon Lynn Wichman won a gold medal in the Women's 200m breaststroke at the 1968 Olympics. On page 52 of the July 24 1968 issue of the Indianapolis News, in a article titled "Shanon Eyes Olympic Spot", Wichman describes how she would "Practice up to four hours a day"
► There isn't a correct way to write about trauma. Trauma is a ghost. It's invisible to the direct address. It exists in the margins of conscious thought and the leaks of reflection. It's that figure in the corner of your eye. If you turn your head fast enough then perhaps it will come into focus and you will be able to sort things out. But turning your head fast enough makes my head ache. So instead you write about the trauma in detached seconds person reviews, chalk outlines of the unknowable specter.
► I like how Kurt Vonnegut writes about trauma because he doesn't write about trauma. He writes about everything else.