Michael Chabon won the Pulitzer Prize for “The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay,” a novel inspired by the golden age of comics. In 2007, he won the Hugo and Nebula awards, given annually to the best science fiction and fantasy novels, for the alternate history “The Yiddish Policemen’s Union.” His interests in fictional genres also show up in his recent screenplay for the film “John Carter of Mars,” based on Edgar Rice Burroughs’ popular series.</p><p>With his new book, however, Chabon turns the spotlight on perhaps a less fanciful territory: himself. In “Manhood for Amateurs,” Chabon explores his journey into adulthood in 39 personal essays. Funny and often painfully honest, they detail discussions with his young children about his previous drug use, the difficulty in disappointing his first father-in-law upon the author’s divorce, and what changes a man’s bag into a “murse” (answer: putting your wallet in it).</p><p>Chabon will be in town on Tuesday to discuss and autograph the new book. The Star spoke with him recently by phone. The following interview was edited for length and clarity. </p><p><strong>Q. The title of your book is reminiscent of guides and handbooks, like the “US Army Survival Manual,” which are the fascination of so many boyhoods. Were you a fan of these kinds of guides as a child?</strong></p><p><strong> A. </strong>Yes, I remember reading the “Boy Scout Handbook” and I have fond memories of reading various how-to books for boys and teenagers. The title of this book is meant to invoke its opposite in a sense because, actually, it would be pretty useless. It doesn’t really offer any useful advice or tips whatsoever. It’s almost like an anti-handbook if anything. The only thing I know about being a man is that I really don’t know much about being a man. But I’m more than willing to share the fruits of my ignorance with the world.</p><p><strong>Well, we’re all the better for it, I think. Or at least we can relate.</strong></p><p>Right, exactly. We can all relate to one another’s ignorance.</p><p><strong>In “Manhood for Amateurs” you approach some personal subjects — your wife’s bipolar disorder, a sexual encounter with your mother’s friend when you were a teenager. While honesty is crucial to quality fiction, was it difficult to be so forthright about people you know?</strong></p><p>I don’t think it’s any more of a problem than with fiction. In the fictional form you can kind of hide behind that veil. If somebody thinks they recognize themselves in the work, you can always say, “Hey, it’s fiction.” You can’t really do that with nonfiction. In the case of people I actually name, like my children or my wife or my mother, where I identify them, I try to be careful. I try not to say anything that would embarrass them or humiliate them. Being honest and being truthful doesn’t mean you have to say everything; a fair amount of selectiveness was going on before I even got to what I wrote. If I did write something I thought might cause them some discomfort or anxiety, I’d check first. I’d check in with my kids and say, “Is it OK if I say that? Is it OK if I write about that? Is that embarrassing?”</p><p><strong>Did you take the same measures when, say, writing about ex-girlfriends?</strong></p><p>Well, no, because I don’t see any potential cost there. Nor do I say anything mean or embarrassing. At least that was certainly not my intent. There’s a certain amount of anonymity there. If we had to worry about this, then nobody would ever write memoirs or autobiographies. Which may not be a bad thing.</p><p><strong>“Manhood” and “manliness” are portrayed in all sorts of ways in our culture, and it’s taken on a renewed predominance in advertising. What’s with this preoccupation with stereotypical masculinity?</strong>