WRITERS
LIFEGUARD
My friend Al was introducing me to
his colleagues at the San Francisco
Chronicle. “Jules, this is Annika; like you, another San Francisco
transplant.”
“Annika,” I said, “What's the most
annoying thing about San Francisco?”
Enigmatic Swedish smile. “Why
don't you tell me.”
“The most annoying thing about San
Francisco is the level of brilliance here. How can I compete with so much
smart?”
She knew just what I meant, and so
will you when you read Telegraph Avenue by
Michael Chabon, who lives next door in Berkeley.
When I read the first ten pages, I
muttered to Effin, “He’s showing off.”
After 50, I changed it to, “He's
showing off, but he has a lot to show off.”
At 100: “Jesus. It’s Bonfire of the Vanities moved to
Berkeley, set to a jazz beat and trebled down on word play.”
Trebled down? One sentence. Not a
paragraph, not a page, not even a chapter, but an entire section is composed of one. bloody. sentence. And it works.
Here are some shorter examples:
“Walter
broke off a piece of a smile and tucked it into his left cheek as if reserving
it for future use.”
“He addressed the class... in a soft, stupefied,
increasingly breathless tone like an astronaut pleading with a mad
supercomputer to open an airlock.”
“Vulgar
language," Chan said... "Always the first and last refuge of the man
with nothing to say.”
And this: “Her hair was a glory of
tendrils for the snaring of husbands.”
See why it’s so annoying to live
in San Francisco? If I practiced my craft for the next thousand years, I could
never come up with “a glory of tendrils for the snaring of husbands.”
— Jules
Jules Older
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