Christopher Moore’s newest venture flops on inventiveness, but it’s saved by the little things
Sacré Bleu: A Comedy d’Art begins with the death of Vincent van Gogh in the countryside of France. Believed to have gone mad and committed suicide, his friends are troubled by the situation. Vincent had recently become deathly afraid of the colour blue and refused to paint with it.
A satirical take on the Impressionist era in Paris, the story turns to Lucien Lessard, a baker and aspiring artist in Montmarte whose father raised him with a strong appreciation for the arts. Lucien, along with his close friend Henri Toulouse-Lautrec, a fellow painter as well as Count, are convinced that van Gogh’s death was not a suicide and begin to seek the truth behind his death.
As Lucien and Henri get deeper into the history of the mysterious, twisted dwarf simply called The Colorman, they discover more unsettling details about their own lives and their friends.
Sacré Bleu: A Comedy d’Art is well-written and thoroughly researched, definitely Moore caliber. However, it falls short of the unstoppable praise that has characterized his past novels.
The characters are either loosely or fully based on historical truths. Lucien, the main character, is written with depth and his character feels authentic. Though most of the artists are seen only in passing, kept interesting only by the amusing personality tidbits thawt Moore includes.
The satirical elements are strong, and the humour is mild, save for occasional classic Moore-isms that came out of the blue and had me in tears laughing.
It’s similar to Fool, Moore’s 2009 novel loosely based on Shakespeare’s King Lear. Basing his novel on previous work or history seems to stunt Moore’s own creativity. As he explains in the afterword, “I simply set out to write a novel about the color blue; I can’t remember why now. When you start with a concept that vague, you have to narrow your scope fairly quickly or it will get out of hand, so very early in my research great bits of history had to go by the wayside so I’d have room to make stuff up.”
In the end, it is the small touches that count: the blue ink throughout the novel, and several dozen full-colour masterpieces from Monet, Manet, van Gogh, Renoir, Seurat, Michelangelo, and other renowned artists. Oh, and the ridiculous number of times the word “penis” is used.
