Kurt Vonnegut is such a capable writer I wish he saw women as people. 

This one was interesting. A lot to ponder. Once again he has made a story where the male protagonist (and WW2 veteran) struggles with the deep irrationality of postwar American society. Something I would want to discuss is the implications of Frontierism as the bygone ideal of Americanness from which the wealthy opportunists made their fortunes and the era of usefulness that the victims of obscelescence have lost. This and his other books are about the loss of stature of working class white men and it's interesting to read how it holds up against the real thing which encompasses more broadly and deeply the roots of racial/colonial exploitation in America.

And can he ever write a woman without declaring how they are, unfailingly, stupid and otherwise either ugly or vain? As if one can't hold the same cynicism or frightened disillusionment to the same depth of experience as his intelligent protagonist men are shown to be able.