Despite his immense literary skill, Kurt Vonnegut, who died in April this year, was never really a household name, even in his native America. A fourth-generation German immigrant, he waited a long time for public recognition. His is not the most inspirational fiction I have read, nor is he the most skilled writer. However, Vonnegut’s uniquely bleak humour, entwined around situations bordering on the surreal and peppered with surprisingly funny and at times beautiful images, convey his thoughts memorably.