I really meant one star, but I did not want to be immediately labeled as One of Those idiots who gives great books a 1 Merely Because everyone else threw 5's. Breakfast of Champions, though, what self-indulgent, insubtle, rambling drivel That Does not deserve any of the applause Which people have so eagerly and richly Supplied with it. The attempted irony in the book is monstrously distorted and misapplied. I groaned at each new meaningless illustration or transparent and overwrought attempt at novel, unorthodox narration. The whole book is directed at the lowest common denominator. Style over substance. I admire Vonnegut, and have enjoyed his other works, but Breakfast of Champions belongs in the same trash bin with A Prayer for Owen Meany (John Irving's only garbage novel, yet it is tremendously loved).
