The fictional autobiography of Rabo Karabekian, the son of survivors of the Armenian Genocide, one-eyed veteran of World War II, and spectacularly talented (but failed) modern artist.As an Armenian-American, I can't be objective about this book. Vonnegut got too much of the Armenian-American experience right, so this book speaks to me in a way that non-Armenians probably wouldn't understand. Although I suspect that fans of modern art might feel the same way.That's not to say that Vonnegut wallows in ethnicity. Not at all! But I'm sure that I got a little more out of the book than non-Armenians would.It's a good example of Vonnegut at the height of his abilities. Written in 1988, it lacks the science-fiction aspects of some of his better-known works - and frankly, I think that's a *good* thing. Without fantastic elements, the book nonetheless manages to be wry, funny, insightful, and ultimately very touching. As with many of my favorite books, the ending never fails to leave me deeply moved.