Sacre Bleu by Christopher Moore – Morrow – TP -9780061779756 - $16.99 – 10/12
I just discovered this book buried in a stack of “must reads” that grew out of hand. “Well,” says I, “I must
read this.” It was time well spent on several fronts. I recalled, dimly, some of my art history education,
an area I must say has not been notably present (or useful) in much of my checkered life. It was nice to
think again of the artists and art that I had studied, and especially since they and it were framed in a
bizarre and totally outre way. I’ve read Moore before (“Fluke”) and thought that I would like his take on
late 19th century art in the demimonde. I was right, for once.
Christopher Moore is, I think, insane, but I mean that in a good way. His ability to conjure characters,
plots and action that defy conventional logic and physics is exceptionally entertaining. That said, in this
case he has tapped into ancient mythology as well as art history to concoct a story with its roots in
prehistoric cave paintings, the historically recorded oddities, coincidental and otherwise of fin de siècle
French painters, and fantasy/romance/adventure in a way that is difficult, if not impossible to describe.
Sex, scatological colloquialisms, abuse of alcohol, egotism, rivalry, friendship, genius and the existence
of minor deities all play a part in this imagining of the true roots of the emotional power of the color
blue. True in the fictional sense which is to say completely made up.
A simple painter who is by profession a baker, son of a baker and unwitting target of an eons-long plan
by a muse (yes, one of THOSE muses) is drawn into a life-threatening game that explains (in Moore’s
deranged logic) how great art emerges, but is also the driving energy behind an ancient and sinister
source of artistic inspiration and achievement.
Honestly, it’s damn hard to explain how, to non-readers of this author’s works just how this all falls into
place in perfect harmony to create a delightful, entertaining, enlightening work that is utterly without
conventional “truth” but which carries more real truth than much of nonfiction. There’s just no point in
me trying to explain how the “Sacre Bleu” is obtained, what its effects on artists are, or why it exists at
all. Suffice to say that it’s just creepy enough to maintain your interest, and relevant enough for the
reader to dreamily wonder. Try it. You’ll like it.