Best work of fiction I've read in a long, long time—possibly since All Is Forgotten, Nothing Is Lost (unless I read Olive Kitteridge since Chang's novel, in which case, whatever—trifecta of great fiction makes your gripes invalid).

I could not possibly do this book justice in a review without reading it at least one more time. It's rich rich rich, although he's one of those pro-ice-skater writers who makes it look dead simple—book reads like a house afire.

Off to get Oscar Wao and the other book of his, with the essays. In between compulsively reading every interview he's given online. Effin' magic, this one is.