Twitter Updates

Lou's Radio

Powered by www.myfabrik.com

Sunday, February 26, 2006

Book # 5 BlueBeard by Kurt Vonnegut




Vonnegut's 13th book is my fifth(fif) and is turning out to be hands down one of my favorite Vonnegut books of all time. This will probably be my last Vonnegut book for a while and talk about going out with a bang. So it's the autobiography of Expressionist painter Rabo Karabekian, a minor character some of may remember from Breakfast of Champions. Living in the Hamptons with his cook and her premiscious daughter he meets up with a widow from Baltimore who stays with him and encourages him to right his story. The whole time she pretty much turns his house and friends upside down and at times against him. All the while the book jumps back to his parents coming to America, his migration to New York as a teenager to study under a great Armeian artist, his days hanging out in Union Square with Jackson Pollack, and of course the mystery of what's in his potatoe barn. Which, by the way, that meddling widow is always trying to find out what exactly is in there. OK I don't know if this makes any sense but you'll just have to read it to take in it's awesomeness.

Here's a summary from Library Journal :
Vonnegut rounds up several familiar themes and character types for his 13th novel: genocide, the surreality of the modern world, fluid interplay of the past and present, and the less-than-heroic figure taking center stage to tell his story. Here he elevates to narrator a minor character from Breakfast of Champions , wounded World War II veteran and abstract painter Rabo Karabekian. At the urging of enchantress-as-bully Circe Berman, Karabekian writes his "hoax autobiography." Vonnegut uses the tale to satirize art movements and the art-as-investment mind-set and to explore the shifting shape of reality.

Some Stats:
  • Published in 1988
  • 336 pages
  • 10.1 oz is the shipping weight
  • babyshit brown - read it to find out
  • First sentence of the story : Having written "The End" to this story of my life, I find it prudent to scamper back here to before the beginning, to my front door, so to speak, and to make this apology to arriving gusts: "I promised you an autobiography, but something went wrong in the kitchen
  • No comments: