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Telegraph Avenue: A Novel by Michael Chabon

Telegraph Avenue: A Novel (original 2012; edition 2012)

by Michael Chabon

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1,211656,593 (3.49)82
Title:Telegraph Avenue: A Novel
Authors:Michael Chabon
Info:Harper (2012), Edition: First Edition, Hardcover, 480 pages
Collections:Your library
Tags:America, jazz, race

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Telegraph Avenue: A Novel by Michael Chabon (Author) (2012)


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Showing 1-5 of 63 (next | show all)
Wonderful characters, good plotting, extravagant writing (occasionally too much so) are all combined by Michael Chabon is this very twenty first century novel. It has a lot to say about relationships; between men and women, within families and between the races in Oakland, California. I am always a sucker for books s.et around music shops, even if this one specialises in music at the outer ranges of my tastes. It has taken me a long time to get around to reading this, despite enjoying Chabon's other books but I am really glad I finally did. ( )
  johnwbeha | Nov 18, 2015 |
I loved this - the characters, the story, the historical setting, the often quite beautiful prose. ( )
  ronhenry | Nov 17, 2015 |
I loved this book—what a roller-coaster ride! Chabon absolutely nails the Berkeley/Oakland culture, and does it with great wit and terrific writing. The characters—major and minor—are fully realized, and the plot, although a bit over the top in terms of complexity, is engaging. But it's the writing that really did it for me, those soaring, crazy riffs. For example, when one of the characters is searching for containers to transport a dinner he's just made for someone: "Like a dog in a cartoon, forepaws a turbine blur as he hunted up a buried bone in a churn of dirt, Nat excavated the cabinets and ransacked the drawers looking for usable serving containers and suitable platters. Piling up behind him mountains of mateless lids and lidless bottoms, rattling cake pans and pie plates. Souvenirs of ancient Tupperware parties, ice cube trays, thermos cups with no thermoses, Popsicle molds with no sticks, roasting racks, bamboo skewers, a kitchen scale." ( )
  meredk | Jul 3, 2015 |
Michael Chabon writes like an angel – one of Kerouac’s stoned desolation angels maybe, or better still, like Nicola Barker – writers with the same unerring ear for the vernacular, the same sheer obsession with language which leads to mad riffs, exhilarating, exuberant verbal flights, Flaubertian-triple-adjectives. And Telegraph Avenue reads like music, with which it is obsessed – Chabon can describe a record and make you swear you hear every sound - oh and it’s pretty focused on race relations too. Telegraph Avenue, never much of a contender, is going down – or possibly up, if the black and Jewish owners of Brokeland secondhand vinyl store can be persuaded to abandon the fight and accept the imminent arrival of a Dogpile store, owned by an All-pro quarterback made very good (Gibson Goode, in fact - lot of Dickensian apt names here!). So battle commences, with subplots deeply concerned with fatherhood – a favourite Chabon subject – midwifery (and a pregnancy approaching the shelling-out point so vividly and accurately described I think Chabon has had female help here!), the San Francisco wild parrot colony, blaxploitation, the meaning and possibilities of friendship. And the prose flies. It soars like Cochise Jones’s parrot, like the zeppelin that menaces the Californian skies. Section 3 is a bravura one sentence eleven page resume of where everyone’s at courtesy of the trajectory of a bird’s flight. Chabon deploys similes and metaphors better than any poet – ‘Along the food table ran a sawtooth of fried-chicken mountains. Wreathed in clouds. Air tanks and Sherpas were required to reach its peaks’ – ‘the elusive Titus, a cat burglar rappelling down the sheer wall of Julie’s life’ – I could go on and on with phrases and sentences that made me stop and reread with sheer pleasure. But the key to the whole book, I think, lies in Archy’s funeral oration for his lost father-figure, a wonderful speech which could be summed up, I think, by the song ‘the world is just a great big melting pot’ – but Chabon/Archy puts it so much more lyrically. On the way Bruce Lee, Tarentino, Terry Pratchett, Charlie Brown, some unexpected minor cultural figures and an enormous number of musical giants all get referenced. A great book. ( )
  Roseredlee | Jun 24, 2015 |
It was dense and impenetrable but I loved pretty much every minute of it. What should have been Chabon's easiest book for me to get through, given the subject matter, somehow became the hardest for me, given the subject matter. I loved most of it, some of the characters and scenes drove me crazy -- the set up with 58, only to leave us with that highly unsatisfying resolution didn't make sense to me, I didn't like the blimp and felt like another device would have been just as significant - but I still relished every word I read and was sorry when it was over. ( )
  Caryn.Rose | Mar 18, 2015 |
Showing 1-5 of 63 (next | show all)
“Telegraph Avenue,” Michael Chabon’s rich, comic new novel, is a homage to an actual place: the boulevard in Northern California where Oakland — historically an African-American city — aligns with Berkeley, whose bourgeois white inhabitants are, as one character puts it, “liable to invest all their hope of heaven in the taste of an egg laid in the backyard by a heritage-breed chicken.” The novel is equally a tribute to the cinematic style of Quentin Tarantino, whose films its characters study and discuss, and whose preoccupations pepper its pages: kung fu, cinematic allusions and the blaxploitation films of the 1970s; and an interest in African-American characters and experience. Chabon and Tarantino make an unlikely duo; while the latter’s films tend toward gaudy eruptions of violence, Chabon bends Tarantino’s sensibility to a warmhearted novel about fatherhood in which the onstage violence consists of two graphic childbirth scenes and a 15-year-old boy whacking a chubby thug with a wooden sword. A self-help book in the style of Andrei Tarkovsky would be hardly more oxymoronic.
Mr. Chabon has constructed an amazingly rich, emotionally detailed story that addresses his perennial themes — about fathers and sons, husbands and wives, and the consolations of art — while reaching outward to explore the relationship between time past and time present, the weight (or lightness, as the case may be) of history, and the possibility of redemption and forgiveness.
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Call me Ishmael.

--Ishmael Reed, probably.
To Ayelet, from the drop of the needle to the innermost groove
First words
A white boy rode flatfoot on a skateboard, towed along, hand to shoulder, by a black boy pedaling a brakeless fixed-gear bike.
Like a dog in a cartoon, forepaws a turbine blur as he hunted up a buried bone in a churn of dirt, Nat excavated the cabinets and ransacked the drawers looking for usable serving containers and suitable platters.
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(Click to show. Warning: May contain spoilers.)
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Book description
One street in Oakland, California. As the summer draws to a close, Archy Stallings and Nat Jaffe are hanging in there, co-regents of Brokeland Records. Their wives, Gwen and Aviva, are the Berkeley Birth Partners, a pair of legendary midwives.

When former star quarterback Gibson Goode announces plans to dump his latest Dogpile megastore on Telegraph Avenue, Nat and Archy fear the worst for their vulnerable little enterprise, as behind Goode’s proposal lurks a nefarious scheme.

While their husbands struggle to mount a defence, Aviva and Gwen find themselves caught up in a professional battle that tests their friendship. And into their already tangled lives comes Titus Joyner, the teenage son Archy has never acknowledged.
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In this novel the author takes us to Telegraph Avenue. It is a story that explores the profoundly intertwined lives of two Oakland, California families, one black and one white. Here he creates a world grounded in pop culture: Kung Fu, 1970s Blaxploitation films, vinyl LPs, jazz and soul music, and an epic of friendship, race, and secret histories. Longtime band mates Archy and Nat preside over Brokeland Records, a used-record emporium. All is well until a former NFL quarterback, one of the country's richest African Americans, decides to build his latest Dogpile megastore on nearby Telegraph Avenue. Not only could this spell doom for the little shop and its cross-race, cross-class dream, but it opens up past history regarding Archy's untethered dad and a Black Panther-era crime.… (more)

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