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I finished Michael Chabon's The Yiddish Policemen's Union just over a week ago. I liked it, but I wouldn't call it a great book. Better than Wonder Boys, not as good as Kavalier and Clay. It's a fun read, but not quite as fun as it seems a detective novel should be. I don't know why that is. Chabon certainly seems to have enjoyed himself in writing the book, but perhaps his enjoyment actually precludes the full enjoyment of the reader--he allows himself to wallow just a bit too much in noirish trope, adds a few too many rhetorical flourishes, allows his plot to get a smidgen too outlandish. It's neat to watch him play, but I never felt like I was fully included in the game.

Even though it's not a perfect book, there are many things that Chabon does well. Primary among those is his depiction of the relationship between Meyer Landsman and his ex-wife Bina. At first I was a little annoyed by the predictability of this relationship--of course the bitter alcoholic detective has problems with women, of course he's not over the failure of his troubled marriage--but my attitude softened after I read a few of the conversations between them, particularly a chance late-night encounter in a nearly deserted cafeteria. (It's a lovely scene, but see what I mean about the noirish tropes?) The scene is touching because Chabon does such a good job conjuring the kinds of things people say to each other when love still exists but a future together doesn't. It was nice to have such a humanizing moment in a book as full of caricature as this one.

Chabon also, as always, does a fantastic job with language in this book. He demonstrates a flawless sense of rhythm and tone, both in the characters' speech and in the narrative passages. There are moments when his elaborate metaphors and roundabout sentences get in the way of his story, but for every instance like that, there are two more when his writing is absolutely spot-on and perfect, as when he describes the night over Sitka as having "the translucence of onions cooked in chicken fat." I mean, how clutch is that? Not only does it accurately capture the look of an urban night, it also connects with the overall Jewishness of the book and with Landsman's strictly unromantic view of the world. I love it.

I've read at least one review of this book that talked about how, in this moment with its insatiable appetite for memoir and the confessional sort of 'semi-autobiographical' fiction, The Yiddish Policemen's Union is refreshing because it is purely and unabashedly imaginary--an interesting idea to consider.

One of the most fascinating imaginary elements of this book for me was Chabon's use of setting. He does a great job creating, populating, and evoking his Jewish settlement in Alaska, but I wonder why he chose it. The setting doesn't seem to be tied to the story in any sort of essential way. He might just as well have dreamed up a Jewish territory in the desert of New Mexico. The details of weather and landscape would have been different and the Indians living next door would have been Navajo rather than Tlingit, but the story could have existed unchanged in just about any setting. [zenithblue, if you happen to read this book, I'd love to know whether you agree with me. It's possible that, being born and raised in Alaska, you could pick up on something inherently Alaskan about the book that I missed or didn't understand.]

So. It's a good book. Worth reading, although I could have done with a somewhat more believable plot and a slightly more satisfying resolution. It definitely leaves me curious about what Chabon will do next.