I picked this book up about forty years ago, and put it down before I got 50 pages into it. Recently, I saw it in a bunch of books donated for Operation Paperback, and thought I would take another stab at it.
Well, I finished it. The author (Philip Jose' Farmer) mentioned, more than once, that this is a bad novel. Who am I to argue with an accomplished authority? Consider yourself forewarned.
Well, I finished it. The author (Philip Jose' Farmer) mentioned, more than once, that this is a bad novel. Who am I to argue with an accomplished authority? Consider yourself forewarned.
I have absolutely no idea what to call this book! A galactic shaggy-dog story? A slapstick take-off on the mother of all space operas? A spoof on all quest-for-the-answers novel? Whatever you call it, it was imaginative, funny and fun--though I'm not sure I needed to know all the details of the problems with his penis . . .
From back cover: The Space Wanderer, an Earthman wearing an eye-patch, levis, and a shabby gray sweater who roams the cosmos in a Chinese spaceship...
The Space Wanderer, a man without a planet, who has gained immortality from an elixir drunk during a sexual interlude with an alien queen in heat...
The Space Wanderer, an intergalactic rover whose constant companions are a dog, an owl, and a female robot programmed for among other things, unique fleshly delights...
The Space Wanderer, a pretty nice guy whose only fault is that he asks questions that no one can answer; primarily, 'Why are we created only to suffer and die?'
From back cover: The Space Wanderer, an Earthman wearing an eye-patch, levis, and a shabby gray sweater who roams the cosmos in a Chinese spaceship...
The Space Wanderer, a man without a planet, who has gained immortality from an elixir drunk during a sexual interlude with an alien queen in heat...
The Space Wanderer, an intergalactic rover whose constant companions are a dog, an owl, and a female robot programmed for among other things, unique fleshly delights...
The Space Wanderer, a pretty nice guy whose only fault is that he asks questions that no one can answer; primarily, 'Why are we created only to suffer and die?'
Kilgore Trout is apparently a pseudonym for Kurt Vonnegut. Copyright 1975.
The book is one of a kind.
