Welcome to the Monkey House: A Collection of Short Works
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Welcome to the Monkey House is a collection of Kurt Vonnegut’s shorter works. Originally printed in publications as diverse as The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction and The Atlantic Monthly, these superb stories share Vonnegut’s audacious sense of humor and extraordinary range of creative vision.
dog. That’s the way to lick overpopulation—emigrate!" "Lou—?" "Hmmm?" "When’s the Five-Hundred-Mile Speedway Race?" "Uh—Memorial Day, May thirtieth." She bit her lip. "Was that awful of me to ask?" "Not very, I guess. Everybody in the apartment’s looked it up to make sure." "I don’t want to be awful," said Em, "but you’ve just got to talk over these things now and then, and get them out of your system." "Sure you do. Feel better?" "Yes—and I’m not going to lose my temper anymore, and I’m
"It wasn’t for children, honey," said his mother. "You would have liked the short subject, though. It was all about bears—cunning little cubs." Paul’s father handed her Paul’s trousers, and she shook them out, and hung them neatly on the back of a chair by the bed. She patted them smooth, and felt the ball of money in the pocket. "Little boys’ pockets!" she said, delighted. "Full of childhood’s mysteries. An enchanted frog? A magic pocketknife from a fairy princess?" She caressed the lump.
you’ve read them all." She lifted her glass. "Happy days, and thanks, darlings, so much for the roses." (1951) THE HYANNIS PORT STORY THE FARTHEST AWAY from home I ever sold a storm window was in Hyannis Port, Massachusetts, practically in the front yard of President Kennedy’s summer home. My field of operation is usually within about twenty-five miles of my home, which is in North Crawford, New Hampshire. The Hyannis Port thing happened because somebody misunderstood something I said,
to think of what I’m liable to find," I said. "You look at the statistics," said Murra, "and you’ll find out that when people get married when they’re only eighteen—the way my first wife and I did—there’s a fifty-fifty chance the thing will blow sky high." "I was eighteen when I was married," I said. "You’re still with your first wife?" he said. "Going on twenty years now," I said. "Don’t you ever feel like you got gypped out of your bachelor days, your playboy days, your days as a great
over it, measure its true dimensions." This last surprised me. I thought the dimensions of our world were well known. "A man out there could learn much about the wonderful showers of matter and energy in space," said Stepan. And he spoke of many other poetic and scientific joys out there. I was satisfied. Stepan had made me feel his own great joy at the thought of all the beauty and truth in space. I understood at last, Mr. Ashland, why the suffering would be worthwhile. When I dreamed of space