My interest in this litany of letters was especially piqued, now six years back, by an Indianapolis Monthly magazine article that excerpted the book. Overall, this massive batch of letters is typically Kurt, by turns droll and dry. I admittedly did not quite finish it. (I've decided to be OK with that anymore; I'm freshly 40!) My favorites in this lot were the absurd-and-endearing courtship notes between Vonnegut's future wife, Jane, and him, as well as those in which he amusingly despaired (or faux-despaired) about various rejections from publishers. It's so funny now to see how navel-gazing or self-satisfied some of them were, and notably, the Kurt Vonnegut Memorial Library Indianapolis has a fantastic set of them on display in physical form. (By the by, as Vonnegut-adjacent trivia, comedian Lewis Black recently joined that library's board.) In a number of notes to folks in his sphere, Vonnegut ruminated about how great it would be to show up those prickly would-be publishers someday. The well-worn beauty of it all is that there would come a day.