Robo Karabekian, a minor member of the Abstract Expressionist school of painting, reveals the secrets of his life, which he has locked away in a potato barn in Long Island

Zusatztext Ranks with Vonnegut's best and goes one step beyond . . . joyous! soaring fiction. The Atlanta Journal and Constitution Vonnegut is at his edifying best. The Philadelphia Inquirer The quicksilver mind of Vonnegut is at it again. . . . He displays all his talentssatire! irony! ridicule! slapstick! and even a shaggy dog story of epic proportions. The Cincinnati Post [Kurt Vonnegut is] a voice you can trust to keep poking holes in the social fabric. San Francisco Chronicle It has the qualities of classic Bosch and Slaughterhouse Vonnegut. . . . Bluebeard is uncommonly feisty. USA Today Is Bluebeard good? Yes! . . . This is vintage Vonnegutgood wine from his best grapes. The Detroit News A joyride . . . Vonnegut is more fascinated and puzzled than angered by the human stupidities and contradictions he discerns so keenly. So hop in his rumble seat. As you whiz along! what you observe may provide some new perspectives. Kansas City Star Informationen zum Autor Kurt Vonnegut Klappentext "Ranks with Vonnegut's best and goes one step beyond . . . joyous, soaring fiction."-The Atlanta Journal and Constitution 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. Praise for Bluebeard "Vonnegut is at his edifying best."-The Philadelphia Inquirer "The quicksilver mind of Vonnegut is at it again. . . . He displays all his talents-satire, irony, ridicule, slapstick, and even a shaggy dog story of epic proportions."-The Cincinnati Post "[Kurt Vonnegut is] a voice you can trust to keep poking holes in the social fabric."-San Francisco Chronicle "It has the qualities of classic Bosch and Slaughterhouse Vonnegut. . . . Bluebeard is uncommonly feisty."-USA Today "Is Bluebeard good? Yes! . . . This is vintage Vonnegut-good wine from his best grapes."-The Detroit News "A joyride . . . Vonnegut is more fascinated and puzzled than angered by the human stupidities and contradictions he discerns so keenly. So hop in his rumble seat. As you whiz along, what you observe may provide some new perspectives."-Kansas City Star Leseprobe 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 guests: "I promised you an autobiography, but something went wrong in the kitchen. It turns out to be a diary of this past troubled summer, too! We can always send out for pizzas if necessary. Come in , come in ." I am the erstwhile American painter Rabo Karabekian, a one-eyed man. I was born of immigrant parents in San Ignacio, California, in 1916. I begin this autobiography seventy-one years later. To those unfamiliar with the ancient mysteries of arithmetic, that makes this year 1987. I was not born a cyclops. I was deprived of my left eye while commanding a platoon of Army Engineers, curiously enough artists of one sort or another in civilian life, in Luxembourg near the end of World War Two. We were specialists in camouflage, but at that time were fighting for our lifes as ordinary infantry. The unit was composed of artists, since it was the theory of someone in the Army that we would be especially good at camouflage. And so we were! And we were! What hallucinations we gave the Germans as to what was dangerous to them behind our lines, and wh...

ldquo;Ranks with Vonnegut’s best and goes one step beyond . . . joyous, soaring fiction.”**—The Atlanta Journal and Constitution **

“Vonnegut is at his edifying best.”—The Philadelphia Inquirer

“The quicksilver mind of Vonnegut is at it again. . . . He displays all his talents—satire, irony, ridicule, slapstick, and even a shaggy dog story of epic proportions.”—The Cincinnati Post
 
“[Kurt Vonnegut is] a voice you can trust to keep poking holes in the social fabric.”—San Francisco Chronicle
 
“It has the qualities of classic Bosch and Slaughterhouse Vonnegut. . . . Bluebeard is uncommonly feisty.”—USA Today
 
“Is Bluebeard good? Yes! . . . This is vintage Vonnegut—good wine from his best grapes.”—The Detroit News
 
“A joyride . . . Vonnegut is more fascinated and puzzled than angered by the human stupidities and contradictions he discerns so keenly. So hop in his rumble seat. As you whiz along, what you observe may provide some new perspectives.”—Kansas City Star

Autorentext

Kurt Vonnegut

Klappentext

"Ranks with Vonnegut's best and goes one step beyond . . . joyous, soaring fiction."-The Atlanta Journal and Constitution

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.

Praise for Bluebeard

"Vonnegut is at his edifying best."-The Philadelphia Inquirer

"The quicksilver mind of Vonnegut is at it again. . . . He displays all his talents-satire, irony, ridicule, slapstick, and even a shaggy dog story of epic proportions."-The Cincinnati Post

"[Kurt Vonnegut is] a voice you can trust to keep poking holes in the social fabric."-San Francisco Chronicle

"It has the qualities of classic Bosch and Slaughterhouse Vonnegut. . . . Bluebeard is uncommonly feisty."-USA Today

"Is Bluebeard good? Yes! . . . This is vintage Vonnegut-good wine from his best grapes."-The Detroit News

"A joyride . . . Vonnegut is more fascinated and puzzled than angered by the human stupidities and contradictions he discerns so keenly. So hop in his rumble seat. As you whiz along, what you observe may provide some new perspectives."-Kansas City Star

Leseprobe
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 guests: "I promised you an autobiography, but something went wrong in the kitchen. It turns out to be a diary of this past troubled summer, too! We can always send out for pizzas if necessary. Come in, come in."

I am the erstwhile American painter Rabo Karabekian, a one-eyed man. I was born of immigrant parents in San Ignacio, California, in 1916. I begin this autobiography seventy-one years later. To those unfamiliar with the ancient mysteries of arithmetic, that makes this year 1987.

I was not born a cyclops. I was deprived of my left eye while commanding a platoon of Army Engineers, curiously enough artists of one sort or another in civilian life, in Luxembourg near the end of World War Two. We were specialists in camouflage, but at that time were fighting for our lifes as ordinary infantry. The unit was composed of artists, since it was the theory of someone in the Army that we would be especially good at camouflage.

And so we were! And we were! What hallucinations we gave the Germans as to what was dangerous to them behind our lines, and what was not. Yes, and we were allowed to live like artists, too, hilariously careless in matters of dress and military courtesy. We were never attac…