Reviews with content warning for Animal death - The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay

“The shaping of a golem, to [Kavalier], was a gesture of hope, offered against hope, in a time of desperation. It was the expression of a yearning that a few magic words and an artful hand might produce something—one poor, dumb, powerful thing—exempt from the crushing strictures, from the ills, cruelties and inevitable failures of the greater Creation. It was the voicing of a vain wish, when you get down to it, to escape” (582).

Michael Chabon’s novel The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay begins with one of the main characters sharing a coffin with the Golem of Prague. This incident is indicative of the book’s tone, and if you think that sounds awesome you’ll probably enjoy the rest of it. You’ll also might enjoy it if you’ve read a comic book at any point in your life. I did, and the only reason I don’t regard it as an absolute favorite is because I’m not quite ready to.

When I was assigned to write an essay about an important American in my 8th grade history class I chose illustrator and “Comic King” Jacob Kurtzberg, alias Jack Kirby. While I haven’t read much about superheroes since then, finding this book in my father’s* library reignited an old spark of enthusiasm for that most American of art forms: the comic book. Or the Big Nerdy Novel. The fact that I read this 630-page book over two days is not a boast but a testament to the book’s gripping pace and magnificently readable prose.

“Though he had been conceived originally as a newspaper hero, Superman was born in the pages of a comic book, where he thrived, and after this miraculous parturition, the form finally began to emerge from its transitional funk, and to articulate a purpose for itself in the marketplace of ten-cent dreams: to express the lust for power and the gaudy sartorial taste of a race of powerless people with no leave to dress themselves” (77).

Chabon’s novel follows two Jewish cousins, Samuel Klaymann (Sammy Clay) a young Brooklyn-born wannabe entrepreneur and Czech escape artist Josef Kavalier, who create superhero comics as the United States teeters on the brink of World War Two. During this era, cartoons are seen as the lowest of low art, suitable only for children and perverted thrill-seekerss, but they become the perfect medium to express Kavalier’s burning hatred of Nazis—and it doesn’t hurt that they become wildly popular. As the duo accrue fame and wealth superheroes like the Escapist and Luna Moth, “the first sex object created expressly for consuption by little boys,” Kavalier struggles to rescue his family from occupied Prague (275). Meanwhile, Clay contends with his own loneliness and integrity as a writer.

Both men are deeply lovable and deeply flawed, but the creation of side characters is where Chabon really excels. From Bernhard Kornblum, hardbitten former Ausbrecher and Kavalier’s mentor, to a radio actor who serves as hunky Forbidden Fruit (his name is Bacon) for the closeted Clay. Admittedly, the cast is overwhelmingly male, but the story isn’t deeply misogynist like some books written by and about men. The transformation of Rosa Sacs, the main female character, from anonymous sex symbol to illustrator and mother is impressive, and while she’s never going to be an icon of independence her life feels like a undersated, satisfying trajectory for an intelligent woman in the 1940s. Most importantly, she feels like a real character with imperfections and idiosyncrasies. Perhaps she and many other characters in Chabon’s novel are so compelling because they’re creators.

Early on in the development of the Escapist, Clay states that the why of a superhero’s existence is just as intriguing as the what. Chabon agrees, providing a suitable origin story for the genre of superhero comics. Not only does he justify the widespread appeal of appeal of the art form, but he allows Kavalier and Clay (and by extension, the audience) to experience a journey amalgamated from the industry’s legendes—from the Hitler-punching early days (borrowed from the first issue of Captain America Comics) into the moral panic of the 1950s. Without giving away any spoilers, I think that a reader with a passing knowledge of comics history (which I have) will really love following The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay.

But I still have more to read, specifically Kafka’s The Trial. I recognized in passing that one of Chabon’s protagonists is from Prague, encounters numerous bureaucratic troubles and, oh yeah, is named Josef K(avalier). But I’ve never actually read the German-language classic, and if these trivial similarities are discernible to the unacquainted reader there are probably also wonderful depths I have yet to recognize.

I know Chabon is smart. He’s not one of those middle-aged white male authors who rub in your face how intelligent they are; he’s a nice, nerdy man who wants to share the thing he loves with you and is capable of making it into art. His prose is really lovely, full of transportive longing and gumption. And I think I’m going to appreciate him more when I know more about the world he inhabits.

So I’m going to come back to The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay. I enjoyed it a lot, and I think I will enjoy it more when I’m older and wiser. Who knows? I might learn something in the process.

“‘I wish [the Escapist] was real,’ said Joe, suddenly ashamed of himself. Here he was, free in a way that his family could only dream of, and what was he doing with his freedom? Walking around talking and making up a lot of nonsense about someone who could liberate no one and nothing but smudgy black marks on a piece of cheap paper. What was the point of it? Of what use was walking and talking and smoking cigarettes?

‘I bet,’ Sammy said. He put his hand on Joe’s shoulder. ‘Joe, I bet you do’” (135)

*My dad is a comic book collector, and I suspect I first wanted to write about Jack Kirby to impress him. Father figures play an important role in The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay as well.

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