During the riotous height of Carnival celebrations in Fort-de-France, Martinique, master storyteller Solibo Magnificent falls dead while performing before an enraptured audience. Upon investigation, it seems like a bizarre case of autostrangulation. Was he murdered? Or did he actually choke on his own words? The policemen assigned to investigate the mysterious death find that the witnesses they question seem to be master storytellers themselves, full of thoughtful conversation and hours of colorful talk, but few clues. Solibo Magnificent sets out as a quirky police procedural, but it's far more complex than that; this marvelous little fable turns out to be a joyful investigation of the magic and mechanics of language and meaning, and the process of making yourself understood. Many authors might tackle these themes with dry, academic thoroughness, but Patrick Chamoiseau is himself a master storyteller, using playful word choices, deft turns of phrase, and carefully constructed exchanges among characters to illustrate the problems posed by the mass shared illusion of language. Like the best teachers, Chamoiseau teaches by making his lessons enjoyable and meaningful in themselves; this feat is especially impressive considering that Solibo Magnificent was originally written in a mix of French and Creole, and has been painstakingly, expertly translated into a form which seems to have lost little of the original text's magic. Beyond all this, though, Solibo Magnificent is a marvelous example of low-epic storytelling in the tradition of Italo Calvino, Jorge Luis Borges, and R.A. Lafferty, and as wonderful as anything by those masters.