I just finished Micheal Chabon’s Yiddish Policemen’s Union and the cover reminded me of my favourite, prettiest typewriter (which I had yet to mention exists).

The book itself was also pretty, though solely stylistically speaking. I think the fact that I tend to be fascinated by the same things Chabon is fascinated by seems to help, to be honest (Jewish culture, world’s fairs, superheros, detectives, writers, artists, architecture, antiques, modern American mythology, history).

I don’t think you necessarily need any knowledge of Yiddish to get through it, but you do at least need… well… A brain that works, to put it politely, to figure out what’s going on.

One might compare Chabon’s writing to Shakespeare’s – all the clues to figuring out what the heck he’s talking about are in there, you just have to be paying attention – but that’s the kind of literature I like.

A mystery to be solved not just in the plot, but in the understanding of the words.

An intricate knot to be pulled at.

A Yid with a slug in his head and a dead chess player for an alias, to borrow a vernacular…