I'm on a Vonnegut bender, so I can't read any of his novels without comparing them to the last five I've read. This one is pretty good, but not as good as Cat's Cradle or Hocus Pocus, but better than Player Piano. Another faked biography, Vonnegut picks of the pen hand of a failed expressionist painter. The author professes that he isn't a great writer, would rather paint something than describe it, and yet the novle shines as Vonnegut's writing always does. A failure on the part of creating the character? Perhaps. But a very enjoyable, rewarding read all the same.