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Man, but Vonnegut makes it look easy. "Bluebeard" is the completely fictional autobiography of an erstwhile artist named Rabo Karabekian. The amount of pure invention in this book is mind-blowing. The book is packed full of microstories of friends, acquaintances, cab drivers, World War 2 casualties, and anything else you can imagine. This is what impresses me most: the real, believable detail. It all sounds so natural, like it's being plucked from memory instead of being made up from whole cloth.

Combine that with the fast readability (you don't want to put it down and can't wait to pick it back up) and you've got a truly outstanding book. My only complaints are that, for a book sort of about the Abstract Expressionists, there's not really much Abstract Expressionism, and Vonnegut's reveal at the end (the mystery in the potato barn) makes a pretty clear statement that he thinks that very Abstract Expressionism is basically soulless and not "real" art. That's an interpretation, but I think there's a strong basis for it in the text. Happy to argue about it. X-)