book review

 The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay

By the time I tackled this book, I’d read two other books by Michael Chabon: “Telegraph Avenue” and “Manhood for Amateurs.” The latter is a personal meditation on guydom which I quite enjoyed, and the former a sprawling and (to me) tangled and confusing exercise in linguistic prolixity.

Chabon can write. Boy, can he write! The metaphors and similes just keep tumbling out, each more exotic and unexpected than the last. And descriptive minutia are like those tiny medieval paintings you sometimes see in out-of-the-way museums in France or Spain. He sometimes seems to do it just to show off: for instance, chapter 3 of “Telegraph Avenue,” which goes on for a couple dozen pages, is really just one sentence. There is only a single period, marking the end of the chapter.  Zany and slapstick are two words that I think capture my reaction to the novel. It was entertaining, but I was done.

I was backed into Kavalier and Clay. I agreed to lead a book club for first year medical students again this year, and after last years successful choice (My Own Country, by Abraham Verghese), I didn’t have an idea for an encore. I reached out to the director of the medical school library, since he runs a book club series for faculty every year, and he recommended this Chabon novel. Chabon is scheduled to receive a literary award from Saint Louis University this academic year, and he had on hand about a dozen copies of Kavalier and Clay, so against my better judgment, I picked up a copy.

At 641 pages, it presents a daunting prospect, but I was told that the writing is compelling and it reads quickly. It didn’t read quickly for me, although many sections were certainly engrossing. Chabon is a breathtakingly talented storyteller with an extraordinary command of the English language. The book’s themes include Ashkenazi Jewish culture, America (and particularly New York City) before, during and after WWII, and comic books. The thread that holds this sprawling work, and its diverse characters, together is escape and escapism. Josef escapes from occupied Prague to eventually arrive at his cousin’s house in NYC. Years of labor and sacrifice on his part are channeled to the goal of helping his family escape. He and his cousin find their way into the nascent comic book industry of the 1930s, with its landscape of muscled superheroes and villains, a fantasy genre of escapism. Their own creation is called “The Escapist,” who not only escapes from the bonds of his enemies but abets the escapes of the weak and vulnerable. His cousin, Sammy, has his own bonds to contend with, the disapprobation of society for his homosexuality.

I’m still not good at spotting all the messaging, subtexts and ur-narratives that are on offer in high fiction, so there is no doubt more on offer here than I experienced. The book won a Pulitzer, and the reviews I’ve read are raves. For my part, I’ll acknowledge that there were several riveting sections—suspenseful, moving, funny, melancholy—linked by sections that I felt lost in. The writing, even in what I experienced as “boring” parts, is relentlessly clever and skillful. I’m glad I was pushed into reading it, and if fantastical yarns are your cup of tea, I recommend it.