First, let me say that I love Michael Chabon's writing no matter what kind of book he writes, and he has written in several genres. I love his exuberance and dry wit and striking images, even as I realize that he overwrites at times. He seems to be taking such joy in the process of writing itself, and I respond to that by taking joy in the reading of it.
Chabon's newest book is a fictionalized memoir of the life of his grandfather--the stories imparted to him as the grandfather was lying in what would prove to be his deathbed. In the author's note, Chabon says, "I have stuck to the facts except when facts refused to conform with memory, narrative purpose, or the truth as I prefer to understand it." The book is presented as "A Novel," so its probably fair to assume that it is partly true but that it also includes a few (or many) fanciful bits.
As Chabon's tells it, his grandfather, rendered uncharacteristically loquacious by painkillers, spoke to him in a random fashion about the events of his life--of his wartime experience as a "headhunter" for Nazi scientists in just-liberated Europe; of his life-long fascination with rockets and the moon; of his love for his wife despite her episodes of madness; of his time in prison for the assault of his boss; of his businesses, both failed and successful; of his late-life love affair.
This is a story about memories that may or may not be truth and about lies that may or may not be preferable to the truth. It is a story about a life fraught with near despair that still contained happiness "in the cracks." It is a very engaging and wonderfully written story, indeed, and I highly recommend it.
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