The Elephant's Bookshelf

I had an interesting experience this weekend: I gave up books I loved. It wasn't a particularly difficult thing; they weren't mine, after all. A dear relative has been one of the most helpful fellow readers, introducing me to Christopher Moore and John Connolly, who have become two of my favorite authors. She's done it again by letting me read her copy of World Made by Hand, by James Howard Kuntsler. Many years ago, she also introduced me to Michael Chabon.

If you're familiar with these authors, you'll recognize that they are three completely different types of writers. Moore writes farce and satire, Connolly has the suspenseful crime thriller (with a dose of paranormal) down pat, Kuntsler may be better known for his nonfiction writing, and Chabon is simply one of the greatest literary novelists writing today.

This weekend, I returned several Connolly novels — almost exclusively the Charlie Parker series (plus Bad Men, which has a couple Parker cameos). I suppose what was odd about this experience is that these were books I would be willing to read many times over. Indeed, I have.

But they're not my books. I've bought other Connolly books since — the later ones in the Parker series — but the ones I handed back to their rightful owner were a little different. Because, in a way, they own me. I became engrossed in the stories and characters. In a strange way, I felt enmeshed within the pages.

I know I have nothing to fear. These books are not only widely available, but I know these stories now. They're part of me.

Are there any books you would refuse to return?

This morning, it happened. I hit that page. You know the one I mean: the page when you realize you don't have much left in the book you're reading and you'll have to find something else to read — or start the same book over from the beginning.

There are few writers whose work I enjoy enough to do that, but Michael Chabon is one of them. A co-worker let me borrow her copy of his latest, Manhood for Amateurs. Now, my being a man probably makes this a more enjoyable read than it was for her — and she enjoyed it. But, from my perspective, what makes it worth immediately re-reading is that it rekindles thoughts about childhood while simultaneously making me wistful for my future years of parenthood.

Like the best nonfiction, Chabon makes everything in this collection of essays feel like a short story. From his own recollections, Chabon transports me to my special hidey-holes of kid-dom. Those secret paths through the woods where I tracked tribes of Indians. The moments on home movies long since muted when I didn't know I was being filmed. Even the essay about the changing of a radio station's playlist brought back car rides along roads I haven't traveled in years.

Though I sometimes wonder if people who aren't blessed with a good vocabulary and the knowledge of how to use a dictionary can fully appreciate the nuance and virtuosity he applies to each sentence, he also scars the landscape with enough f-bombs to make any 13-year-old boy proud.

So here I am, poised to begin page 301 of his 306-page book, and I wonder whether I'm man enough to do it all over again.

Thanks to a co-worker, I'm reading what may be my favorite book in several years: Michael Chabon's Wonder Boys. Almost certainly, it's my favorite "new" book this year. I realize the book has been around since 1995, but it was on my list of books I wanted to read and hadn't (a long list).

Why do I love it? Because it's flat-out funny. Laugh out loud funny. This man leaves me chuckling on the PATH train, wishing I could share with someone. Chabon writes simple sentences that make me look back in awe.

For those who aren't aware of it, the story is told from the perspective of Professor Grady Tripp, an English professor at a college in Pittsburgh. He's been working on his second novel for the past seven years — more than a thousand pages in and the end isn't really in sight. On the weekend when this story begins, he's in the midst of a not-unexpected separation from his third wife, the totally unexpected pregnancy of his lover (who happens to be the married chancellor of the college where he teaches -- married to the chairman of the English department), and the imminent arrival of his editor, who's about to lose his job.

His editor is coming to the campus for a conference (WordFest!), and during Tripp's final class before the event, the work of one of his students is skewered by the class — a verbal disemblowling that Tripp doesn't disrupt much less discourage — leaving the young movie-buff writer contemplating suicide.

Throw in a drag queen, a dead, blind dog, the stolen jacket of Marilyn Monroe, and a roadtrip with the aforementioned student to attend Passover seder at the family home of Tripp's Korean-Jewish wife. Sprinkle in a lot of pot smoking and you have the makings of a comedy classic. But there is so much more to it than the surface story, as is usually the case with Chabon. I'm more than 200 pages in and I don't really want it to end.

Chabon writes like no one else. Do yourself a favor, read this book.

Boldtype has a wonderful interview with Pulitzer Prize-winning author Michael Chabon. Boldtype's newsletters are gathered in themes, and the one from late February (Hey, I can't read everything right away) is about collections. In the interview, Chabon talks about his baseball card and comic book collections, but overall it's an examination about his soon-to-be-released collection of nonfiction work, being published by McSweeney's. Beyond that, it seems like a collection of influences.

As I've stated before, I'm a big fan of Chabon; I count The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay among my favorite books written in the past fifteen years. I can relate to the idea of collection -- believe me, my wife can attest to large collections of books, baseball cards, and beer bottles that "litter" our house -- so this interview worked for me on many levels.

What did you think of it?

I've just finished the last of the Charlie Parker novels in my possession -- The Black Angel. While I enjoy a good thrilling movie as much as the next guy, I've never been much for reading thrillers. But I've enjoyed reading John Connolly -- though my favorite of his works is The Book of Lost Things, which is decidedly not a crime thriller. (TBOLT is a very clever twist on fairy tales and growing out of childhood.)

Connolly has definite talent for description, and the frequent themes of redemption and salvation are ones that I enjoy reading about, especially when done well. He's a writer I'd love to interview, which he might appreciate as an Irish journalist who interviews other authors. Check out his interview with Stephen King, who seems more candid or "willing" to speak about personal subjects than I think I've ever found in the oft-interviewed author.

One thing I'd love to talk to Connolly about is his intense depictions of brutality. I'm both appalled and intrigued by his willingness to express such vivid scenes of dismemberment and evisceration, for example. These are things that most mainstream writers -- and I consider Connolly in that category -- would not deign to show. Even in his later work, the scenes of murder and the details of fingers ripping through skin and organs continue and are not for the weak of heart. But if you can stomach scenes of sometimes cringingly disgusting murder, Connolly's Charlie Parker books are fast reads and cleverly crafted works.

I recommend one starts with Every Dead Thing, which feels like two books in one. It sets the background for why Parker is the way he is, and the horrifying death of his wife and daughter aptly prepare you for the steady stream of bloody murders that continue throughout the Parker books. While Charlie Parker makes a cameo appearance in Bad Men, it's not in the same family of works. Call it a neighbor, as it takes place in Maine -- as do most of the Parker books, at least in part. But Bad Men lumbers without quite the payoff. I'd have edited it differently.

Though I have The Nocturnes collection waiting atop one of my bedside stacks, I'm taking a break from Connolly for now. I recently bought The Mysteries of Pittsburgh, Michael Chabon's first novel, and began reading it last night (in the midst of a blackout). Chabon may be my favorite writer currently working. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay and Summerland were wonderful, and friends have told me that The Yiddish Policeman's Union is excellent too. And when I arrived on squad duty this morning, I found Rules for Old Men Waiting waiting for me. I read the first two paragraphs and discovered that Peter Pouncey is a wonderful novelist. It's nice when discovery happens like that, and I love when friends recommend good writers.

My mailbox remains open wide (as do my comment areas) for people who would like to recommend any fine work -- even your own -- and I'd be happy to share my thoughts on them.

[BTW, for those who don't catch the reference in my headline, it's a (somewhat hackneyed) reference to a Black 47 song, James Connolly. I didn't mean to imply that John Connolly has posted anything to my blog, though he would be most welcome.]