I’ve never read a Kurt Vonnegut novel before, so when I opened the book Vonnegut swore he would never even write, I didn’t know what to expect. It doesn’t take long, even as a newcomer to the gumption that is Vonnegut’s prose, to get a strong impression of this infamous writer. “Man without a Country,” in its blunt, conversational tone, sums up its author’s view of our nation’s political state more cohesively and directly than perhaps a conversation with the writer himself would.

Vonnegut’s cynicism is unrelenting, his humor wicked and sporadic. His frankness and unconventional approach in delivering his point (including his pages of humble artwork) give light to what may be Vonnegut’s most charming quality – his unnerving profanity.

In his ability to say something and make it stick, without unnecessary decoration of words or overemphasis on detail, Vonnegut relates to us his woe for our deteriorating planet, disgust for the greed of our government and fascination with simple pleasures such as manila envelopes and the sound of the blues.

In his very old age, Vonnegut seems to see things poetically – the traditions that have passed him by, the ironies of our political climate and revere for heroes of long-gone generations, such as Mark Twain and Abraham Lincoln. He finds meaning in a trip to the post office and disdain for electronic communities.

He yearns for another time, when kids used their imaginations instead of being spoon-fed entertainment, when men were honorable and extended families lived under one roof. Most of all, Vonnegut seems to fear for the future. “I know now that there is not a chance in hell of America becoming humane and reasonable,” he writes.

Divided into simply-phrased chapters and introduced periodically with modest poetry, Vonnegut’s message is delivered as honestly and unapologetically as can be. Even for a new reader such as myself, Vonnegut’s open and insightful approach makes his wisdom accessible and convincing.