Giraffes?Giraffes!
Well-Known Member
I have long noticed that novelist Michael Chabon, who won the Pulitzer Prize for The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, has a particular flair for describing and writing physically large characters.
I first noticed this with the character of the hyper-literate, huge-bellied ne'er-do-well Cleveland Arning in his brilliant first book The Mysteries of Pittsburgh who states at one point that he is "in the process of eating the universe", and who espouses that "bigness" is the highest ambition possible in existance.
He writes them with power and affection-- his most recent novel, which, amazingly, meets and clears the dizzyingly high standards he's set for himself, features a detective named Berko Shemets, half Jewish, half American Indian-- he's the main character's best friend and professional partner.
One passage stuck out for me:
"Berko walks over to the table on the other side of the Russian and Velvel. It's unocupied. He picks up a bentwood chair with a ripped cane seat and swings it around to a spot between the table of the black hats and the table where the Russian is breaking Velvel down. He sits down in that grand fat-man way he has, spreading his legs, tossing the flaps of his overcoat behind him, as if he's going to make a fine meal of them all. He takes off his own homburg, palming it by the crown. His Indian hair stands thick and lustrous, threaded lately with silver. Gray hair makes Berko look wiser and kinder, an effect that, though he is relatively wise and fairly kind, he will not hesitate to abuse. The bentwood chair grows alarmed at the scope and contour of Berko's buttocks.
"Hi!" Berko says to the black hats. He rubs his palms together, then spreads them across his thighs. All the man needs is a napkin to tuck into his collar, a fork, and a knife. "How are you?" "
Anyway, I recommend the book, as well as any of the man's work. Its genius in our own time.
I first noticed this with the character of the hyper-literate, huge-bellied ne'er-do-well Cleveland Arning in his brilliant first book The Mysteries of Pittsburgh who states at one point that he is "in the process of eating the universe", and who espouses that "bigness" is the highest ambition possible in existance.
He writes them with power and affection-- his most recent novel, which, amazingly, meets and clears the dizzyingly high standards he's set for himself, features a detective named Berko Shemets, half Jewish, half American Indian-- he's the main character's best friend and professional partner.
One passage stuck out for me:
"Berko walks over to the table on the other side of the Russian and Velvel. It's unocupied. He picks up a bentwood chair with a ripped cane seat and swings it around to a spot between the table of the black hats and the table where the Russian is breaking Velvel down. He sits down in that grand fat-man way he has, spreading his legs, tossing the flaps of his overcoat behind him, as if he's going to make a fine meal of them all. He takes off his own homburg, palming it by the crown. His Indian hair stands thick and lustrous, threaded lately with silver. Gray hair makes Berko look wiser and kinder, an effect that, though he is relatively wise and fairly kind, he will not hesitate to abuse. The bentwood chair grows alarmed at the scope and contour of Berko's buttocks.
"Hi!" Berko says to the black hats. He rubs his palms together, then spreads them across his thighs. All the man needs is a napkin to tuck into his collar, a fork, and a knife. "How are you?" "
Anyway, I recommend the book, as well as any of the man's work. Its genius in our own time.
