I’m listening to Michael Chabon’s The Yiddish Policeman’s Union, and I’m struck by this guy’s way with a metaphor. Two examples:
A narrow pile of dirty white brick and slit windows, three or four bloks off the tawdriest stretch of Monsatir Street, the place has all the allure of a dehumidifier.
and
His face is mostly jowl and his ridged forehead looks like one of those domed beehives you see representing industry in medieval woodcuts.
I heard the first one just as I returned from the store to exchange a humidifier, so it really hit home. I have no idea what he’s talking about in the second one, but somehow it rings clever.
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I get the image of the second one too. Well, AN image anyway. He’s good, that Chabon. He has another new one and I just bought it for A for his b-day.
Oh nice. The only other book I’ve read by him is Kavalier and Clay, which I loved. (I think of it as my second favorite novel, after Mistry’s A Fine Balance.) I’ll be interested to hear if the new one is good. This one (Yiddish PU) reminds me a little bit of Plot Against America in the fact that it’s alternative history focused on a Jewish community. Obviously a completely different plot.
I like the first one but the second, not so much.
Yes, the first one spoke to me more as well. The second one evokes only mild confusion (I’ve never seen one of these woodcuts), but I kind of enjoy the obscurity.