Before I forget completely, I finished a Vonnegut book last week – once again a (mostly) compelling page turner, except for the “and now here’s 10 pages about my family history” bits. He really is obsessed with Indianapolous and leaving some sort of legacy there. Written in 1981, the now-dead Vonnegut sprays a pile of lecture, acceptance speech and funeral speeches our way, which often leave me amazed with his daring and confidence. He says things about Americans that would be publically unacceptable today (i.e we’re closer to the definition of a communist nation than many other “commy” countries are) and his unique take on human misery is a delight (early humans got it right, we need to form large collective communities again – loneliness will bring about the downfall of Western society). 
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palm_Sunday_(book) He makes some comments about his failed marriage, how his kids ended up turning out (I ended up putting Mark in the loony bin) and the curse of his utterly anti-religious heritage that made some things in his life inevitable. Writers like Vonnegut are satisfying to the voyeur in all of us as they reveal more than most. He even rates every one of his books with a school grade, giving Breakfast of Champions a C. What a crazy guy. I’m sure he would have been quite a handful to live (and work) with. Four stars.