Sacré Bleu: A Comedy d’Art by Christopher Moore
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Christopher Moore’s irreverent novel “Sacré Bleu: A Comedy d’ Art” was published in 2012 by William Morrow. My calling one of Mr. Moore’s novels irreverent is a redundant and silly thing to write. All of Christopher Moore’s novels are irreverent. They are often silly as well. Which is why I love them.

I believe that all of us need an outlet, a way to shut off our pesky brains. I most certainly do. When life pushes in a little too hard, I look for a moment to just have a giggle at something. Other folks need to cheer, or cry; whatever release is needed. This outlet could be a Kung-Fu movie (Fists of Fury!!!), or slot-car racing, or those odd pedicures where the little fish nibble at ones feet. Whatever works for you is fine with me. Some of my pure diversions — gluttonous reading for entertainment alone — are Mr. Moore’s novels.

In this episode of Moore’s silliness, he takes on the French Impressionists. I can hear the reader asking “How can that be funny?” Trust me, it is. Moore creates a lovely view of Paris at the time of La Belle Époque. The novel traces the life of a young boy, the son of a baker, who will himself become a baker and a painter. The novel is shot through with the lions of the French Impressionist movement. Monet, Degas, Gauguin, and poor, deranged, Vincent Van Gogh, make up the cast of characters. Henri Toulouse-Lautrec is the side-kick, the demented comic relief. The cast and setting make for a hilarious historical romp through the narrow streets, garrets, and cafés of Paris.

But there can be no story without conflict; isn’t that right Mon Ami? Of course it is. And there can be no Christopher Moore novel without a deep dive into the speculative, as in Speculative Fiction. “Sacré Bleu” is no exception. Here I must tread carefully to avoid spoilers. Suppose there was a unifying force of inspiration, a force that served a higher purpose, and also a sinister purpose. Now suppose that this same force, this flame of inspiration, was also a total hottie; a Femme Fatale for artists throughout the centuries. The story arc is in place: Crazy artists, the death of Vincent Van Gogh, and a beautiful yet sinister force with great legs that knits the thing together.

I highly recommend this novel for an enjoyable and funny romp of a read. There is, however, a bit more to this book than just giggles. Mr. Moore did his homework, drawing heavily on the great art history “The Private Lives of the Impressionists” by Sue Roe. Most readers will learn a thing or two about the Impressionist Movement whilst reading this novel. And that is not such a bad thing; certainly not when it comes with laughing out loud.

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Marco Etheridge Fiction