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John LeonardNot once in Jailbird does Mr. Vonnegut nod off, go vague. His people bite into their lives. Kindnesses, as inexplicable as history, are collected, like saving remnants. New York, with catacombs under Grand Central Terminal and harps on top of the Chrysler Building, is wonderfully evoked. The prose has sinew. Mr. Nixon's "unhappy little smile," for instance "looked to me like a rosebud that had just been smashed by a hammer." Or: "There was a withered old man...hunched over his food, hiding it with his arms. Sarah whispered that he ate as though his meal were a royal flush."
— The New York Times