The Yiddish Policemen's Union by Michael Chabon (2007, Unabridged, Compact Disc)

Michael Chabon's novel, "The Yiddish Policemen's Union," is complicated and literary, the kind of a book one would expect from a Pulitzer Prize-winning author. It is page-turning and poignant; a moving piece of English prose. Reading The Yiddish Policemen's Union is like "watching a gifted athlete invent a sport using elements of every other sport there is -- balls, bats, poles, wickets, javelins and saxophones." Although the book is classic noir, there are elements of an international terrorist thriller, complicated by religious conspiracy and a band of end-of-the-world hopefuls.

The story begins with the introduction of a hung-over detective, Meyer Landsman, to a gun-shot corpse in a fleabag hotel. He becomes interested in the corpse, though he has enough dead bodies of his own: a never-born child, a possibly murdered sister and a father who committed suicide. The corpse turns out to be a chess prodigy and heroin addict, the wayward son of a powerful head of a Jewish sect called the Verbovers, and possibly the key to the essential mysteries of both his own death and the future of the Jews. There are plenty of twists, and Landsman finds himself knocked unconscious at the end of more than one chapter, dopey at the start of the next, which is what it means to be the hero of a noir novel.

Chabon's imagination is extraordinary, born of brilliant ambition you don't even notice because it is so deeply entertaining. He invents every corner of this strange world -- the slang of the "Sitkaniks," their history, discount houses, dive bars, pie shops. Despite the complicated plot, the details of the world are enthralling. The book falters a bit at the end. The solution to the mystery feels a bit contrived and what happens to Meyer Landsman seems like something the book requires.

Chabon's conjures up imaginary worlds and makes the reader nostalgic for them. Conventional visions of the future- world's fairs, Esperanto, a belief that the Jews of the world will stop wandering and find a peaceful home somewhere on the planet- are buried and mourned as beautiful, but insufficient. In this strange and breathtaking novel, the wise, unhappy man settles for closer comforts. As Landsman says, toward the end of the book, "My homeland is in my hat." Pick up a copy and enjoy the ride through the landscape of Chabon's homeland!

What can you say about a book like this? Not much without giving something away. It's audacious as can be believed. What's it about? Read the Publisher's Weekly blurb above. Or, better yet, don't.

Chabon is a genius and a madman, a wizard and a mensch. He's a wrecking crew, a culture-blender, and a rebbe packing heat. Who else would, or could, take Nick Charles and put him in Shalom Shachna's body? (Or maybe it's the other way around.) Equal parts Kabbalah and Ka-Bar, it's funny and gripping, and entertaining, and so heartbreaking, at times, it's hard to breathe.

Put some Manischewitz in a lowball and sit by the electric fire and crack this book open.

Update: I have no idea why I feel compelled to respond to comments, but I shall. I read the book in three sittings. I found it extraordinary - the concept, the language, the characters and the plot. It's not perfect, but it is simply one of the best novels I've read in a decade. Is that "helpful"? I doubt it. If I were you, I wouldn't want to know more. Spoilers are odious, irrelevant, and available elsewhere (note Kakutani's review in the Times). I'm merely throwing my five stars into the hat. If you love Chandler, Hammett, Roth, and I.B. Singer, I suspect you will love this.