Book : Breakfast Of Champions A Novel - Vonnegut, Kurt

Descripción

- ANTES DE COMPRAR PREGUNTE FECHA DE ENTREGA.
- ENVIAMOS POR MERCADOENVIOS
- PUEDE RETIRAR POR AHORA SOLO POR QUILMES, MICROCENTRO ESTA CERRADO, POR ESO...
- EN CABA (CAPITAL FEDERAL) ENVIAMOS SIN CARGO ESTE PRODUCTO.
- FORMA DE PAGO : MERCADOPAGO
- HACEMOS FACTURA A.
- ELBAZARDIGITAL VENDEDOR PLATINUM
- TODOS NUESTROS PRODUCTOS EN:

https://eshops.mercadolibre.com.ar/elbazardigital

-X-X-X-

- SOMOS IMPORTADORES DIRECTOS, ESTE PRODUCTO SE COMPRA Y SE IMPORTA DESDE ESTADOS UNIDOS, ESTO IMPLICA QUE USTED ESTA COMPRANDO EL MISMO PRODUCTO QUE COMPRARÍA UN CLIENTE DE ESE PAÍS.

- ANTES DE REALIZAR UNA CONSULTA, VISUALICE TODAS LAS IMAGENES DEL PRODUCTO.
Descripción provista por la editorial :

“Marvelous . . . [Vonnegut] wheels out all the complaints about America and makes them seem fresh, funny, outrageous, hateful and lovable.”-The New York TimesIn Breakfast of Champions, one of Kurt Vonnegut’s most beloved characters, the aging writer Kilgore Trout, finds to his horror that a Midwest car dealer is taking his fiction as truth. What follows is murderously funny satire, as Vonnegut looks at war, sex, racism, success, politics, and pollution in America and reminds us how to see the truth.“Free-wheeling, wild and great . . . uniquely Vonnegut.”-Publishers WeeklyReview“Marvelous . . . [Vonnegut] wheels out all the complaints about America and makes them seem fresh, funny, outrageous, hateful and lovable.”-The New York Times“Free-wheeling, wild and great . . . uniquely Vonnegut.”-Publishers WeeklyFrom the Inside FlapBreakfast Of Champions is vintage Vonnegut. One of his favorite characters, aging writer Kilgore Trout, finds to his horror that a Midwest car dealer is taking his fiction as truth. The result is murderously funny satire as Vonnegut looks at war, sex, racism, success, politics, and pollution in America and reminds us how to see the truth.About the AuthorKurt Vonnegut’s humor, satiric voice, and incomparable imagination first captured America’s attention in The Sirens of Titan in 1959 and established him as “a true artist” (The New York Times) with Cat’s Cradle in 1963. He was, as Graham Greene declared, “one of the best living American writers.” Mr. Vonnegut passed away in April 2007.Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.Dwayne was a widower. He lived alone at night in a dream house in Fairchild Heights, which was the most desirable residential area in the city. Every house there cost at least one hundred thousand dollars to build. Every house was on at least four acres of land.Dwaynes only companion at night was a Labrador retriever named Sparky. Sparky could not wag his tail--because of an automobile accident many years ago, so he had no way of telling other dogs how friendly he was. He had to fight all the time. His ears were in tatters. He was lumpy with scars.Dwayne had a black servant named Lottie Davis. She cleaned his house every day. Then she cooked his supper for him and served it. Then she went home. She was descended from slaves.Lottie Davis and Dwayne didnt talk much, even though they liked each other a lot. Dwayne reserved most of his conversation for the dog. He would get down on the floor and roll around with Sparky, and he would say things like, You and me, Spark, and Hows my old buddy? and so on.And that routine went on unrevised, even after Dwayne started to go crazy, so Lottie had nothing unusual to notice.Kilgore Trout owned a parakeet named Bill. Like Dwayne Hoover, Trout was all alone at night, except for his pet. Trout, too, talked to his pet.But while Dwayne babbled to his Labrador retriever about love, Trout sneered and muttered to his parakeet about the end of the world.Any time now, he would say. And high time, too.It was Trouts theory that the atmosphere would become unbreathable soon.Trout supposed that when the atmosphere became poisonous, Bill would keel over a few minutes before Trout did. He would kid Bill about that. Hows the old respiration, Bill? hed say, or, Seems like youve got a touch of the old emphysema, Bill, or, We never discussed what kind of a funeral you want, Bill. You never even told me what your religion is. And so on.He told Bill that humanity deserved to die horribly, since it had behaved so cruelly and wastefully on a planet so sweet. Were all Heliogabalus, Bill, he would say. This was the name of a Roman emperor who had a sculptor make a hollow, life-size iron bull with a door on it. The door could be locked from the outside. The bulls mouth was open. That was the only other opening to the outside.Heliogabalus would have a human being put into the
-o-o-o-