Telegraph Avenue by Michael Chabon

Archy felt blood in his cheeks, the shame of the ponderer in a world that urged decision. A deliberator nipped at and harried by the hounds of haste. Professing in his heart like some despised creed the central truth of life: The only decision a man will never regret is the one he never made.

-Telegraph Avenue

It's nice to have a history with an author, isn't it? Not just having read a lot of books by that author, but to have memories connected with them. That's how I feel about Michael Chabon. I remember picking up The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay and being so absolutely wowed by it that I emailed him. It was the kind of ridiculous, flowery email that you might expect a 19-year-old to write, and he very kindly responded. I remember taking The Mysteries of Pittsburgh with me when I went to Italy later that same year. I remember when he did a reading at my college and signed my copy of Summerland, which I had bought at the university bookstore. That's a history, I think.

When I was thinking about what I wanted to say about Telegraph Avenue, I remembered all of that. From page one, the writing was everything I could have wanted--on a sentence-to-sentence level, Telegraph Avenue is beautiful, funny, and true. Just on that first page, there's this description of Archy Stallings--"moonfaced, mountainous, moderately stoned." I didn't intend to wax rhapsodic here, but that's pretty near perfect if you ask me.

The story--of Archy and his partner Nat, their wives and kids, and their business, Brokeland Records--shares a lot of the hallmarks of other Chabon stories. There's the obsession (with vinyl here, as opposed to comics or baseball), the quirky characters (shades of Wonder Boys), the sexual exploration. I think I might have been more absorbed in the story of I'd connected to any one part of it better--jazz, Berkeley, kung fu--but I still enjoyed it. The characterization is particularly good--I'd love to have a follow-up just about Nat's son, Julie. Regardless of what Chabon does next, I'll be along for the ride.

Up next: Dead Ever After, the last of the Sookie Stackhouse novels.

Broken Harbor by Tana French

Richie closed the door behind us. He stayed beside it, sheaf of pointless paper hanging forgotten from one hand, eyes skittery as a corner boy's. That was what he looked like: some malnourished scumbag hunched against a graffitied wall, standing lookout for small-time dealers in exchange for a fix. I had been beginning to think of this man as my partner. His skinny shoulders braced against mine had begun to feel like something that belonged. The feeling had been a good one, a warm one. Both of us made me sick.

-Broken Harbor

Let's try this again, shall we?

So, I've missed a bit. (A year is a bit, yes? A long bit, but still.) I tackled Proust for the first time, finally conquered Team of Rivals, and enjoyed books by Mary Roach, Jo Nesbø, and Gillian Flynn. I will probably never get around to writing about any of them, and that's okay, I think. Fresh start.

It's fitting to start back with Tana French, a perennial favorite of mine. Broken Harbor follows Mick "Scorcher" Kennedy, another member of the Dublin Murder Squad. Mick has shown up in previous books by French, though I must confess he didn't make much of an impression on me. Still, I think you're bound to remember a nickname like Scorcher.

Mick is called up to investigate a grisly case in the once-booming housing development of Brianstown. A family has been attacked, with definite fatalities. It's a high-profile case, a chance of redemption for Mick, who botched an investigation a few years earlier. It also (in classic French fashion) forces Mick to confront a painful time from his past, back when Brianstown was a seaside holiday spot called Broken Harbor.

The case was a bit of a toughie for me--I don't love reading about murdered children, funnily enough--but overall I found Broken Harbor to be more satisfying than Faithful Place. It's sad, to be sure. If there's one thing I've learned about Tana French books, it's that a happy ending is relative. Her detectives may solve their cases, but it's always at a grievous cost. Her books are fantastically written, perfectly paced, and deeply sad. Quite a recommendation, I know.

Up next: Telegraph Avenue by Michael Chabon. Go big or go home, yeah?