- The anatomy of this book is less that of a novel than of a collage. I am a bigger fan of Vonnegut’s visual style than his skill warrants, and I really enjoyed the drawings throughout.
- As part of this collage, there are lots of “easter eggs” strewn throughout the book that add a lot of interest while doing very little to drive the plot forward. As in Slaughterhouse V, Vonnegut teases us with the premises of several “books within the book”, all written by Kilgore Trout, a fictional (and wildly unsuccessful) sci-fi writer. I would gladly read any of these books, had Vonnegut taken the time to flesh them out on Mr. Trout’s behalf.
I know any references to Infinite Jest are bound to be more trouble than they’re worth, but I can’t help but connect the Trout novels in BoC to the footnote listing of James Incandenza’s movies in IJ.
There, I got that out of my system. - Like many other Vonnegut novels, BoC would benefit from hyperlinks to demonstrate just how densely self-referential the book is. One great example in this book is the extended discussion in Ch1 of the absurd lyrics to the national anthem. This section appears as a throwaway section, but 270 pages later it returns as an ambulance driver is introduced as Eddie Key, a direct descendant of Francis Scott Key.
There is a beautiful tension in the book between the simplicity of the story and the intricately web-like systems of connections between characters and events. It is certainly a book that rewards re-reading, and it’s a book that one gets nostalgic far before it’s finished. - Aside from Don DeLillo, no other author gets more out of the aesthetics of brands and marketing than Vonnegut. The title of the book is a trademark of General Mills, and many of the best drawings are of advertisements for brands, both fictional and real.
Vonnegut invents the Robo-Magic Corporation and gives it an official slogan of “Goodbye, Blue Monday”—perhaps the three most beautiful words in the book.
Like DeLillo, Vonnegut has an ambiguous relationship with corporate brands. On the one hand, he is clearly interested in satirizing the exploitative corporations they represent. On the other, he seems to understand that much of the “art” produced in contemporary society (by which I simply mean the symbols, words, and music that are of genuine and enduring aesthetic interest) are being produced in the service of brand marketing. Cynical as he is, Vonnegut seems unwilling to throw out the polyethylene baby with the BritaPure™ bath water.
Readers interested in exploring the intersection of advertising and art more thoroughly will really love Vonnegut’s later novel, Bluebeard. - Though somewhat gimmicky by contemporary standards, I really enjoyed the enduring conceit of the author of the book as living both in the “real” world and in the world of the story, capable of interacting with characters. To the extent this even remotely describes Vonnegut’s creative process (which I don’t doubt for a second) it is as enviable as it is impressive.
- Despite all the good, I would still rank this as a “lesser” Vonnegut novel. It is an explicitly personal and cathartic text for Vonnegut as an author, and I think that comes at the expense of craft.
The plot, while interesting, is incidental to the story at best. Whether this is a valid criticism of the book, I think, depends in large part upon how seriously we take Vonnegut’s pseudo-thesis, unspoken until nearly 75% of the way through the book:
Is the book cobbled together by a despairing writer on a journey of self discovery, or is it a conscientious revolt to literary form? As with most things Vonnegut, it is both. And neither. And so on.“As I approached my fiftieth birthday, I had become more and more enraged and mystified by the idiot decisions made by my countrymen. And then I had come suddenly to pity them, for I understood how innocent and natural it was for them to behave so abominably, and with such abominable results: They were doing their best to live like people invented in story books. This was the reason Americans shot each other so often: It was a convenient literary device for ending short stories and books.
Why were so many Americans treated by their government as though their lives were as disposable as paper facial tissues? Because that was the way authors customarily treated bit-part players in their made up tales.
And so on.
Once I understood what was making America such a dangerous, unhappy nation of people who had nothing to do with real life, I resolved to shun storytelling. I would write about life. Every person would be exactly as important as any other. All facts would also be given equal weightiness. Nothing would be left out. Let others bring order to chaos. I would bring chaos to order, instead, which I think I have done.”
– Breakfast of Champions, 215
Recommended. Rating 7.5/10
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Footnotes from the Ragged Frontier 
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