Bluebeard

            Vonnegut’s books just make me feel so good. He’s entertaining; his stories are full of interesting characters, fun facts, and weird plot lines that thrive on coincidences. He’s intelligent; I learn something historical, something philosophical, and something about myself based on the degree to which I do or do not identify with his characters’ outlooks on life. He’s wise; there are always a few well-crafted sentences that perfectly encapsulate a feeling that rings true but is difficult to communicate.

            He is unequivocally my favorite author. If you come to my blog for book recommendations, I hope you go away with a nagging thirst to read something of his. What the hell are you waiting for?

            Bluebeard*, Vonnegut’s 12^th novel, centers on abstract expressionism, an art form that I was uninterested in prior to reading and remain uninterested in now. One time I went to an art gallery that featured a short silent film of puppets making out. Art is weird and amusing and probably not worth so much money. Hot take!

            I do like this art-related meme:

            Back to Bluebeard. It’s not really about art; it’s about an artist who can’t self-identify as such until a wacky woman comes into his life and encourages him (*forces him) to write an autobiography. All the self-reflection leads him to the conclusion that his life is worth something of value. It’s actually quite heartwarming and not cheesy. You should read it because of the aforementioned God-like qualities I ascribe to Vonnegut’s writings--- BUT start elsewhere, if you can. My favorite Vonnegut changes depending on my mood, but certainly my top three are: Cat’s Cradle, Slaughterhouse Five, and Breakfast of Champions. Honorable mention to his short story collection, Welcome to the Monkey House. Bluebeard receives 4 out of 5 camel humps.

*Vonnegut, Kurt. Bluebeard. New York: Dell Publishing, 1987. Print.