I guess you would expect Kurt Vonnegut's novel about the end of the world to be wry, funny, and above all anti-climactic. So it's no surprise when it turns out that, from the perspective of a million years into the future, "humanity" didn't end at all. As a species, we simply thought better of possessing these big brains that have caused us no end of trouble, and which, to top it off, have mostly not composed Beethoven's Ninth. Just like the other Vonnegut novels I've read, this one makes you wonder how we manage to collectively sleepwalk our way through the absurdity of life without appreciating the full joy and sorrow of the cosmic satyr play staged at our expense. Which makes me think it should be required reading in every high school, despite the fact that it appears some of us just can't take a joke.
When confronted with the question of how the desire to improve the world fits with the notion of time presented in Slaughterhouse-Five, Vonnegut responded "you understand, of course, that everything I say is horseshit."
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