As my second childhood approaches, I thought I'd look back at some of the books I enjoyed in my twenties but haven't read since. The one I'm reading at the moment is Slaughterhouse 5 (Kurt Vonnegut). I liked it at the time, all those years ago: it spoke to my naive idealism, it was a good story, and it was refreshingly different. Reading it now, however, what strikes me most forcefully--and which went completely over my head back then--is what an amazingly gifted writer Vonnegut was. There is something jaw-droppingly effortless about his prose, the way it just draws you in without (apparently) trying. Masterfully concise, never overblown, pretentious or wordy; looking at what he does painfully accentuates the faults in my own writing. Boo hoo! But a pleasure to read, nonetheless.
In addition, it almost made me start a thread (inspired by Katie-Ellen) of the greatest endings to books; but then I realised that, unlike greatest beginnings, the endings don't mean too much unless one has first read the rest of the book. (I'm quick like that). For what it's worth, the ending of Slaughterhouse 5 is:
...'Poo-tee-weet?'
Like I said, you have to read the rest of it first.
In addition, it almost made me start a thread (inspired by Katie-Ellen) of the greatest endings to books; but then I realised that, unlike greatest beginnings, the endings don't mean too much unless one has first read the rest of the book. (I'm quick like that). For what it's worth, the ending of Slaughterhouse 5 is:
...'Poo-tee-weet?'
Like I said, you have to read the rest of it first.
