Kurt Vonneguts’ Sirens of Titan

Is it possible to like a book and hate it as well? I am on page 235 of 319 (that’s 73.667% of the way through), and I can’t figure out which feeling is stronger. I like the voice—that brackish Vonnegut voice that mixes fresh with salty. But I hate it, too. It makes me want something nice, something real, as if the lenses that he is hanging in front of my eyes are tinted and cloudy.

What I am actually struggling with most is an appreciation for the plot and the characters. So far (73.667% of the way in), I’m still clinging to the assumption that something cosmic has yet to occur—will suddenly come to fruition—and that the plot will suddenly make sense. I’m forgiving the characters for being cold and unloveable. I am hoping that the author will make me like them. Maybe that isn’t the purpose or the point.