I recently reread Bluebeard by Kurt Vonnegut and it felt more profound now than the first time I read it.

My first reading of Bluebeard was when I was in college, deep in the throws of becoming a baby art historian.  This novel entering my sphere of existence seemed to line up perfectly with my foray into Modern Art, but with an unexpected and powerful force that I did not fully anticipate… the writing style of Kurt Vonnegut.

I had read Slaughterhouse 5 in high school – the only required reading that I actually enjoyed – so I had some idea what to expect from Vonnegut as an author.  The fact that he tackled the art world at the height of American influence – the Abstract Expressionist movement – from within, in the guise of an artist who lived it, was mesmerizing.  This book still mesmerizes to this day.

This is a fake autobiography of a fake Abstract Expressionist and I couldn’t recommend it more.  However, one must always keep in mind the Vonnegut essence that permeates this novel.  The book’s “protagonist,” Rabo Karabekian, is absolutely an iteration of Vonnegut himself with all of his now-iconic irreverence cranked up to eleven for good measure.  This makes sense if we, as readers, are to believe that Karabekian partied and painted with the likes of Jackson Pollock.  Vonnegut’s writing draws us in, so much so that we do indeed believe this and that we will promptly Google Karabekian for any upcoming tribute exhibitions upon completion of the novel.