I just finished Slaughterhouse-five. It was great. If you haven't read it, you really should. Vonnegut does some really new things, which aren't so new anymore, but it was 1969 when he published the book and people have had time to practice his tricks since. So it goes.
The way people talk about this book, I thought it'd be a lot better than it was. That's not to say I was disappointed: this story changed my life. At least it taught me a lot. About narrative. About death. So it goes. But I always got the impression that this book was only a little behind the Bible with regards to relevance, awesomeness, and all that. It didn't hit me like that. It hit me in a completely different way. I'm glad; it was better this way; I can move onto other books now because this wasn't the single pinnacle of fiction created by man. It's just really great and the most relaxed and simple way a good work of fiction can be great--without that way treading anywhere near the border of Normal Straightforward Storyville.
Anyways. I'm trying to see who I wanna read next. The Move is coming up in a month, so I don't have a lot of reading time left, especially with the homework GEOS's sending me, so I needs be prudent with my choices. I'm thinking I want to read Nabokov's Pale Fire more than anything in the world, but I'm also thinking I left it on the other side of the state. I thought I would've been back there by now. Rats. So in the meanwhile, Pynchon's Crying of Lot 49 is looking good. Yes? No? If not him, then probably Eco. Anyways.