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Kurt Vonnegut - Slaughterhouse-Five - epub. 2 MB. usaascvb.info MB. Kurt Vonnegut - Breakfast of Champions - Title: FREE [P.D.F] Breakfast of Champions PDF EPUB KINDLE by Kurt Vonnegut , Author: bit2tube, Name: FREE [P.D.F] Breakfast of. Description In "Breakfast of Champions, " one of Kurt Vonnegut's most beloved characters, the aging writer Kilgore Trout, finds to his horror that a Midwest car.

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Kurt Vonnegut Breakfast Of Champions Epub

Breakfast of Champions () provides frantic, scattershot satire and a collage of Vonnegut's obsessions. His recurring cast of characters and American. Download the book Kurt Vonnegut - Breakfast of Champions for free in a convenient format epub, pdf, fb2, mobi. Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. was an American novelist known for works blending satire, black including Slaughterhouse-Five, Cat's Cradle, and Breakfast of Champions.

With an OverDrive account, you can save your favorite libraries for at-a-glance information about availability. Find out more about OverDrive accounts. Breakfast of Champions provides frantic, scattershot satire and a collage of Vonnegut's obsessions. His recurring cast of characters and American landscape was perhaps the most controversial of his canon; it was felt by many at the time to be a disappointing successor to Slaughterhouse-Five , which had made Vonnegut's literary reputation. The core of the novel is Kilgore Trout, a familiar character very deliberately modeled on the science fiction writer Theodore Sturgeon , a fact which Vonnegut conceded frequently in interviews and which was based upon his own occasional relationship with Sturgeon. Here Kilgore Trout is an itinerant wandering from one science fiction convention to another; he intersects with the protagonist, Dwayne Hoover one of Vonnegut's typically boosterish, lost and stupid mid-American characters and their intersection is the excuse for the evocation of many others, familiar and unfamiliar, dredged from Vonnegut's gallery. The central issue is concerned with intersecting and apposite views of reality, and much of the narrative is filtered through Trout who is neither certifiably insane nor a visionary writer but can pass for either depending upon Dwayne Hoover's and Vonnegut's view of the situation. America, when this novel was published, was in the throes of Nixon, Watergate and the unraveling of our intervention in Vietnam; the nation was beginning to fragment ideologically and geographically, and Vonnegut sought to cram all of this dysfunction and a goofy, desperate kind of hope, the irrational comfort given through the genre of science fiction into a sprawling narrative whose sense, if any, is situational, not conceptual. Reviews were polarized; the novel was celebrated for its bizarre aspects, became the basis of a Bruce Willis movie adaptation whose reviews were not nearly so polarized. Most critics hated it. This novel in its freewheeling and deliberately fragmented sequentiality may be the quintessential Vonnegut novel, not necessarily his best, but the work which most truly embodies the range of his talent, cartooned alienation and despair. Fiction Literature Publication Details Publisher: RosettaBooks Imprint: RosettaBooks Publication Date: We want your feedback!

Fiction Literature Publication Details Publisher: RosettaBooks Imprint: RosettaBooks Publication Date: We want your feedback! Click here. Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut ebook.

Breakfast of Champions

Subjects Fiction Literature. Fiction Literature. Publication Details Publisher: Kurt Vonnegut Author Hailed by Graham Greene as one of the best living American writers, Kurt Vonnegut is one of the definitive voices in American literature in the second half of the 20th century. More about Kurt Vonnegut. Breakfast of Champions Embed. He shuddered gently, as though he had a small motor which was idling inside. Here was his problem: The wires which had to carry the instructions weren't insulated anymore, or were eaten clear through.

Switches along the way were welded open or shut. This man looked like an old, old man, although he might have been only thirty years old. He thought and thought. And then he kicked two times like a chorus girl. He certainly looked like a machine to me when I was a boy.

When I was a boy, I saw a lot of people with goiters. So did Dwayne Hoover, the Pontiac dealer who is the hero of this book. Those unhappy Earthlings had such swollen thyroid glands that they seemed to have zucchini squash growing from their throats.

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All they had to do in order to have ordinary lives, it turned out, was to consume less than one-millionth of an ounce of iodine every day.

My own mother wrecked her brains with chemicals, which were supposed to make her sleep. When I get depressed, I take a little pill, and I cheer up again. And so on. So it is a big temptation to me, when I create a character for a novel, to say that he is what he is because of faulty wiring, or because of microscopic amounts of chemicals which he ate or failed to eat on that particular day. I feel lousy about it, but I always feel lousy about my books. My friend Knox Burger said one time that a certain cumbersome novel ",,,read as though it had been written by Philboyd Studge.

Kurt Vonnegut – Breakfast of Champions

I feel as though I am crossing the spine of a roof-having ascended one slope. I am programmed at fifty to perform childishly-to insult "The Star-Spangled Banner," to scrawl pictures of a Nazi flag and an asshole and a lot of other things with a felt-tipped pen. To give an idea of the maturity of my illustrations for this book, here is my picture of an asshole: I think I am trying to clear my head of all the junk in there-the assholes, the flags, the underpants.

Yes-there is a picture in this book of underpants. I'm throwing out characters from my other books, too. I'm not going to put on any more puppet shows. I think I am trying to make my head as empty as it was when I was born onto this damaged planet fifty years ago.

I suspect that this is something most white Americans, and nonwhite Americans who imitate white Americans, should do. The things other people have put into my head, at any rate, do not fit together nicely, are often useless and ugly, are out of proportion with one another, are out of proportion with life as it really is outside my head. I have no culture, no humane harmony in my brains. I can't live without a culture anymore. I will come to a time in my backwards trip when November eleventh, accidentally my birthday, was a sacred day called Armistice Day.

When I was a boy, and when Dwayne Hoover was a boy, all the people of all the nations which had fought in the First World War were silent during the eleventh minute of the eleventh hour of Armistice Day, which was the eleventh day of the eleventh month.

It was during that minute in nineteen hundred and eighteen, that millions upon millions of human beings stopped butchering one another. I have talked to old men who were on battlefields during that minute. They have told me in one way or another that the sudden silence was the Voice of God.

So we still have among us some men who can remember when God spoke clearly to mankind.

Armistice Day was sacred. Veterans' Day is not. So I will throw Veterans' Day over my shoulder. Armistice Day I will keep. I don't want to throw away any sacred things. What else is sacred? Oh, Romeo and Juliet, for instance. And all music is. One of them was a science-fiction writer named Kilgore Trout. He was a nobody at the time, and he supposed his life was over. He was mistaken. As a consequence of the meeting, he became one of the most beloved and respected human beings in history.

The man he met was an automobile dealer, a Pontiac dealer named Dwayne Hoover. Dwayne Hoover was on the brink of going insane.

Kurt Vonnegut – Breakfast of Champions

Trout and Hoover were citizens of the United States of America, a country which was called America for short. This was their national anthem, which was pure balderdash, like so much they were expected to take seriously: O, say can you see by the dawn's early light What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming, Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thru the perilous fight O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?

And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there. O, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? There were one quadrillion nations in the Universe, but the nation Dwayne Hoover and Kilgore Trout belonged to was the only one with a national anthem which was gibberish sprinkled with question marks. Here is what their flag looked like: It was the law of their nation, a law no other nation on the planet had about its flag, which said this: It might have comforted them some if their anthem and their motto had mentioned fairness or brotherhood or hope or happiness, had somehow welcomed them to the society and its real estate.

If they studied their paper money for clues as to what their country was all about, they found, among a lot of other baroque trash, a picture of a truncated pyramid with a radiant eye on top of it, like this: Not even the President of the United States knew what that was all about. It was as though the country were saying to its citizens, "In nonsense is strength. The founders were aristocrats, and they wished to show off their useless education, which consisted of the study of hocus-pocus from ancient times.

They were bum poets as well. But some of the nonsense was evil, since it concealed great crimes.

For example, teachers of children in the United States of America wrote this date on blackboards again and again, and asked the children to memorize it with pride and joy: The teachers told the children that this was when their continent was discovered by human beings.

Actually, millions of human beings were already living full and imaginative lives on the continent in That was simply the year in which sea pirates began to cheat and rob and kill them. Here was another piece of evil nonsense which children were taught: There were pictures and statues of this supposed imaginary beacon for children to see. It was sort of an ice-cream cone on fire. It looked like this: Actually, the sea pirates who had the most to do with the creation of the new government owned human slaves.

They used human beings for machinery, and, even after slavery was eliminated, because it was so embarrassing, they and their descendants continued to think of ordinary human beings as machines. The people who were already on the continent when the pirates arrived were copper-colored.

When slavery was introduced onto the continent, the slaves were black. Color was everything. They touched this seemingly listless powder with fire, and it turned violently into gas.

This gas blew projectiles out of metal tubes at terrific velocities. The projectiles cut through meat and bone very easily; so the pirates could wreck the wiring or the bellows or the plumbing of a stubborn human being, even when he was far, far away. The chief weapon of the sea pirates, however, was their capacity to astonish. Nobody else could believe, until it was much too late, how heartless and greedy they were.

It had most of the food and minerals and machinery, and it disciplined other countries by threatening to shoot big rockets at them or to drop things on them from airplanes.

Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut (ebook)

Most other countries didn't have doodley-squat. Many of them weren't even inhabitable anymore. They had too many people and not enough space. They had sold everything that was any good, and there wasn't anything to eat anymore, and still the people went on fucking all the time. Fucking was how babies were made. They had a theory that what was left of the planet should be shared more or less equally among all the people, who hadn't asked to come to a wrecked planet in the first place. Meanwhile, more babies were arriving all the time-kicking and screaming, yelling for milk.

In some places people would actually try to eat mud or such on gravel while babies were being born just a few feet away. It didn't think that Earthlings who had a lot should share it with others unless they really wanted to, and most of them didn't want to.

So they didn't have to. Some Americans were very good at grabbing and holding, were fabulously well-to-do.

Others couldn't get their hands on doodley-squat. Dwayne Hoover was fabulously well-to-do when he met Kilgore Trout. A man whispered those exact words to a friend one morning as Dwayne walked by:

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