Kurt Vonnegut, one of the most prolific if not best American writers of the second half of the twentieth century, first earned a reputation for himself as a science-fictionist with his early works, The Sirens of Titan and Cat’s Cradle. This reputation, however much it vastly underestimates and misunderstands Vonnegut’s work and its significance to the modern era, has been difficult for Vonnegut to escape. It does, however, provide insight into the aspects of the modern situation that Vonnegut sees as central and meaningful. Bluebeard, which trades a more traditionally Vonnegut mad scientist for a retired, eccentric expressionist painter, the same painter from Breakfast of Champions, tackles the issues which have traditionally blurred Vonnegut’s role in the literary and popular fiction traditions.
Perhaps more than any other post-modern author, Vonnegut has thoughtfully tackled why post-modernism, as a reflection of its time, has confused or even destroyed the lines that have traditionally separated high art from low art, things such as literature from things such as science fiction. One of the many tasks Vonnegut undertakes in Bluebeard is not only to accurately reflect his time in history, but also to depict the unique challenges that writing about his time presents the writer. In the process, Vonnegut also reveals the often hidden significance in such difficulties. This essay will illustrate how Vonnuget’s successful completion of this task within the novel demonstrates Bluebeard’s worthiness of the designation American Literature.
Bluebeard, being the mock-autobiography of an elderly, wealthy and retired expressionist painter, Rabo Karabekian, presents its fictional author with many of the challenges Vonnegut himself has faced. As critics have noted, many charges characters within the novel bring against Karabekian’s fictional narrative “are similar to claims Kurt Vonnegut’s own innovative fiction has had to answer” (Klinkowitz, Fact 129). Other critics have noted that in Bluebeard, Vonnegut “revisits the major themes of his earlier novels,” that are the themes Vonnegut sees as central, such as, “the question of personal identity, the role of the artist in societythe American class system, and the physical and emotional costs of war” (Marvin 135). Others have pointed out that Vonnegut’s musings in Bluebeard raise “the perennial issue of what art is” (Morse 136). An understanding of Bluebeard as a fictional representation of Vonnegut’s career and its exploration of what art is, creates a foundation that enriches the story as being not only about it’s time, but also about the process of writing about it. This in itself is too complex of an issue to be treated fully in an essay of this length, therefore this essay will limit its inquiry to one aspect of the unique difficulties Vonnegut has confronted in Bluebeard, in an effort to illustrate to the reader how each and every aspect within the novel could be as thoroughly examined with insights just as rewarding.
For the purpose of brevity, this essay will concentrate on the task of writing for an audience who has not, “heard of anything that wasn’t on TV less than a week ago” (Vonnegut 93). This particular challenge of writing literature is symbolized within the novel by the narrator’s cook’s daughter, Celeste, who in the narrator’s words, “does no workbut simply lives here and eats my food, and entertains her loud and willfully ignorant friends on my tennis courts and in my swimming pool” (Vonnegut 8). Celeste, a typical fifteen year old, owns every book by popular fictionist, Polly Madison. Polly is a pseudonym for one of the novel’s other major character, Circe Berman. Polly Madison’s books are “young adult novels in the manner of Judy Bloom” (Klinkowitz, Fact 129).
Celeste also, much to the horror of the narrator, “although only fifteen, already takes birth-control pills” (Vonnegut 37). Critics have understood “the crowd of inert youth who hang around Rabo’s pool as a product of television culture” (Rampton par. Throughout the novel, at different points, Rabo approaches the teenagers to ask them what they think about certain things, and almost always Rabo is appalled by their lack of knowledge or even interest in anything at all. Rabo confides in his autobiography that, “the young people of today seemed to be trying to get through life with as little information as possible” (Vonnegut 99). He later laments to Circe Berman that, “they don’t even knowwhat a Gorgon is,” to which Circe responds, “all that anybody needs to know about a Gorgonis that there is no such thing” (Vonnegut 99-100). Within the text Rabo also expresses concern that no one knows about other key cultural artifacts including The Shroud of Turin (285), Bluebeard, Truman Capote, Irwin Shaw (50-51), Mathematics (1), Empress Josephine and Booth Tarkington (99), etc.
The disparity between Rabo’s disdain at the loss of literary and ancient knowledge, and Circe’s matter-of-fact dismissal of such knowledge as useless and therefore trivial, is an insightful depiction of the modern situation. How is one to write when the audience not only does not recognize a character like Circe’s name, and cannot identify it as an allusion to The Odyssey and the witch who could charm any man into a beast, but they have the mindset that such knowledge is useless? This is one of the central crux’s Vonnegut has faced head on in Bluebeard.
He has given both popular culture and literary tradition a voice. This tension can be seen in all works of postmodernism, in their tendency to allude to popular culture rather than literary tradition. Can one honestly write serious literature, following canonical traditions of literary allusion and intellectually dense texts, when one’s time does not acknowledge the significance of such an endeavor? Vonnegut does not give simple answers to this tension, but rather explores its ramifications on the process of writing. This is not the only example of a concern over the break in knowledge in contemporary culture that makes the Polly Madison’s of American best sellers, while at the same time diminishes the audience that is even capable of understanding high-minded fiction. Even the name Polly Madison, by alluding to the name of a popular bakery, alludes to the commercial nature of the culture that has no need for ancient knowledge.
This begs the question, if allusions like this to popular culture better depict the time and represent it to the reader, is not an author concerned with authenticity obligated to use them? Vonnegut takes both sides of the argument in the novel by way of Circe and Rabo, and the novel becomes more a novel that debates writing about the modern age, rather than simply a novel about the modern age.
In recording the tension between the process of writing for high-culture or low-culture, Vonnegut effectively does both, and shows that a true representation of postmodernism must do both if it hopes to “draw everything the way it really is” (Vonnegut 148). It is this understanding of the essential inability of modernity to reconcile itself with a past it cannot deny, that marks Bluebeard as Vonnegut in clear command of his facility, and fully matured in his understanding of what it means to be American in the second half of the twentieth century. This inability of high culture and low culture to reconcile themselves is evidenced in the lack of critical appreciation for Vonnegut. It is also evidenced in Circe Berman’s inability to appreciate Rabo’s distress over the loss of literary heritage. The seeming incompatibility works both ways. To more fully understand the significance of the two view points represented by these two characters, the nature of their relationship becomes increasingly important.
Rabo, besides being an expressionist painter and collector, fought in World War II, Like Vonnegut, and in many ways was haunted by the war. Circe, on the other hand, has just lost her husband and is vacationing along the coast while writing a biography about her recently deceased husband, who was a doctor. The two meet on Rabo’s private beach, which Circe had wandered into. As critics have noted, “Circe’s manner brings her immediately into Rabo’s life—not for a sexual relationship but for something far less casual, as it involves a full revision of his value system, aesthetic and moral alike” (Klinkowitz, Effect 136). Circe, being nearly 20 years younger than Rabo, brings a youthfulness and freshness that Rabo identifies as specifically post World War II. She convinces Rabo to write his autobiography, which results in the text of Bluebeard.
So, in a very real way to the internal structure of the novel, the novel itself is a product of the marriage of high and low culture, which reinforces such a marriage as the essential image of the post-modern situation. The nature of their relationship is also defined by Vonnegut’s use of the Bluebeard fairy tale. In the novel, Rabo has a huge potato barn that is his painting studio. “Right after my wife died, I personally nailed the doorsand immobilized themwith six big padlocks and massive hasps,” Rabo writes (43). When Circe’s incessantly curious nature demands to know what is inside Rabo’s potato barn, he snaps and says, “Look: think about something else, anything else. I am Bluebeard, and my studio is my forbidden chamber as far as you’re concerned” (51).
This represents, despite the two position’s philosophical marriage in Rabo’s act of writing, the essential gap between the traditions of high art and popular culture. Rabo has secret places where either Circe cannot, or he will not let her go. This image is strengthened by the curiosity on Circe’s part about that which is forbidden her. The complexity of this relationship, and the obvious tensions and harmonies between the two characters, serves to reinforce an interpretation of the novel as the process of writing about the difficulties in recording the modern era. The significance is that, as the novel suggests, these difficulties stem from a television mindset that is a mindset where “too manycitizens imagine that they belong to a much higher civilization somewhere else.
Thatdoesn’t have to be another country. It can be the past insteadThis state of mind allows too many of us to lie and cheat and steal from the rest of us, to sell us junk and addictive poisons and corrupting entertainments” (Vonnegut 190).
If this is the modern situation, Vonnegut is right in saying the modern situation is a situation struggling with awareness of itself as much as anything else. The awareness of the break between modernity and the past is as much a part of modernity as the commercialized Polly Madison children on birth control. This is one of Vonnegut’s many triumphs in Bluebeard. So many more aspects of the novel complement and are complemented by this aspect of Bluebeard that it seems essential to illustrate at least one such relationship. The novel also explores the nature of abstract expressionism, and as might be supposed, Circe Berman and Rabo Karabekian have quite different views on the art form. While Rabo argues that his vast canvases of one or two colors are important because, “if I started laying on just one color of paint to a huge canvas, I could make the whole world drop away” (Vonnegut 154), Circe condemns the abstract expressionists saying, “It was the last conceivable thing a painter could do to a canvas, so you did itleave it to Americans to write ‘The End’” (Vonnegut 254).
In essence, they are both recognizing the fact that abstract expressionism has nothing to do with reality, but while Circe abhors its disconnectedness, Rabo takes shelter in it. This illustrates another tension within the modern mind. This tension is parallel with and informed by tension between literary tradition and popular culture already discussed. It is specifically this: what is the attitude of modernity towards reality? Escapism, Indifference, Optimism, and other answers come to mind, but Vonnegut goes to the underlying issue, which is that the modern situation is better characterized by tensions between different philosophies and social forces, rather than attempting to define it rigidly one way or another. This brings to question, are any such evaluations, records, fictions, or histories that do not present the tension of forces that inform the social, moral, artistic, and individual choices, preferences, and attitudes accurate or valid? Vonnegut’s work leads us to such a reprisal of literature before it.
This places it at the heart of the innovative spirit that defines all great American literature. Bluebeard, being both central to Vonnegut, and at the same time innovative, is also at the heart of Vonnegut’s literature, and while the argument should not be made for any one novel’s elevation in a body of work as large and creative as Vonnegut’s, Bluebeard must be seen as Vonnegut in his most insightful, entertaining, and mature style. Therefore, if any of Vonnegut’s previous works have given him the claim to a serious literary career, Bluebeard cements that claim. “too manycitizens imagine that they belong to a much higher civilization somewhere else.
Thatdoesn’t have to be another country. It can be the past insteadThis state of mind allows too many of us to lie and cheat and steal from the rest of us, to sell us junk and addictive poisons and corrupting entertainments” Great just true. 'Circe condemns the abstract expressionists saying, “It was the last conceivable thing a painter could do to a canvas, so you did itleave it to Americans to write ‘The End’”.Laugh. I remember this from the novel, I enjoy your idea of a characters (not necessarily Vonnegut's) assessment of abstract expressionism's aspirations. I also thought the book drew the conclusion that men have made a mess of the world why not give women the chance to do the same or better?
Wasn't that in there? Lastly, I once knew a really bombastic/sanctimonious barista (friend of an ex) who, when I mentioned the great craft of Vonnegut's language, said that, 'yeah, I used to like him, then I grew up.' What a horses ass huh? I'll always love Vonnegut, in a way for me he was my first real Mark Twain. He brought a real, not pompous or erudite, look at the world to me.
I stand by Vonneguts works too, how great is a writer when he can comfort you with cynicism? That's his genius as far as I can see.
Bluebeard: A Novel was written in 1987 by Kurt Vonnegut, one of the most famous and prolific American authors of the twentieth century. The novel is presented as an autobiography of Rabo Karabekian, a fictional artist in his senior years. Karabekian first appeared in Vonnegut's hugely successful novel Breakfast of Champions as an abstract expressionist artist. The title Bluebeard is taken from a French folktale of the same name written by Charles Perreault 290 years prior to the publication of Vonngeut's novel. The original tale tells of a wealthy aristocrat, Bluebeard, who has married many times, yet all of his wives disappear. One day, his current wife enters a room off-limits to her as she is so overtaken with curiosity. In the room, she uncovers the dead bodies of his past wives whom Bluebeard killed for entering the room.
Though she does not say anything, Bluebeard learns of her discovery. He is intent on killing his wife, but her brothers appear and kill Bluebeard, leaving his wife the sole heir to Bluebeard's massive fortune. The connection between this Bluebeard and the original does not lie in the gruesome details but rather in the similarity of having a secret in a locked room that everyone wants to uncover. Bluebeard is a fictional autobiography and diary of Rabo Karabekian, in which the artist recounts the story of his life, as well as his current thoughts and reflections. Karabekian was born to immigrant parents in San Ignacio, California, the only Armenians in town. He showed a talent for drawing at an early age, and in his late teens, he headed to New York to apprentice with Dan Gregory, fellow Armenian and world-renowned commercial illustrator.
They had a parting of ways when Gregory caught Karabekian at the Museum of Modern Art, rubbish as far as Gregory was concerned. Karabekian was fond of Gregory's mistress, nine years his senior, and they made love before Karabekian moved on. During the remainder of the Great Depression, Karabekian fell on hard times until he secured a job at an advertising agency through the kindness of another Armenian.
When that job came to an end, Karabekian enlisted in the army. Karabekian was a soldier for eight years. In his eighth year, when he was finally brought to battle, he lost an eye. Upon his return, he got married, worked as an insurance salesman, and had two sons. Clique 1.3 mpx driver. Soon though, Karabekian was drawn to painting again, this time with a group of other painters who were also interested in exploring a new form- abstract expressionism. Karabekian had more money than the others, so he would loan cash to his friends and he was repaid in paintings.
Later in life, these paintings formed the most significant and valuable collection of abstract expressionism in existence. Karabekian's absorption in painting led to his wife and two sons leaving him. Karabekian did well as an artist, but a few years later, the paint he had used on all of his canvases peeled off.
Karabekian had a strong second marriage until his wife Edith died, twenty years later. Now he lives alone, though during the writing of this autobiography, his houseguest Mrs. Circe Berman, brings Karabekian back to life with her energy and her thoughts on art. Eventually he trusts her to the point where Karabekian reveals his newest top-secret masterpiece. This section contains 558 words (approx. 2 pages at 400 words per page).
Broad humor and bitter irony collide in this fictional autobiography of Rabo Karabekian, who, at age seventy-one, wants to be left alone on his Long Island estate with the secret he has locked inside his potato barn. But then a voluptuous young widow badgers Rabo into telling his life story—and Vonnegut in turn tells us the plain, heart-hammering truth about man’s careless Broad humor and bitter irony collide in this fictional autobiography of Rabo Karabekian, who, at age seventy-one, wants to be left alone on his Long Island estate with the secret he has locked inside his potato barn. But then a voluptuous young widow badgers Rabo into telling his life story—and Vonnegut in turn tells us the plain, heart-hammering truth about man’s careless fancy to create or destroy what he loves. I wouldn't be surprised if Wes Anderson has cited Vonnegut as an inspiration somewhere.
They have a similar sense of humor. They use Yeahhh. I wouldn't be surprised if Wes Anderson has cited Vonnegut as an inspiration somewhere. They have a similar sense of humor.
They use understatement, brevity, absurdity, and create really interesting tragic characters. Their casts are similarly honest, depressed, humbled to the point of self-deprecation, and wonderfully odd.
But here's where I see their main differences, and I'm looking at their overall bodies of work for this; and, though I'm not worthy, forgive my audacity, I'm going to refer to them on a first name basis. They probably wouldn't mind. Here it is: Kurt and Wes are both masters of their art, both perfected their styles, both brilliant and visionary. But I think Kurt's work has a depth Wes' does not.
K's a veteran, as are most of his characters, and through their experience in war they offer a greater sardonic message, a deeper social comment; he has a darker perspective, longer shadows in a more dimensional work. So, to your point about uniforms: true, but for Kurt, it's not about costuming, it's about the humans within and how absurd it is that their clothes should make them different- as seen in 'Now it's the Women's Turn.' Wes, in his own right, has made his camera and sets an amazing narrator on its own, making the visual storytelling the core of his work.
Kurt does something greater in his narratives by surpassing time and space through the narrator's dynamic place in their own timeline. I loved how in Bluebeard he snapped back and forth with the 'back to the past:' and 'back to the present:' lines. And my last note: Wes' work is most often described as 'whimsical.' It's kind of cute. It marks his style. Oh, my hero, Kurt.
He is never cute. If it seems he is, it's sarcastic. He's so good at his dark, black humor, so penetrating; it's like he's laughing at a knife in his leg, pulls it out of his 'meat' and laughs harder about how terrible and ridiculous it is, and gives you the knife saying 'try it. It hurts like hell, but it doesn't matter, nothing matters, everything matters, feel something!' He's writing and laughing from a deep moral center that's so appalled at the world for being what it is, from a human, empathetic place that's forgiving of humans but not forgiving of humanity.
That's his core. He's not making light of, he's making dark of how f'd up we are; we see it in Breakfast of Champs with the 'chemicals' and it's in Bluebeard with 'I'd hate to be responsible for what my meat does.' We are our single band of unwavering light. We cannot help being meat. So, anyway, I love both of these artists, and I totally see what you're saying, but Kurt has many more layers that make these two as comparable as mild salsa and gourmet seven-layer dip. One thing I've discovered is that people tend to have different favorites of Vonnegut's work.
Many prefer Slaughter House Five, some love Breakfast of Champions, and my sister's favorite is Galapagos. The only person I've ever met whose favorite Vonnegut book is Bluebeard is. The book follows former abstract expressionist painter Rabo Karabekian, serving as his autobiography and a mystery story simultaneously. What is Rabo keeping in the huge potato barn on his larg One thing I've discovered is that people tend to have different favorites of Vonnegut's work. Many prefer Slaughter House Five, some love Breakfast of Champions, and my sister's favorite is Galapagos.
The only person I've ever met whose favorite Vonnegut book is Bluebeard is. The book follows former abstract expressionist painter Rabo Karabekian, serving as his autobiography and a mystery story simultaneously. What is Rabo keeping in the huge potato barn on his large estate. Some of you may remember Mr. Karabekian from Breakfast of Champions; he was largely the same character, albeit younger in years. He's famous for his paintings, you see: he would take huge canvases, spray paint them all one color, and put pieces of colored tape on them.
There's several jokes regarding Rabo's paintings, one of which he gave away in Breakfast: his work is Rabo's view of the human soul. When you strip away all of the unnecessary crap that makes us up, we're all basically glowing shafts of light, represented by the pieces of tape. I won't give away the other joke, but it's a good one. Anyway, this book is a lot of things: a reflection on an imaginary life, a faux biography, and a moral we could all probably take to heart.
And we do get to find out what Bluebeard keeps in his potato barn. It's a darned big thing. “What a fool I would have been to let self-respect interfere with my happiness!” ― Kurt Vonnegut, Bluebeard A pseudo memoir of Rabo Karabekian a minor Abstract Expressionist whose art literally disappeared (thanks to a poor choice in paints).
It is hard to relay what the book essentially is, but obviously it is an autobiography of an almost loner, a hermit with a roommate. He lives in his big house in the Hamptons among the art he bought cheap (Rothkos, Pollocks, etc) years ago. He is being bulli “What a fool I would have been to let self-respect interfere with my happiness!” ― Kurt Vonnegut, Bluebeard A pseudo memoir of Rabo Karabekian a minor Abstract Expressionist whose art literally disappeared (thanks to a poor choice in paints). It is hard to relay what the book essentially is, but obviously it is an autobiography of an almost loner, a hermit with a roommate. He lives in his big house in the Hamptons among the art he bought cheap (Rothkos, Pollocks, etc) years ago. He is being bullied into writing his memoirs by Polly Madison, a writer of cheap blockbuster novels. At its heart, this novel is Vonnegut working his way through some of his previous big themes (war, isolation, humanism, pacifism) along with explorations of art, commerce, &c.
This isn't one of his better novels, but is firmly in the middle of the pack. I personally wish Vonnegut spent more time playing with the artistic canvas, but the sections he spent dealing with Rabo apprenticing under Dan Gregory (I get a N.C.
Wyeth or Howard Pyle vibe), a very popular illustrator, is worth the entire cost of reading anything clunky in some of the other sections. This is Vonnegut, so it’s quirky, knowing, silly, intelligent, funny, mysterious (what IS in the potato barn?) and anti-war – amongst many other things.
It's conversational, and broken into very short chunks, but don't be deceived into thinking it's lightweight. It claims to be the autobiography of Rabo Karabekian, an Armenian-American WW2 veteran who became a major figure in Abstract Expressionism, after an apprenticeship with realist illustrator, Dan Gregory. It reads more as a memoir, intersp This is Vonnegut, so it’s quirky, knowing, silly, intelligent, funny, mysterious (what IS in the potato barn?) and anti-war – amongst many other things. It's conversational, and broken into very short chunks, but don't be deceived into thinking it's lightweight. It claims to be the autobiography of Rabo Karabekian, an Armenian-American WW2 veteran who became a major figure in Abstract Expressionism, after an apprenticeship with realist illustrator, Dan Gregory. It reads more as a memoir, interspersed with “Bulletin from the present” sections which cover the eventful months he wrote it. The backstory is relatively straight; the present day, more comical.
(All the main characters are fictitious, but a few real names are dropped, such as Jackson Pollock.) It’s the 1980s, Rabo is in his 70s, and is living alone in a huge house in the Hamptons. He no longer paints, but is wealthy from his art collection and from property he inherited on the death of his second wife, Edith. He’s not actually alone, as his cook lives in, with her daughter, and his writer friend, Paul Slazenger, practically lives there.
But he wants to be alone, or thinks he does – until it looks as if it’s going to happen (his mother thought “the most pervasive American disease was loneliness”). Then the widow Circe Berman turns up, and everything changes. THE MEANING AND VALUE OF ART “How can you tell a good painting from a bad one? All you have to do is look at a million paintings, and they you can never be mistaken.” Should paintings – and their titles – communicate? (If not, what’s the point?) This is a recurring question, with a variety of answers. Old, lonely, and guarding his Abstract Expressionist paintings, Rabo says that they “are about absolutely nothing but themselves”, and lack of passion and message in his works was why he was rejected by art school. When Circe first sees his abstract works, she declares “you hate facts like poison”.
And yet Rabo CAN draw – very well; the fact he doesn’t is “because it’s just too fucking easy.” In contrast, Dan Gregory’s works are hyper-realistic, and Rabo describes them as “truthful about material things, but they lied about time” because Dan was “a taxidermist of great moments”. One of the first things he taught Rabo was the importance of the phrase “The Emperor has no clothes”. It’s for the reader to decide which art that applies to. There is a visceral thrill: “I discovered something as powerful and irresponsible as shooting up with heroin: if I start laying on just one colour of paint to a huge canvas, I could make the whole world drop away”. But it doesn’t work like that for everyone: of one artist, “I would look into his eyes and there wasn’t anybody home any more”, and he says similar about someone else.
Inflated art prices (and exploitative venture capitalists and investment bankers) are lampooned, especially by the fact that “My paintings, thanks to unforeseen chemical reactions all destroyed themselves”, including ones that sold for $20,000. Sateen Dura-Luxe proved to be anything but durable. In contrast, his teenage works were made with the best possible materials, given to him from the stores of a successful artist. Writing is another art form central to the narrative: Rabo is now writing; his friends Circe Berman and Paul Slazenger are also writers, of varying success, and the letters of Dan Gregory’s PA, Marilee, are crucial to the story. The secret is “to write for just one person”. How you decide who that is, is unclear.
CIRCE BERMAN The widow Berman is a wonderful comic creation; I’d love to meet her, though hate to share a home with her. Her opening line on meeting Rabo is “Tell me how your parents died”, because “hello” means “don’t talk about anything important”. It’s also symptomatic of her pathological inquisitiveness (“the most ferocious enemy of privacy I ever knew”). His father died alone in a cinema, and she immediately asks “What was the movie?” – shades of Graham Greene’s short story,. Her chutzpah is breath-taking – the way she storms into Rabo’s life and takes control of him, his house, his time and those around him. He is staggered, outraged and compliant: “’Who is she to reward and punish me, and what the hell is this: a nursery school or a prison camp?’ I don’t asker that, because she might take away all my privileges.” BLUEBEARD and WHAT’S IN THE POTATO BARN I read this book because I wanted to read another Vonnegut, and I was intrigued to see to what extent the title reflected the traditional story of Bluebeard (see ), or even its echoes in. It’s a gentle nod, but it helps if you’re aware of the original: In the grounds, Rabo has a potato barn that used to be his studio.
It is now locked up, and its contents secret: “I am Bluebeard, and my studio is my forbidden chamber”, but “there are no bodies in my barn”. Much of the book is an elaborate tease as to what’s in there, why, and whether the reader will ever find out.
In contrast to his allegedly message-less paintings, Rabo says that the barn contains “the emptiest and yet the fullest of human messages”. There are other forbidden places: Dan Gregory’s is the Museum Of Modern Art, Paul Slazenger’s is his Theory of Revolution, currently in his head, and Circe Berman must have something, but I don’t know what or where. WAR, DEATH and RESURRECTION The main character is an injured veteran who came to the US as a child refugee from another war. It’s not a ranting pacifist book, and Rabo himself has fond memories of the army, but Vonnegut’s anti-war opinions shine through, especially at the end. Sometimes this is poignant: Rabo is utterly repulsed by the scarring around his missing eye, and always wears a patch. Sometimes it is more satirical: WW2 was promoted to Americans on promises of “a final war between good and evil, so that nothing would do but that it be followed by miracles, Instant coffee was one.
DDT was another. It was going to kill all the bugs, and almost did. Nuclear energy was going to make electricity so cheap that it might not even be metered Antibiotics would defeat all diseases. Lazarus would never die: How was that for a scheme to make the Son of God obsolete?” In fact, it’s Rabo who is Lazarus. Circe explicitly says so when he complains about her intrusion into and control of him, “I brought you back to life You’re my Lazarus”, and his beloved second wife, Edith, had had a similar effect. As a youth, Rabo assumed society had evolved so that people would no longer be fooled by the apparent romance of war, but as an old man, he observes “you can buy a machine gun with a plastic bayonet for your little kid”.
THE INIMITABLE DAN GREGORY (REFRAIN) The central third of the book feels as much like a biography of Dan Gregory as of Rabo. Where has the recurring phrase “so it goes”, in this, it’s a series of superlatives about Dan Gregory: “Nobody could do x like Dan Gregory”. His achievements include: “draw cheap, mail-order clothes”, “paint grime”, “counterfeit rust and rust-stained oak”, “counterfeit plant diseases”, “counterfeit more accents from stage, screen and radio”, “counterfeit images in dusty mirrors”, “paint black people”, “put more of the excitement of a single moment into the eyes of stuffed animals”. QUOTES. “Never trust a survivor until you find out what he did to stay alive.”. “Perfectly beautiful cowboy boots dazzling jewelry for manly feet.”. “She had life. I had accumulated anecdotes.”. Old canvases “Purged of every trace of Sateen Dura-Luxe, and restretched and reprimed dazzling white in their restored virginity.”. “They are a negation of art!
They aren’t just neutral. They are black holes from which no intelligence or skill can ever escape. Worse than that, they suck up the dignity, the self-respect, of anybody unfortunate enough to have to look at them.” (What Rabo thinks of Circe’s choice of pictures.) Suggested by Rand (as being in a similar vein to Vonnegut's excellent ). This was a novel that's going to keep me thinking for a long, long time. It was everything jam packed into a small little book: clever, tragic, engrossing, laugh out loud funny, imaginative, unexpected, and even transformative, I think. There are so many layers to this book I'm sure I'll be thinking about it off and on for the next several months at least and will almost definitely re-read this book a number of times before I reach room temperature.
Check it out: The protagonist/autobiograph Wow. This was a novel that's going to keep me thinking for a long, long time.
Earn exciting power-ups and bonuses that help clear the board in fantastic fashion, and receive pieces of a hidden map, which ultimately uncovers a secret route leading to more mysterious wonders! Blast stone from the game board to workers busily gathering materials below by matching three or more relics in a row. Strategically move key building blocks such as cornerstones down the board to the workers before time runs out. Game Description Enjoy challenging match-3 gameplay in an extraordinary, newly enhanced environment where you work day and night to build the magnificent wonders of the world.
It was everything jam packed into a small little book: clever, tragic, engrossing, laugh out loud funny, imaginative, unexpected, and even transformative, I think. There are so many layers to this book I'm sure I'll be thinking about it off and on for the next several months at least and will almost definitely re-read this book a number of times before I reach room temperature. Check it out: The protagonist/autobiographer is a veteran who lost an eye in WWII who later becomes one of the biggest jokes of the Abstract Expressionist art movement because all of his art disintegrates due to a poor choice of paint. He started life as an illustrator who couldn't make it as a 'real' artist because his paintings lacked depth and vision.
And then he goes off to WWII and LITERALLY LOSES HIS SENSE OF DEPTH by having one of his eyes shot out. Ironically, I think it's this literal and figurative lack of depth perception that enables him to survive and not commit suicide while all of his other artist friends don't. There is more to this thing about eyes and perception, too. When both his father and some other artists are at their most creative, their eyes become dead. Half of this guy's eyes are already dead, so he's not able to see what they're seeing, so he can't be harmed/driven to suicide by it.
It's only at the very end of the book, perhaps when he's finally old/strong/mature/stable enough to cope with everything he's seen is he really able to paint something that combines the objective reality of illustration and the visceral experience of abstract expressionism. This shit was some mind-freeing stuff for me. Reading it right now for some reason.
Kurt Vonnegut
And then there's the whole thing about forbidden rooms and curiosity.the name of the book itself, and whatever it is that the guy has locked away in the potato barn. Both the original Bluebeard story and Vonnegut's have curious, prying women, too.
But the thing that's occupying my mind about the book right now is endings. In one part of the book, a female character talks about how Ibsen's The Doll House ended the wrong way. The Doll House's female lead leaves the house and everyone's left to assume she goes to Happily Ever After. But the woman in Bluebeard believes she throws herself in front of a train.
Mostly because there really was no Happily Ever After for women at that time. Only more doll houses. I read that and I'm, like, 'Yeah, life is harsh and it's crappy to have books end happily. Good books gotta end sad.' So then this book goes and ends on a positive note. At first I was pretty bummed that everything works out in the end. But then I thought, 'It's only ME who tacks on the 'Happily Ever After' part.
Even though he has started the process of healing, this guy has a whole long row to hoe that is not going to be happy, pretty or any other easy positive word.' In the same way that Vonnegut's character has finally found a way to combine literal but soulless illustration with abstract expressionism, maybe I'm getting closer to being able to see 'happily ever after,' and 'life is still super hard' as two sides of the same simultaneously experienced reality. I have been going on like this in my head since I finished this book 24 hours ago and things just seem to be speeding up, as far as I can tell. The sign of a great book, in my book. This was a lovely reintroduction to Vonnegut after a nearly eight year hiatus. I remember loving his style and staccato rhythm of his prose. Slaughterhouse-Five remains one of my favourite novels and was one of the first that made me think science fiction could be much more than explosions and cool scenes.
Bluebeard, by contrast, is an entirely realist novel about the abstract expressionist art movement. Although it's only a little bit about that too. What it's really about is Rabo Karabekian, ag This was a lovely reintroduction to Vonnegut after a nearly eight year hiatus. I remember loving his style and staccato rhythm of his prose.
Slaughterhouse-Five remains one of my favourite novels and was one of the first that made me think science fiction could be much more than explosions and cool scenes. Bluebeard, by contrast, is an entirely realist novel about the abstract expressionist art movement. Although it's only a little bit about that too. What it's really about is Rabo Karabekian, ageing hermit, art collector, and life-regretter with a secret something in his potato barn. His hermitage is interrupted by Circe Berman, a writer of what sure sounds like YA novels, who endeavours to change his life, much to his chagrin. The novel involves many other characters who would be poorly introduced by myself in comparison to their richness as presented by Vonnegut.
All the characters here are wonderfully realized and I was sad to see them go by novel's end. I love how Vonnegut is able to tie tethers through time to connect a character's past to their actions throughout their lives without shoving it down the reader's throat. If Rabo is suffering, he does so without expending page upon page in melancholy and it's to Vonnegut's credit that he makes the reader feel it in a sentence or two. The novel is structured as Rabo's memoirs, but plays loosely with linearity in a way that felt more playful than willfully experimental. In fact, it's a trait I remember loving from my earlier readings of Vonnegut. I'm not sure if this is a well-known Vonnegut novel, but I was pleasantly surprised when it was chosen as our latest book club read.
It was compelling, hilarious, heartfelt, and manages to be an uplifting story despite having some portions which seem like they would be highly unpleasant to have lived. I was touched by many scenes and inexplicably astounded by the reveal in the potato barn even though it is no immense twist. Bluebeard was a surprise and managed to slowly creep up on me with its charm. This one is definitely worth a read and has helped to rekindle my love for Vonnegut.
I picked this to read as a little birthday treat to myself and, true to form, Vonnegut didn't let me down. Once apprentice to 'great man' and famous illustrator Dan Gregory before becoming one of the founders of an important abstract art movement, even if he was the least talented of the lot, Rabo Karabekian is now a septuagenarian content to live out his days in his well-off dead wife's family home, on the proceeds of his extremely valuable art collection and his only company his cook, her daugh I picked this to read as a little birthday treat to myself and, true to form, Vonnegut didn't let me down. Once apprentice to 'great man' and famous illustrator Dan Gregory before becoming one of the founders of an important abstract art movement, even if he was the least talented of the lot, Rabo Karabekian is now a septuagenarian content to live out his days in his well-off dead wife's family home, on the proceeds of his extremely valuable art collection and his only company his cook, her daughter and his best friend, Paul Slazenger. But then Rabo meets the widow Circe Berman, who bulldozes her way into his life and his home and immediately starts changing things, including the decor.
She's even got him to write the autobiography that we're reading now, probably in the hopes of finding out just what he's got hidden in his potato barn. As good a read as all of the previous books of Vonnegut's that I've read, while it didn't quite scale the heights of some of his best, his middle efforts still reach much higher than most others. I would call this the most mature of any of Vonnegut's books that I have read so far. I know that Vonnegut began his novel writing close to the age of 30 which is considered an adult but his work still lacked maturity. Which can be a good thing as his earlier works were meant to be biting satire and not high literature. Bluebeard is more melancholy and less slapstick than Slaughterhouse-Five and Breakfast of Champions which he is more renowned for. It has a more subtle humour that lends itself t I would call this the most mature of any of Vonnegut's books that I have read so far.
I know that Vonnegut began his novel writing close to the age of 30 which is considered an adult but his work still lacked maturity. Which can be a good thing as his earlier works were meant to be biting satire and not high literature. Bluebeard is more melancholy and less slapstick than Slaughterhouse-Five and Breakfast of Champions which he is more renowned for. It has a more subtle humour that lends itself to better storytelling. This perspective and style work really well when looking at life through art.
I felt I was looking into Vonnegut's heart and mind as I read each page. The medium is different but the message is the same.
This really make's McLuhan's the medium is the message resonate with me. That's not to say he doesn't take the occasional bite out of how we view the art world. He does, and with relish.
I think I've found a new favourite by Mr. Vonnegut and one I would rather use to introduce people to the real brilliance of his writing. I was lured to this book by Breakfast of Champions, a Vonnegut book that I loved. But sadly I was disappointed. I wanted Vonnegut’s classic writing style; his unpredictable qualms, his interrogative view of the world and his illuminating illustrations.
Instead, I received none of that. Bluebeard is unusual in comparison to his other books.
Its critiques on the world and human life are blatant and deliberate, rather than his usual subtle remarks. The main character, Rabo Karabekian, is a widowed I was lured to this book by Breakfast of Champions, a Vonnegut book that I loved. But sadly I was disappointed. I wanted Vonnegut’s classic writing style; his unpredictable qualms, his interrogative view of the world and his illuminating illustrations.
Instead, I received none of that. Bluebeard is unusual in comparison to his other books. Its critiques on the world and human life are blatant and deliberate, rather than his usual subtle remarks. The main character, Rabo Karabekian, is a widowed former painter who is writing as an autobiography. (Vonnegut goes so far to make the book Rabo’s, that he credits a fictional character in the dedication).
Rabo is a sad character. He lives in a mansion that belonged to his deceased second wife, his only companions are the cook and her daughter (who don’t for the old man much) and crippled war veteran. Rabo himself is missing an eye. When a bossy, mysterious writer invites herself into his mansion, Rabo opens up about his life, his art and his sadness.
For me, the story was slow moving, and plodding until the reader discovers the secret in the barn. This saved the book. While the Rabo’s memoirs are completely boring, the suspense Vonnegut builds for Rabo’s secret is well constructed. In all, it was a quick read but it didn’t satisfy its full potential. Vonnegut's biting satire comes through with this, his profile of fictional artist Rabo Karabekian. The book spans such events as the Turkish Armenian genocide, World War II, and the post-war climate in New York that gave birth to Abstract-Expressionism. The genius of Vonnegut is his ability to see the humor in the worst tragedies, all of which he says are born of human folly.
The protagonist just wants to live out his last days on his Long Island home but then is convinced by a seductive widow t Vonnegut's biting satire comes through with this, his profile of fictional artist Rabo Karabekian. The book spans such events as the Turkish Armenian genocide, World War II, and the post-war climate in New York that gave birth to Abstract-Expressionism. The genius of Vonnegut is his ability to see the humor in the worst tragedies, all of which he says are born of human folly. The protagonist just wants to live out his last days on his Long Island home but then is convinced by a seductive widow to write his own autobiography. Karabekian is the strongest character in the book (the others are not as developed as I would have liked) and through him, Vonnegut's love for art and particularly the Ab-Ex movement come through. An art movement not without its own tragedies for the painters involved. 'Survivor guilt' is a theme throughout the book as Karabekian goes back and forth between his own writings and his unfolding uneasy relationship with the Widow.
Metaphorically, she represents the shock of the new: a creative jolt he has missed since his second wife's death. The real mystery is whether he will bare his soul to her, along with the secret he keeps locked in his potato barn. I was sad when it ended. I'll miss the wonderful characters Vonnegut has created. But like all of Vonnegut's books, it's one I hope to revisit many times in the future. Bluebeard is a fictional autobiography of a cranky old Armenian modern painter living alone on a beachside estate. His life is forever changed one day when he meets Circe Berman and is pressured by her to write his autobiography – Bluebeard.
We spend our time with Rabo Karabekian divided between the present day, and the past. The I was sad when it ended. I'll miss the wonderful characters Vonnegut has created. But like all of Vonnegut's books, it's one I hope to revisit many times in the future. Bluebeard is a fictional autobiography of a cranky old Armenian modern painter living alone on a beachside estate. His life is forever changed one day when he meets Circe Berman and is pressured by her to write his autobiography – Bluebeard.
We spend our time with Rabo Karabekian divided between the present day, and the past. The hilarity ensures. I read this mostly on a train to and from work, and must have looked slightly ridiculous with all the times I shut the book and just laughed. This is a book that deals with the Armenian genocide, a man that beats up his wife, suicide, being maimed in World War II (our protagonist was not born a Cyclops, he tells us on page 1, he was deprived of his eye while commanding a platoon of Army Engineers), and about the desolation a man feels as he looks back at all his failures in his life. All this, and the book was laugh out loud funny, never felt too heavy, and concluded so triumphantly and hopeful, that it got me slightly (very slightly!) teary eyed.
Only Vonnegut. Vonnegut has a rare gift I don’t think I’ve ever come across. He just makes writing look so damn easy.
He writes as if he was speaking to a small child, but it is never ever condescending. It just flows with such ease, elegance, and efficiency. The plot of the book isn’t really important. This is a prime example of substance over form.
I’ve read and reread many of Vonnegut’s books and to this day, if you pinned me down and asked me to recall for you the plot of Breakfast of Champions or of The Sirens of Titan, I would fail miserably. You don’t read Vonnegut for plots, you read his work because of that wonderful dark humor- that voice that cries out about the absurdity of it all. That being said, I think this would be a great first book for those not familiar with Vonnegut.
It’s probably the most straight forward Vonnegut novel that I’ve read so far; no zany aliens or time travel. The absurdity of war is a note that Vonnegut loves to play. Also, his disdain for the male sex in general: 'After all that men have done to the women and children and every other defenseless thing on this planet, it is time that not just every painting, but every piece of music, every statue, every play, ever poem and every book a man creates, should say only this: 'We are much too horrible for this nice place. Being a modern painter, Karobekian recalls his years as a struggling artist. Having been struggling musician myself, a lot of what Vonnegut writes about rings a bell of truth for me. 'A moderately gifted person who would have been a community treasure a thousand years ago has to give up, has to go into some other line of work, since modern communications put him or her into daily competition with the world's champions.
The entire planet can get along nicely now with maybe a dozen champion performers in each area of human giftedness. A moderately gifted person has to keep his or her gifts all bottled up until, in a manner of speaking, he or she gets drunk at a wedding and tap dances on the coffee table like Fred Astaire or Ginger Rogers. We have a name for him or her. We call him or her an 'exhibitionist.'
How do we reward such an exhibitionist? We say to him or her next morning. Were you ever drunk last night!' But for such a seemingly light and fun read, his message is surprisingly deep. Not to simplify things, but war really is absurd, and the media has done a disservice by glorifying it (although this is a trend seen less and less with more “realistic” portrayals of war such as Saving Private Ryan and Born on the Fourth of July). I’ll conclude this with a final quote from Bluebeard's 245th page: 'All the returning veterans in the movies are our age or older,' he said.
That was true. In the movies you seldom saw the babies who had done most of the heavy fighting on the ground in the war. 'Yes- 'I said, 'and most of the actors in the movies never even went to war. They came home to the wife and kids and swimming pool after every grueling day in front of the cameras, after firing off blank cartridges while men all around them were spitting catsup.'
'That's what the young people will think our war was fifty years from now,' said Kitchen, 'old men and blanks and catsup.' So they would. 'Because of the movies,' he predicted, 'nobody will believe that it was babies who fought the war.' Sarcastic and haunted by what he has experienced. This is Vonnegut at his best.
Is still my all-time favorite because of its science fiction element, but this is just as effective in combining pain with humor. After reading it, it seems odd to me that this book isn't one of his more popular.
For me, it was a much more enjoyable read than and, which came off as a little too over-the-top. If you loved Slaughterhouse-Five but couldn't find anothe Sarcastic and haunted by what he has experienced. This is Vonnegut at his best.
Is still my all-time favorite because of its science fiction element, but this is just as effective in combining pain with humor. After reading it, it seems odd to me that this book isn't one of his more popular. For me, it was a much more enjoyable read than and, which came off as a little too over-the-top. If you loved Slaughterhouse-Five but couldn't find another Vonnegut book that you enjoyed as much, give this one a shot.
Another interesting Vonnegut book. He covers the usual gamet of Vonnegut trademarks - WWII, a reactive protagonist (as opposed to proactive) how art can be quite useless etc. The book is filled with great quotes and many thought provoking ideas. It's not one of his most famous books partially because (in my opinion) it has so many cross over themes from his other novels. He's talked about some of these themes before but comes at them from a different angle in Bluebeard. A very brilliant writer Another interesting Vonnegut book.
He covers the usual gamet of Vonnegut trademarks - WWII, a reactive protagonist (as opposed to proactive) how art can be quite useless etc. The book is filled with great quotes and many thought provoking ideas.
It's not one of his most famous books partially because (in my opinion) it has so many cross over themes from his other novels. He's talked about some of these themes before but comes at them from a different angle in Bluebeard. A very brilliant writer and one of my all time favorites.
No one had his unique sense of humor and no one ever will. Kurt wondered when mankind will ever see the senseless of war. As he said, maybe it's time to give women a chance. Vonnegut’s humor, cultural criticism and his anti-war messages were my favorite things about the book. Can’t really tell why but there is something different in his lines, nothing really happens but you feel engaged in the story. Before you even realize it suddenly becomes addictive. The flow of the book is fantastic.
It’s not only funny and has magnificent satire but also the characters make you feel involved in them. I didn’t want to put it down and I am looking forward to reading more of his Vonnegut’s humor, cultural criticism and his anti-war messages were my favorite things about the book. Can’t really tell why but there is something different in his lines, nothing really happens but you feel engaged in the story. Before you even realize it suddenly becomes addictive. The flow of the book is fantastic. It’s not only funny and has magnificent satire but also the characters make you feel involved in them.
I didn’t want to put it down and I am looking forward to reading more of his work. By far, my favourite Vonnegut book (though, to be fair, I've only read two others: Slaughterhouse-Five and Mother Night). I'm also biased because the main character was Armenian, and I could relate. Incidentally, however, I was inspired to read Vonnegut from YouTuber climbthestacks.
Her on where to begin reading certain authors includes Vonnegut, and she too said her favourite book was Bluebeard, so I'm in good company:) I read a library copy, but I'll definitely be buying this book By far, my favourite Vonnegut book (though, to be fair, I've only read two others: Slaughterhouse-Five and Mother Night). I'm also biased because the main character was Armenian, and I could relate.
Incidentally, however, I was inspired to read Vonnegut from YouTuber climbthestacks. Her on where to begin reading certain authors includes Vonnegut, and she too said her favourite book was Bluebeard, so I'm in good company:) I read a library copy, but I'll definitely be buying this book for my personal library. I checked this out from the library six years ago and stopped reading it because I got busy and forgot to keep reading because apparently I still had something resembling a life six years ago, but then the library wanted it back-they DEMANDED it back-and if you know the Chicago Public Library you know never to fuck with the Chicago Public Library if you'd like to keep both testicles and/or ovaries. That said, over the last six years, it's fucking haunted me what ol' Rabo was keeping secret in t I checked this out from the library six years ago and stopped reading it because I got busy and forgot to keep reading because apparently I still had something resembling a life six years ago, but then the library wanted it back-they DEMANDED it back-and if you know the Chicago Public Library you know never to fuck with the Chicago Public Library if you'd like to keep both testicles and/or ovaries. That said, over the last six years, it's fucking haunted me what ol' Rabo was keeping secret in that potato barn. And now I know. And while it wasn't anything mind-blowing or completely crazy or shocking or anything, what's in that potato barn is vintage Vonnegut.
And if you know Vonnegut already, I don't have to explain it to you. If you don't know Vonnegut, I won't explain it to you, either, but I will say don't choose this as your first Vonnegut book. First read BREAKFAST OF CHAMPIONS, SIRENS OF TITAN, or SLAUGHTERHOUSE-FIVE. Which brings me to an aside that will be the entirety of my actual 'review'.
BLUEBEARD is basically a straightforward story, taking place entirely in a 'believable' reality, whereas many of his other books contain elements of science fiction, science fantasy, and other fantastical shhhhtuufff. Which is to say, I didn't enjoy BLUEBEARD as much. In fact, if it wasn't for the ending and that potato barn, I'd likely have not liked this book as much. It's the charming tale of a post-modern artist, lonely and in the twilight of his life, and it's chock-full of quotable lines, but it seemed a little slower and less exciting than his other books-for me. When he allows the fantastical into his stories, they just POP more for me. Some people may love the opportunity to read a fantasy-free Vonnegut story that still remains 100% Vonnegutian (I thought I was being really clever coining that term, but apparently it already exists.
So it goes.). Anyway, have at it.
In the end, it's worth it, of course. My friend just made fun of me for being a teenage boy because I love Vonnegut so much. Yes, there is something juvenile about him. I did first fall in love with Papa Vonnegut when I was fifteen. But, reading this book more than a decade later, I can say that he holds up as one of the most clever, moral, and compelling writers I have ever read. This book takes on war, masculinity, depression, and the creative process.
It is very readable, very funny, and very interesting. If that sounds like a si My friend just made fun of me for being a teenage boy because I love Vonnegut so much. Yes, there is something juvenile about him. I did first fall in love with Papa Vonnegut when I was fifteen. But, reading this book more than a decade later, I can say that he holds up as one of the most clever, moral, and compelling writers I have ever read. This book takes on war, masculinity, depression, and the creative process. It is very readable, very funny, and very interesting.
If that sounds like a simple review, then so be it. It is, after all, a pretty simple book.
It meddles in the big topics but keeps its characters small. The commentary on modern art is absolutely brilliant. I give it four stars overall, but if you are interested in modern art or the artistic process in general maybe I give it five stars. Kurt Vonnegut, Junior was an American novelist, satirist, and most recently, graphic artist. He was recognized as New York State Author for 2001-2003. He was born in Indianapolis, later the setting for many of his novels.
He attended Cornell University from 1941 to 1943, where he wrote a column for the student newspaper, the Cornell Daily Sun. Vonnegut trained as a chemist and worked as a journali Kurt Vonnegut, Junior was an American novelist, satirist, and most recently, graphic artist.
He was recognized as New York State Author for 2001-2003. He was born in Indianapolis, later the setting for many of his novels.
He attended Cornell University from 1941 to 1943, where he wrote a column for the student newspaper, the Cornell Daily Sun. Vonnegut trained as a chemist and worked as a journalist before joining the U.S. Army and serving in World War II. After the war, he attended University of Chicago as a graduate student in anthropology and also worked as a police reporter at the City News Bureau of Chicago. He left Chicago to work in Schenectady, New York in public relations for General Electric.
He attributed his unadorned writing style to his reporting work. His experiences as an advance scout in the Battle of the Bulge, and in particular his witnessing of the bombing of Dresden, Germany whilst a prisoner of war, would inform much of his work. This event would also form the core of his most famous work, Slaughterhouse-Five, the book which would make him a millionaire. This acerbic 200-page book is what most people mean when they describe a work as 'Vonnegutian' in scope. Vonnegut was a self-proclaimed humanist and socialist (influenced by the style of Indiana's own Eugene V.
Debs) and a lifelong supporter of the American Civil Liberties Union. The novelist is known for works blending satire, black comedy and science fiction, such as Slaughterhouse-Five (1969), Cat's Cradle (1963), and Breakfast of Champions (1973).
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