A little continuation of last year’s Michael Chabon Month. Just when I thought it wasn’t possible for me to love Chabon any more deeply than I already did, this fun, intelligent collection of essays squeezed one more little drop of affection out of my heart. I heartily cheer his impassioned defenses of genre and cross-genre fiction, and as a bonus, the book itself, published by McSweeney’s, is beautifully designed, from the four-layer dust jacket to the pleasing font.
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