Books
December, 1987
Reading a New Kurt Vonnegut novel is like visiting a relative in another part of the country, a gabby uncle you see only once in a while. On some visits he'll be crustier than on others, or windier or more brilliant; but if you love him, the visit needs no other reason than the sound of his voice and the crackle of his wit. So it doesn't much matter to me that Vonnegut's latest, Bluebeard (Delacorte), is not the satirical tour de force that Galápagos was; he's still my favorite uncle. Bluebeard...
