WHO YOU CALLIN' A GENTLEMAN?

Michael Chabon

Gentlemen of the Road

Random House, 2007, 206 pp.

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Novelist Michael Chabon has moxie. He’s written about bisexuality (The Mysteries of Pittsburgh), about a flamed-out wunderkind (Wonder Boys), and followed these with his 2001 Pulitzer Prize-winning novel about the early years of the comic book industry in The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay. The latter book also saw Chabon dip into questions of Jewish mysticism and became the springboard into subsequent looks at ethnic and religious identity. Gentlemen of the Road is a good example of where this has taken him.

Chabon often uses history to fashion fanciful, even alternative narratives—as he did in 2004’s The Final Solution. In Gentleman of the Road he takes a somewhat different approach: he recovers a little-known past. His book is set in 10th century Khazaria, a kingdom that once ruled over much of modern-day southern Russia in the Black Sea/Caucasus area. Few people have heard of it and fewer still know that, in the 7th century, much of its population converted to Judaism and fashioned the largest Jewish state in history. Chabon sets his action at a time in which the Rus—from whence we get Russia—were Viking raiders, when the Byzantine Empire was shrinking, militant Islam was on the rise, and the Seljuk Turks who would destroy Khazaria loomed in the immediate future.

Do you need to be a historian to enjoy this book? No. It’s billed as “swashbuckler” novel, but comparisons to Don Quixote would be more appropriate, if Quixote and Sancho Panza were smarter and more dangerous. It follows the adventures of two conmen: Zelikman, a wiry, moody Frank skilled in medicine; and Amram, a muscular, dark Abyssinian Jew who wields a powerful battle-axe. With no intent on their part they find themselves enlisted in a dynastic struggle. I’m not giving anything away to say that, among other things, their escapades involve elephants, gender identity, detective work, and prostitutes. And, because it’s the 10th century, there’s plenty of bloodletting, intrigue, pillaging, and enough double-dealing to make a card sharps’ convention blush.

The book is, at turns, charming, laugh-out-loud funny, and chilling. It’s also very culturally Jewish. The latter, coupled with the fact that its obscure historical setting will confuse some readers, probably limits the novel’s overall appeal. But this Gentile enjoyed the book, though I do wonder if Chabon has put himself on a slippery path in which he’s working out personal identity issues on the pages of his novels. Many writers do this, of course, but few keep our attentions for very long. Luckily Gentlemen of the Road strikes a balance between Chabon, history, and vivid imagination.