Vonnegut

War is finnicky. The image of sheep slipping over the horizon one by one, and the young soldier watching the last lamb vanish before he allows himself to breathe again ...

Well, the intent is clear: to convince me that Margaret Thatcher, in her eulogy for Ronald Reagan, constructs a portrait of a man worthy of American reverence. Like so many ...

Yes, there is atmosphere here. Rain flecking in Caspar’s eyes, mud, aching bones, the want of warmth... these are all dependable ingredients in the stew of wartime fiction, and you ...

The opening paragraph sets the tone well with the narrator unsure whether what follows is memory, fiction, or something in between. This ambiguity is promising; ambiguity can be powerful soil ...

Credit where credit is due, the mood is written beautifully... but the story promptly does little with that. Constellation drifts. She steps, and suddenly she’s elsewhere. She laughs to herself, ...