Able to leap over literary barriers in a single book

In fact, his introduction in the latest McSweeney's volume fixates on the word genre. But, just as one fears a bout with literary pretension, Chabon's wit rescues him: "Like most people who worry about whether it's better to be wrong or pretentious when pronouncing the word genre, I'm always on the lookout for a chance to drop the name of Walter Benjamin."

During a recent speech at the Novello Festival in North Carolina, Chabon appears in writerly garb: rimless glasses, forelocks reminiscent of Superman's squiggles, rumpled pants topped with a checked sport coat. He moves from Kabbalah to Captain Nemo and tosses in the occasional self-deprecating reference to his literary credentials. The Pulitzer Prize, Chabon says, "gives a guy, however mistaken, a sense of authority."

Success makes him uneasy ("I never trust it"), but Chabon seems poised for a lengthy run of adoration from critics and readers alike. "He's grabbing these huge issues but making them accessible at the same time," says Tina Jordan, a senior editor at Entertainment Weekly. "He's remarkably adept, for example, at combining gay and straight characters. A real mix of people populate his books."

Two years ago, he proved just as deft with young people as adults. His children's novel, "Summerland," introduced Ethan Feld, an awkward, unathletic boy who must master baseball to rescue the world.

In his spare time, Chabon knocks out the occasional screenplay, including a credit on last summer's "Spider-Man 2." But as Spider-Man can attest, with great power comes great responsibility. In a literary sense, Chabon seems intent on fulfilling the lofty expectations set forth for him. Most days, he writes for several hours at home, sandwiched around time with his four children and a jog through the neighborhood. His wife, Ayelet Waldman, a public defender turned stay-at-home mystery writer, shares carpool duties with him.

Creative inspiration is a myth, he says, and he frets over what might lurk beneath the lavish reviews and jacket blurbs. "There's always a voice in my head saying, 'Oh, what do they know? They don't know the real you, the total reject.' You're alone in your office with your computer and the praise doesn't help you."

Chabon acknowledges his good fortune, but sees more pragmatism than glamour in his movie dabbling. "I keep doing this Hollywood screenwriting work because it pays really well and because it's fun," he says. "But I have children. And I feed them and take care of them." In other words, Chabon may be a literary Superman, but he lives like Clark Kent.

• Erik Spanberg is a freelance writer in Charlotte, N.C.

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