That’s the phrase that came to mind when I watched this short interview/profile of author Michael Chabon.

A nice little bit of wonderfulness.  Especially the bit about him sitting on a steamer trunk in his mother’s basement writing on the family’s early primitive computer.

I’ve been re-reading Chabon’s wonderful novel Wonder Boys, one of my all time favorite books, in anticipation of the release of his new novel Telegraph Avenue on Sept. 11th.  After experiencing the literary equivalent of love at first sight with Chabon’s writing about ten years ago–when I read The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Klay on my Boston couch in a mad fever over two and a half glorious afternoons–I’ve been disappointed with his past couple of efforts and very much hope Telegraph Avenue is a little more laid back and less self consciously stylized than some of his newer writing, like Gentlemen of the Road or The Yiddish Policeman’s Union.  If you’ve never read Chabon, do yourself a favor and pick up Wonder Boys, Kavalier and Klay, or one of his story collections (preferably Werewolves in their Youth) and be swept away by his impossibly beautiful prose.