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賲乇丿蹖 丿乇 鬲丕乇蹖讴蹖
丌诏賵爻鬲 亘乇蹖賱 賲賳鬲賯丿 丕丿亘蹖 賴賮鬲丕丿 賵 丿賵爻丕賱賴 倬爻 丕夭 爻丕賳丨賴鈥屰� 丕鬲賵賲亘蹖賱 賵 丿乇 丿賵乇丕賳 賳賯丕賴鬲 亘乇丕蹖 倬爻 夭丿賳 禺丕胤乇丕鬲 鬲賱禺 诏匕卮鬲賴貙 丿乇 匕賴賳卮 丿丕爻鬲丕賳蹖 倬蹖趩蹖丿賴 乇丕 倬蹖 賲蹖鈥屫臂屫藏�: 丿丕爻鬲丕賳蹖 丕夭 丌賲乇蹖讴丕蹖蹖 讴賴 丿乇 丌賳 亘乇噩鈥屬囏й� 丿賵 賯賱賵 賮乇賵 賳賲蹖鈥屫臂屫藏� 賵 賳鬲蹖噩賴鈥屰� 丕賳鬲禺丕亘丕鬲 爻丕賱 鄄郯郯郯貙 爻乇賳賵卮鬲蹖 丿蹖诏乇 乇丕 亘乇丕蹖 丌賲乇蹖讴丕 乇賯賲 賲蹖鈥屫操嗀�
218 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2008
241 people are currently reading
5008 people want to read
About the author
Paul Auster
350听books11.9k听followersPaul Auster was the bestselling author of 4 3 2 1, Bloodbath Nation, Baumgartner, The Book of Illusions, and The New York Trilogy, among many other works. In 2006 he was awarded the Prince of Asturias Prize for Literature. Among his other honors are the Prix M茅dicis 脡tranger for Leviathan, the Independent Spirit Award for the screenplay of Smoke, and the Premio Napoli for Sunset Park. In 2012, he was the first recipient of the NYC Literary Honors in the category of fiction. He was also a finalist for the International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award (The Book of Illusions), the PEN/Faulkner Award (The Music of Chance), the Edgar Award (City of Glass), and the Man Booker Prize (4 3 2 1). Auster was a member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters and a Commandeur de l鈥橭rdre des Arts et des Lettres. His work has been translated into more than forty languages. He died at age seventy-seven in 2024.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 1,164 reviews
August 8, 2024
鈥淚 am alone in the dark.鈥� One of the more evocative existential opening lines. And it tells much about what follows. August Brill is 72, a Pulitzer Prize winning book critic who is confined to a wheelchair, and mourning the loss of his wife. While convalescing, he is living with his divorced daughter and his granddaughter, Katya, who is mourning the horrible death of her boyfriend in Iraq. We see the events of the story through Brill鈥檚 eyes. In attempting to overcome a bout of insomnia, and perhaps escape the dark place in which he finds himself, Brill concocts a story in his imagination, an alternate reality to the reader, reminding one of Tralfamador in Slaughterhouse Five.
Paul Auster-image from the NY Times
His alt-world is thinly made, a USA in which civil war erupted after Bush v Gore. If only. His imaginary protagonist is Corporal Owen Brick, a young magician who finds himself transformed into a soldier, worse, an assassin. The target of this assassination has a certain snake-devouring-it鈥檚-own-tail appeal. Brick has relationships that parallel Brill鈥檚 and should serve to illuminate his creator鈥檚 reality. But it seemed to me that they did not offer much light.
Not a lot is made of Brick鈥檚 career in alt-world, but Brill refers to himself as a magician in real-world, regarding a difficult emotional balancing act.
The book almost demands multiple readings in order to peel back the layers. First, there is the surface. Brill is a man who is trying to cope with having suffered a great loss. That makes him sympathetic, garnering our interest. It turns out he is maybe not all that wonderful a person, which certainly loosens our connection. But his affection for his daughter and granddaughter, and his love for his late wife, leave us enough to keep some connection alive. I was most moved when Brill tells his granddaughter of his life with and love for his late wife.
Another layer is a question of the nature of our reality. Are we more real than the characters in a story? Why could we not, ourselves, be characters in someone else鈥檚 story?
Brill and Katya self-medicate to some classic foreign films, noting particularly how some directors use inanimate objects to convey emotional content. This leads one to look for that in the novel, but if it was present, I missed it.
I am not sure I liked this book, but I found it very thought-provoking, and may even go back and read it again. I got the feeling that there was much here that did not get through my dense hide.
Paul Auster-image from the NY Times
His alt-world is thinly made, a USA in which civil war erupted after Bush v Gore. If only. His imaginary protagonist is Corporal Owen Brick, a young magician who finds himself transformed into a soldier, worse, an assassin. The target of this assassination has a certain snake-devouring-it鈥檚-own-tail appeal. Brick has relationships that parallel Brill鈥檚 and should serve to illuminate his creator鈥檚 reality. But it seemed to me that they did not offer much light.
Not a lot is made of Brick鈥檚 career in alt-world, but Brill refers to himself as a magician in real-world, regarding a difficult emotional balancing act.
The book almost demands multiple readings in order to peel back the layers. First, there is the surface. Brill is a man who is trying to cope with having suffered a great loss. That makes him sympathetic, garnering our interest. It turns out he is maybe not all that wonderful a person, which certainly loosens our connection. But his affection for his daughter and granddaughter, and his love for his late wife, leave us enough to keep some connection alive. I was most moved when Brill tells his granddaughter of his life with and love for his late wife.
Another layer is a question of the nature of our reality. Are we more real than the characters in a story? Why could we not, ourselves, be characters in someone else鈥檚 story?
by putting myself into the story the story becomes real. Or else I become unreal, yet one more figment of my own imagination.Interesting stuff, if a bit like trying to read a popular science piece about string theory. Does that make God the ultimate author? Are we all characters in our own novels?
And why does this man deserve to die?There are observations on the state of contemporary life as well, particularly the permanent war of 1984. Brill/Brick has been moving between realities:
Because he owns the war. He invented it, and everything that happens or is about to happen is in his head. Eliminate that head and the war stops. It鈥檚 that simple.
Simple? You make him sound like God.
Not God, Corporal, just a man. He sits in a room all day writing it down, and whatever he writes comes true.
How long has it been since you鈥檝e been back on this side?Wars figure prominently in the tale. There is the civil war in alt-world, the Iraq war in real-world, history told about World War II, and on a smaller scale, one conflict stands in for larger ones:
Fifteen years. This is my first trip. It wasn鈥檛 even possible until about three months ago. You were the first one to go back and forth. Did you know that?
No one ever told me anything.
It鈥檚 like stepping into a dream, isn鈥檛 it? The same place, but entirely different. America without war. It鈥檚 hard to digest. You get so used to the fighting, it kind of creeps into your bones, and after a while, you can鈥檛 imagine a world without it.
America鈥檚 at war. All right. We鈥檙e just not fighting it here. Not yet, anyway.
[In Newark during the 1967 riot] Not long after we returned to the mayor's office, in walked a member of the New Jersey State police, a certain Colonel Brand or Brandt, a man around forty with a razor-sharp crew cut, a square, clenched jaw and the hard eyes of a marine about to embark on a commando mission. He shook hands with [mayor] Addonizio, sat down in a chair, and then pronounced these words: We're gonna hunt down every black bastard in this city. I probably shouldn't have been shocked, but I was. Not by the statement, perhaps, but by the chilling contempt of the voice that uttered it...that was my war. Not a real war, perhaps, but once you witness violence on that scale, it isn't difficult to imagine something worse, and once your mind is capable of doing that, you understand that the worst possibilities of the imagination are the country you live in. Just think it, and the chances are it will happen.Auster has some fun with names. The Molly Wald in alt-world is hardly the sweetheart of John Hughes fame. That Brill asks his granddaughter to call him Augie can hardly be pure coincidence. He tosses in references to Blake and Bloch as well.
Brill and Katya self-medicate to some classic foreign films, noting particularly how some directors use inanimate objects to convey emotional content. This leads one to look for that in the novel, but if it was present, I missed it.
I am not sure I liked this book, but I found it very thought-provoking, and may even go back and read it again. I got the feeling that there was much here that did not get through my dense hide.
December 6, 2018
I love Paul Auster's writing. Beautiful book.
And I just received the audio book, read by the master himself, looking forward to it!
And I just received the audio book, read by the master himself, looking forward to it!
March 30, 2020
鈥淚 am alone in the dark.鈥�
I'd never read a book by Auster before.
I'd heard he had deeply devoted fans, and now I know why. This guy's in a class by himself.
Do you want to read something unlike anything you've ever read before? Read this one.
A man wakes up in a deep, dark hole in the ground. He doesn't know where he is or how he got there. He can hear the sounds of warfare outside.
He has woken up in a parallel world in a parallel America. This America is caught in the throws of a tragic second civil war. But that's not the whole story, not even close.
鈥淭here's no single reality, Corporal. There are many realities. There's no single world. There are many worlds, and they all run parallel to one another, worlds and anti-worlds, worlds and shadow-worlds, and each world is dreamed or imagined or written by someone in another world. Each world is the creation of a mind.鈥�
This book is strange, it's different, it's great. It's Auster.
I'd never read a book by Auster before.
I'd heard he had deeply devoted fans, and now I know why. This guy's in a class by himself.
Do you want to read something unlike anything you've ever read before? Read this one.
A man wakes up in a deep, dark hole in the ground. He doesn't know where he is or how he got there. He can hear the sounds of warfare outside.
He has woken up in a parallel world in a parallel America. This America is caught in the throws of a tragic second civil war. But that's not the whole story, not even close.
鈥淭here's no single reality, Corporal. There are many realities. There's no single world. There are many worlds, and they all run parallel to one another, worlds and anti-worlds, worlds and shadow-worlds, and each world is dreamed or imagined or written by someone in another world. Each world is the creation of a mind.鈥�
This book is strange, it's different, it's great. It's Auster.
January 12, 2024
賵丕賯毓蹖鬲 賵 禺蹖丕賱 蹖讴蹖 賴爻鬲賳丿. 賮讴乇賴丕 丨賯蹖賯蹖鈥屫з嗀� 丨鬲蹖 賮讴乇 趩蹖夭賴丕蹖 禺蹖丕賱蹖. 爻鬲丕乇賴鈥屬囏й� 賳丕賲乇卅蹖貙 丌爻賲丕賳 賳丕賲乇卅蹖貙 氐丿丕蹖 鬲賳賮爻 賲賳貙 氐丿丕蹖 鬲賳賮爻 讴丕鬲蹖丕.
丿毓丕蹖 倬蹖卮 丕夭 禺賵丕亘貙 乇爻賵賲 讴賵丿讴蹖貙 爻賳诏蹖賳蹖 讴賵丿讴蹖. 卮丕蹖丿 倬蹖卮 丕夭 丕蹖賳讴賴 亘蹖丿丕乇 卮賵賲 亘賲蹖乇賲. 賴賲賴 趩蹖夭 亘丕 趩賴 爻乇毓鬲蹖 賲蹖鈥屭柏必�. 丿蹖乇賵夭 讴賵丿讴貙 丕賲乇賵夭 倬蹖乇賲乇丿貙 賵 丕夭 丌賳鈥屬堎傌� 鬲丕讴賳賵賳 賯賱亘賲 趩賳丿亘丕乇 鬲倬蹖丿賴貙 趩賳丿 亘丕乇 賳賮爻 讴卮蹖丿賴鈥屫з呚� 趩賳丿 賵丕跇賴 诏賮鬲賴鈥屫з� 賵 卮賳蹖丿賴鈥屫з呚� 讴爻蹖 賱賲爻賲 讴賳丿. 丿爻鬲 亘賴 氐賵乇鬲賲 亘诏匕丕乇 賵 亘丕 賲賳 丨乇賮 亘夭賳...
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亘賴 賳馗乇賲 禺蹖賱蹖 亘丕 讴鬲丕亘鈥屬囏й� 丿蹖诏賴鈥屰� 倬賱 丕爻鬲乇 賮乇賯 丿丕卮鬲.
丿丕爻鬲丕賳 夭賳丿诏蹖 蹖讴 倬蹖乇賲乇丿 亘賴 賳丕賲 丌诏賵爻鬲 讴賴 亘丕 丿禺鬲乇 賵 賳賵賴鈥屫ж� 讴丕鬲蹖丕 夭賳丿诏蹖 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗀�.
賴乇 爻賴 亘賴 賳賵毓蹖 丿趩丕乇 亘丨乇丕賳 毓丕胤賮蹖 賵 卮讴爻鬲 丿乇 夭賳丿诏蹖 卮丿賴鈥屫з嗀� 讴賴 賲丕 禺賵丕賳賳丿賴鈥屰� 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 夭賳丿诏蹖 丌賳鈥屬囏� 賴爻鬲蹖賲. 诏丕賴蹖 丌诏賵爻鬲 乇丕賵蹖 丕爻鬲 賵 诏丕賴蹖 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 乇丕 丕夭 賲蹖丕賳 诏賮鬲 賵 诏賵賴丕蹖 丕賵 賵 賮賱卮鈥屫ㄚ┾€屬囏й屰� 讴賴 亘賴 诏匕卮鬲賴 賲蹖鈥屫操嗀� 賲鬲賵噩賴 賲蹖鈥屫促堐屬�.
倬蹖乇賲乇丿 乇丕賵蹖 丨賯丕蹖賯蹖 丕夭 夭賳丿诏蹖 毓丕胤賮蹖貙 卮讴爻鬲貙 丿賵乇蹖貙 丿賱夭丿诏蹖貙 噩賳诏 賵 丕乇鬲亘丕胤 亘丕 賮乇夭賳丿 賵 禺蹖丕賳鬲 賵 乇賳噩 丕爻鬲.
亘丕 鬲賲丕賲 賲鬲賮丕賵鬲 亘賵丿賳卮 亘丕 亘賯蹖賴鈥屰� 讴鬲丕亘鈥屬囏й� 倬賱 丕爻鬲乇 賲賳 亘丿賲 賳蹖賵賲丿.
丿毓丕蹖 倬蹖卮 丕夭 禺賵丕亘貙 乇爻賵賲 讴賵丿讴蹖貙 爻賳诏蹖賳蹖 讴賵丿讴蹖. 卮丕蹖丿 倬蹖卮 丕夭 丕蹖賳讴賴 亘蹖丿丕乇 卮賵賲 亘賲蹖乇賲. 賴賲賴 趩蹖夭 亘丕 趩賴 爻乇毓鬲蹖 賲蹖鈥屭柏必�. 丿蹖乇賵夭 讴賵丿讴貙 丕賲乇賵夭 倬蹖乇賲乇丿貙 賵 丕夭 丌賳鈥屬堎傌� 鬲丕讴賳賵賳 賯賱亘賲 趩賳丿亘丕乇 鬲倬蹖丿賴貙 趩賳丿 亘丕乇 賳賮爻 讴卮蹖丿賴鈥屫з呚� 趩賳丿 賵丕跇賴 诏賮鬲賴鈥屫з� 賵 卮賳蹖丿賴鈥屫з呚� 讴爻蹖 賱賲爻賲 讴賳丿. 丿爻鬲 亘賴 氐賵乇鬲賲 亘诏匕丕乇 賵 亘丕 賲賳 丨乇賮 亘夭賳...
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亘賴 賳馗乇賲 禺蹖賱蹖 亘丕 讴鬲丕亘鈥屬囏й� 丿蹖诏賴鈥屰� 倬賱 丕爻鬲乇 賮乇賯 丿丕卮鬲.
丿丕爻鬲丕賳 夭賳丿诏蹖 蹖讴 倬蹖乇賲乇丿 亘賴 賳丕賲 丌诏賵爻鬲 讴賴 亘丕 丿禺鬲乇 賵 賳賵賴鈥屫ж� 讴丕鬲蹖丕 夭賳丿诏蹖 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗀�.
賴乇 爻賴 亘賴 賳賵毓蹖 丿趩丕乇 亘丨乇丕賳 毓丕胤賮蹖 賵 卮讴爻鬲 丿乇 夭賳丿诏蹖 卮丿賴鈥屫з嗀� 讴賴 賲丕 禺賵丕賳賳丿賴鈥屰� 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 夭賳丿诏蹖 丌賳鈥屬囏� 賴爻鬲蹖賲. 诏丕賴蹖 丌诏賵爻鬲 乇丕賵蹖 丕爻鬲 賵 诏丕賴蹖 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 乇丕 丕夭 賲蹖丕賳 诏賮鬲 賵 诏賵賴丕蹖 丕賵 賵 賮賱卮鈥屫ㄚ┾€屬囏й屰� 讴賴 亘賴 诏匕卮鬲賴 賲蹖鈥屫操嗀� 賲鬲賵噩賴 賲蹖鈥屫促堐屬�.
倬蹖乇賲乇丿 乇丕賵蹖 丨賯丕蹖賯蹖 丕夭 夭賳丿诏蹖 毓丕胤賮蹖貙 卮讴爻鬲貙 丿賵乇蹖貙 丿賱夭丿诏蹖貙 噩賳诏 賵 丕乇鬲亘丕胤 亘丕 賮乇夭賳丿 賵 禺蹖丕賳鬲 賵 乇賳噩 丕爻鬲.
亘丕 鬲賲丕賲 賲鬲賮丕賵鬲 亘賵丿賳卮 亘丕 亘賯蹖賴鈥屰� 讴鬲丕亘鈥屬囏й� 倬賱 丕爻鬲乇 賲賳 亘丿賲 賳蹖賵賲丿.
January 10, 2012
The Philippines exports lots of domestic helpers (household helpers, nannies, girl Fridays, cleaners, caregivers, etc.) to overseas. Those ladies and men are normally college graduates or finished some units in college. Most of them are teachers because their monthly salary here in the Philippines is low and not enough to satisfy that they think they families deserve. Most of them find their possible employers from agencies who have contacts abroad, mostly in Hong Kong, Singapore and some countries in the Middle East, Europe and North America.
Had I been one of them, I would apply to be a domestic helper in America. But I will be choosy in which household I want to be employed at. After all, I also went to a graduate school on top of my double-college degrees!
And the first in my list will be the residence of Mr. Paul Auster, 64, and his wife Ms. Siri Hustvedt, 55!
This is my fourth book by Sir Paul Auster and I guess he has no way to disappoint me. New York Trilogy (1987), The Music of Chance (1990) and Invisible (2009). They all got 4 stars from me. His works are not mushy and melodramatic yet they are sentimental and they can trigger a flurry of emotions. They have enough suspense and his characters are enigmatic. His imagination is superbly wild and you鈥檒l never able to predict where he is bringing you to. That character-driven suspense that is different from the usual plot-driven suspense, i.e., your standard mystery-thriller style, is what makes Paul Auster鈥檚 trademark different from others in this genre.
And his wife, his second, the one who lives with him now: Ma鈥檃m Siri Hustvedt, I鈥檝e read two of her books, The Enchantment of Lily Dahl (1996) and What I Loved (2003) and they are both surprisingly brilliant! Her prose is a bit dark, her storytelling is subtle yet the imagery that she creates and her characters are all multi-dimensional. They are not mushy too that is a breath of fresh air from the many female writers of her (or our) generation.
I would like to imagine myself in their household washing their dishes and listening to their husband-wife conversations. Huh?!? Not the bedroom conversations, you and your dirty mind... Or me dusting off their volumes and volumes of books in their library and secretly reading their manuscripts in their work desks. That would be the best job in the world! Oh, Sir Paul Auster and Ma鈥檃m Siri Hustvedt, hire me, please? I am willing to wipe off your asses when you are already too old to do it yourselves!
Man in the Dark my 4th novel written by Sir Paul Auster was first published in 2008. There is nothing really original about it. I鈥檝e already read books with 鈥渁 story within a story鈥� like Italo Calvino鈥檚 If on a Winter鈥檚 Night a Traveler (1979) or even 鈥渁 story within a story within a story鈥� like Flann O鈥橞rien鈥檚 At Swim-To-Birds (1939). The mysterious man in the hole also is not original since Haruki Murakami had his Toru Okada in the hole in his 1994 masterpiece, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle.
This book is also a bit different from Sir Paul Auster鈥檚 usual mystery-thriller flavor. It does not have any character who is a detective or with mysterious background or past. However, you would still feel the mystery behind his characters by reading their thoughts, expressed or implied. This book starts with this line narrated by the main protagonist, a 72-y/o August Brill who could not sleep because of insomnia: "I am alone in the dark, turning the world around in my head as I struggle through another bout of insomnia, another white night in the great American wilderness." Brill鈥檚 wife, Sonia recently died of cancer and he is recuperating from a car accident. He could not sleep so he tells himself stories. The stories seem to come alive as his life later becomes intertwined with the fictional characters that he himself created. Well, I鈥檒l not go into details because that would be too much of a spoiler.
The ending of the story within the story is just too abrupt; I found it a bit jarring. I wished Sir Paul Auster continued and made it a bit longer.
Also, the oft-repeated line, 鈥榯he weird world rolls on, 鈥� apparently penned by Rose Hawthorne, the daughter of Nathaniel (of The House of the Seven Gables), is the novel鈥檚 leitmotif. But cute as the phrase is, Sir Paul Auster sorry, Sir! seems to send a pessimistic message at the end of the book.
The book has everything good in it except a proper positive ending. But sir, ma鈥檃m, when will I send my resume? I am all-around. I can cook, I can scrub your floor, I know how to use the washing machine, I can drive, I know how to take your blood pressure, I can tend to your garden, I know how to vacuum, I can wash your cars, I am fond of dogs, etc etc. I can even work for free if you only let me read your manuscripts!
Had I been one of them, I would apply to be a domestic helper in America. But I will be choosy in which household I want to be employed at. After all, I also went to a graduate school on top of my double-college degrees!
And the first in my list will be the residence of Mr. Paul Auster, 64, and his wife Ms. Siri Hustvedt, 55!
This is my fourth book by Sir Paul Auster and I guess he has no way to disappoint me. New York Trilogy (1987), The Music of Chance (1990) and Invisible (2009). They all got 4 stars from me. His works are not mushy and melodramatic yet they are sentimental and they can trigger a flurry of emotions. They have enough suspense and his characters are enigmatic. His imagination is superbly wild and you鈥檒l never able to predict where he is bringing you to. That character-driven suspense that is different from the usual plot-driven suspense, i.e., your standard mystery-thriller style, is what makes Paul Auster鈥檚 trademark different from others in this genre.
And his wife, his second, the one who lives with him now: Ma鈥檃m Siri Hustvedt, I鈥檝e read two of her books, The Enchantment of Lily Dahl (1996) and What I Loved (2003) and they are both surprisingly brilliant! Her prose is a bit dark, her storytelling is subtle yet the imagery that she creates and her characters are all multi-dimensional. They are not mushy too that is a breath of fresh air from the many female writers of her (or our) generation.
I would like to imagine myself in their household washing their dishes and listening to their husband-wife conversations. Huh?!? Not the bedroom conversations, you and your dirty mind... Or me dusting off their volumes and volumes of books in their library and secretly reading their manuscripts in their work desks. That would be the best job in the world! Oh, Sir Paul Auster and Ma鈥檃m Siri Hustvedt, hire me, please? I am willing to wipe off your asses when you are already too old to do it yourselves!
Man in the Dark my 4th novel written by Sir Paul Auster was first published in 2008. There is nothing really original about it. I鈥檝e already read books with 鈥渁 story within a story鈥� like Italo Calvino鈥檚 If on a Winter鈥檚 Night a Traveler (1979) or even 鈥渁 story within a story within a story鈥� like Flann O鈥橞rien鈥檚 At Swim-To-Birds (1939). The mysterious man in the hole also is not original since Haruki Murakami had his Toru Okada in the hole in his 1994 masterpiece, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle.
This book is also a bit different from Sir Paul Auster鈥檚 usual mystery-thriller flavor. It does not have any character who is a detective or with mysterious background or past. However, you would still feel the mystery behind his characters by reading their thoughts, expressed or implied. This book starts with this line narrated by the main protagonist, a 72-y/o August Brill who could not sleep because of insomnia: "I am alone in the dark, turning the world around in my head as I struggle through another bout of insomnia, another white night in the great American wilderness." Brill鈥檚 wife, Sonia recently died of cancer and he is recuperating from a car accident. He could not sleep so he tells himself stories. The stories seem to come alive as his life later becomes intertwined with the fictional characters that he himself created. Well, I鈥檒l not go into details because that would be too much of a spoiler.
The ending of the story within the story is just too abrupt; I found it a bit jarring. I wished Sir Paul Auster continued and made it a bit longer.
Also, the oft-repeated line, 鈥榯he weird world rolls on, 鈥� apparently penned by Rose Hawthorne, the daughter of Nathaniel (of The House of the Seven Gables), is the novel鈥檚 leitmotif. But cute as the phrase is, Sir Paul Auster sorry, Sir! seems to send a pessimistic message at the end of the book.
The book has everything good in it except a proper positive ending. But sir, ma鈥檃m, when will I send my resume? I am all-around. I can cook, I can scrub your floor, I know how to use the washing machine, I can drive, I know how to take your blood pressure, I can tend to your garden, I know how to vacuum, I can wash your cars, I am fond of dogs, etc etc. I can even work for free if you only let me read your manuscripts!
January 31, 2018
Ovaj 膷ovek mi se polako podvla膷i pod ko啪u i postajem ovisna o njegovim pri膷ama...
June 28, 2018
This book made a lasting impression by making me laugh. A full burst of laughing out loud. No book has ever done that for me.
I'm including the funny part by the end of this review.
Man in the Dark tells the story鈥攖he stories I should say鈥攐f August Brill, a seventy-two-year-old retired literary critic, handicapped and suffering from insomnia. August whiles away the night tossing and turning in bed, thinking up stories either from memory or imagination.
During this long night, he tells us a made-up story about some Owen Brick, a man who wakes up in a hole in a fictional America torn by a second civil war. The story happens in August's mind, and the war reflects his inner turmoil and inability to sleep.
Brick, our metafictional hero, is suddenly rescued by a certain Tobak, a sergeant who comes in with a rope and an intel: Brick's mission is to end the war by killing the only one responsible, August Freaking Brill.
At this point, the whole thing seems like an unconscious defense mechanism on the part of August鈥攁n embedded fantasy inside the main narrative that conceals his unconscious desire to die, or a displacing of his desire to kill himself by projecting it on a fictional character. This is what the Freudians call Thanatos.
Anyway, this narrative scheme fits in with the post-postmodern style and everything mellows out into a heartwarming familial tale of love and compassion, an empathic attempt to relate鈥攁 deep seated desire for human connection and warmth. The whole thing just turns out in a beautiful way.
I say this but I've forgotten to mention some important details about the reasons of August's insomnia. He lives with his daughter Miriam, a forty-seven-year-old writer who has been abandoned by her husband, and her daughter Katya, a twenty-three-year-old former student transformed into a shut-in after the gruesome killing of her boyfriend in Iraq.
The book ends with a communal sharing of love and relatedness, foreshadowing a coming to inner peace and harmony with the beautiful voice of Rose Hawthorne saying,
Full-blown five stars and favorited.
鈥斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌�
And yeah, this is the funny part:
I just couldn't help but lose it when the great grandmother farted :D
鈥斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌�
I'm including the funny part by the end of this review.
Man in the Dark tells the story鈥攖he stories I should say鈥攐f August Brill, a seventy-two-year-old retired literary critic, handicapped and suffering from insomnia. August whiles away the night tossing and turning in bed, thinking up stories either from memory or imagination.
During this long night, he tells us a made-up story about some Owen Brick, a man who wakes up in a hole in a fictional America torn by a second civil war. The story happens in August's mind, and the war reflects his inner turmoil and inability to sleep.
Brick, our metafictional hero, is suddenly rescued by a certain Tobak, a sergeant who comes in with a rope and an intel: Brick's mission is to end the war by killing the only one responsible, August Freaking Brill.
At this point, the whole thing seems like an unconscious defense mechanism on the part of August鈥攁n embedded fantasy inside the main narrative that conceals his unconscious desire to die, or a displacing of his desire to kill himself by projecting it on a fictional character. This is what the Freudians call Thanatos.
Anyway, this narrative scheme fits in with the post-postmodern style and everything mellows out into a heartwarming familial tale of love and compassion, an empathic attempt to relate鈥攁 deep seated desire for human connection and warmth. The whole thing just turns out in a beautiful way.
I say this but I've forgotten to mention some important details about the reasons of August's insomnia. He lives with his daughter Miriam, a forty-seven-year-old writer who has been abandoned by her husband, and her daughter Katya, a twenty-three-year-old former student transformed into a shut-in after the gruesome killing of her boyfriend in Iraq.
The book ends with a communal sharing of love and relatedness, foreshadowing a coming to inner peace and harmony with the beautiful voice of Rose Hawthorne saying,
"As the weird world rolls on."
Full-blown five stars and favorited.
鈥斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌�
And yeah, this is the funny part:
"My mother had a voluminous chest, twenty times the size of Sonia's. One Saturday morning, she and Miriam were sitting on the sofa together watching cartoons. A commercial for pizza came on, which ended with the words: Now, that's a pizza! A moment later, your mother turned to my mother, clamped her mouth on her grandmother鈥檚 right breast, and then came up shouting: Now, that鈥檚 a pizza! My mother laughed so hard, she let out a fart, a gigantic trumpet blast of a fart. That got Miriam laughing so wildly, she peed in her pants. She jumped off the sofa and started running around the room, yelling at the top of her lungs: Fart-pee, fart-pee, oui, oui, oui!"
I just couldn't help but lose it when the great grandmother farted :D
鈥斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌�
March 22, 2024
For me a novel by Paul Auster always is a winner!!!
The writing is superb, the story flows unconstrained, casually and easily like as propel by magic..
The characters brimming with life, unmistakable it is the powerful voice of one of the few remaining master storyteller..
Indeed a true American original!!
Well having said that, "The Man in the Dark" kept me turning the pages and if it does exists something called a compulsive reading, then here you have it before your nose!!
Honestly folks, I literally couldn't put it down..
If you wanted to have my hardback edition then you had to tear it out of my dead and cold hands..
From the dust jacket:
"Passionate and shocking.. a book that forces us to confront the darkness off night even as it celebrates the existence of ordinary joys.."
Seventy-two-year-old August Brill is a Literatur critic, after having had a bad car accident he tries to recover from and night after night he tells himself stories..
He has to dealt with the recent death of his wife Sonia..
In Vermont living with his daughter and granddaughter the last decisive struggle of his life is lash loose hunted by memories and the demons of the past!!!
Parallel worlds, the negative and eroding force of guilt, the vulnerability of trusting, and the deep and bitter wounds of betrayal, this are some of the topics dealt in this novel..
A book which everyone should read..
Pregnant and saturated with the power of change our awareness, conscience, and realization!!!
Happy readings
Dean;)
The writing is superb, the story flows unconstrained, casually and easily like as propel by magic..
The characters brimming with life, unmistakable it is the powerful voice of one of the few remaining master storyteller..
Indeed a true American original!!
Well having said that, "The Man in the Dark" kept me turning the pages and if it does exists something called a compulsive reading, then here you have it before your nose!!
Honestly folks, I literally couldn't put it down..
If you wanted to have my hardback edition then you had to tear it out of my dead and cold hands..
From the dust jacket:
"Passionate and shocking.. a book that forces us to confront the darkness off night even as it celebrates the existence of ordinary joys.."
Seventy-two-year-old August Brill is a Literatur critic, after having had a bad car accident he tries to recover from and night after night he tells himself stories..
He has to dealt with the recent death of his wife Sonia..
In Vermont living with his daughter and granddaughter the last decisive struggle of his life is lash loose hunted by memories and the demons of the past!!!
Parallel worlds, the negative and eroding force of guilt, the vulnerability of trusting, and the deep and bitter wounds of betrayal, this are some of the topics dealt in this novel..
A book which everyone should read..
Pregnant and saturated with the power of change our awareness, conscience, and realization!!!
Happy readings
Dean;)
June 21, 2018
丕賵 丿爻鬲 丌禺乇 亘賴 睾賲诏蹖賳鈥屫臂屬� 賮乇丿蹖 鬲亘丿蹖賱 卮丿 讴賴 丿蹖丿賴鈥屫з�. 丿乇 亘賴丕乇 爻丕賱 1987 蹖讴 乇賵夭 氐亘丨 禺丿賲鬲讴丕乇卮 賵丨卮鬲鈥屫藏� 亘賴 賲賳 鬲賱賮賳 讴乇丿. 亘丕 讴賱蹖丿蹖 讴賴 亘乇丕蹖 賳馗丕賮鬲 賴賮鬲诏蹖 丿乇 丕禺鬲蹖丕乇卮 诏匕丕卮鬲賴 亘賵丿 賵丕乇丿 丌倬丕乇鬲賲丕賳 卮丿賴 賵 噩爻丿 禺賵丕賴乇賲 乇丕 乇賵蹖 鬲禺鬲禺賵丕亘 蹖丕賮鬲賴 亘賵丿. 丕鬲賵賲亘蹖賱 賴賲爻丕蹖賴 乇丕 賯乇囟 诏乇賮鬲賲貙 鬲丕 賳蹖賵噩乇爻蹖 乇丕賳丿賲 賵 賴賵蹖鬲 噩爻丿 乇丕 亘乇丕蹖 倬賱蹖爻 卮賳丕爻丕蹖蹖 讴乇丿賲. 丿蹖丿賳 丕賵 丿乇 丌賳 丨丕賱 亘爻蹖丕乇 卮賵讴鈥屫①堌� 亘賵丿: 趩賳丕賳 亘蹖鈥屫壁┴� 丿賵乇 賵 賲乇丿賴貙 丨賯蹖賯鬲丕 賲乇丿賴. 賵賯鬲蹖 倬乇爻蹖丿賳丿 賲丕蹖賱賲 噩爻丿 乇丕 亘乇丕蹖 讴丕賱亘丿卮讴丕賮蹖 亘賮乇爻鬲賳丿貙 诏賮鬲賲 丌賳 乇丕 亘賴 丨丕賱 禺賵丿 亘诏匕丕乇賳丿. 鬲賳賴丕 丿賵 丕賲讴丕賳 賵噩賵丿 丿丕卮鬲: 蹖丕 亘賴 氐賵乇鬲 胤亘蹖毓蹖 丕夭 亘蹖賳 乇賮鬲賴 亘賵丿貙 蹖丕 亘丕 禺賵乇丿賳 賲賯丿丕乇蹖 賯乇氐 禺賵丿讴卮蹖 讴乇丿賴 亘賵丿貙 賵 賲賳 賳賲蹖鈥屫堌ж池� 倬丕爻禺 乇丕 亘丿丕賳賲貙 夭蹖乇丕 賴蹖趩 蹖讴 賵丕賯毓蹖鬲 賲丕噩乇丕 乇丕 亘乇賲賱丕 賳賲蹖鈥屭┴必嗀�. 亘鬲蹖 亘乇 丕孬乇 卮讴爻鬲賳 丿賱卮 賲乇丿賴 亘賵丿. 卮賳蹖丿賳 丕蹖賳 丕氐胤賱丕丨 亘乇丕蹖 亘毓囟蹖鈥屬囏� 禺賳丿賴鈥屫①堌� 丕爻鬲貙 丕賲丕 亘賴 丕蹖賳 丿賱蹖賱 讴賴 趩蹖夭蹖 丕夭 丿賳蹖丕 賳賲蹖鈥屫з嗁嗀�. 丌丿賲鈥屬囏� 丕夭 丿賱 卮讴爻鬲诏蹖 賲蹖鈥屬呟屫辟嗀�. 丕蹖賳 趩蹖夭蹖 丕爻鬲 讴賴 賴乇 乇賵夭 丕鬲賮丕賯 賲蹖鈥屫з佖� 賵 鬲丕 丌禺乇 夭賲丕賳 賴賲 乇賵蹖 禺賵丕賴丿 丿丕丿.
April 21, 2022
CRITIQUE:
A Sleeping Man in a Hole
To date, I've enjoyed most of Paul Auster's high concept post-modernist fiction.
This novel is an amalgam of two stories that, in the end, don't quite amalgamate or cohere.
One story concerns a 72 year old former book critic (August Brill) who has been injured in a car accident and is confined to a wheelchair. He reminisces about his deceased wife (Sonia) with his granddaughter (Katya), whose estranged husband has been murdered in Iraq.
During bouts of insomnia, when he is "alone in the dark", he tells himself stories, one of which is the story within the main story that we're reading. It's set in a parallel world in which there is a four year old civil war in the United States:
At times, the novel could almost have been written by Philip K. Dick.
Brill invents the character, Owen Brick, and puts him in a hole, in a corporal's uniform:
This could also be the premise for a Murakami novel. Or even one of Kurt Vonnegut's
The Character Assassin
Brick is rescued by a sergeant who introduces him to another officer (Lou Frisk) who wants to assign him to a mission in which he must assassinate August Brill. In this other world ("the weird world, the battered world, the weird world rolling on as wars flame all around us"), Brill -
Brick extrapolates, "You're saying it's a story, that a man is writing a story, and we're all part of it..."
This is a common postmodern trope, which has previously attracted Auster. For the characters, the fiction of the story is their truth, their reality. It's only fiction for the author and the reader. So the characters' reality must conclude with the end of the novel or the death of the author:
So Frisk's plan is that Brill will effectively commit suicide by character assassination.
The Juxtaposition of Two Stories
You wonder how these two stories will interact with each other: will they converge or diverge, or will they run in parallel?
Brill himself asks: "The question is: at what point did [or will] the two stories begin to diverge?"
There's little scope to separate the stories. There are no chapters or clear divisions within the text. Auster often switches from one story to the other within the space of a paragraph (the second story is, after all, in the head of a character in the first story). Characters resemble each other or appear in both stories (e.g., the attractive schoolgirl sweetheart, Virginia Blaine). Both Brill and Brick have had multiple wives. They're broken mirror images of each other.
Most readers would expect the stories to converge, which would mean that Brick ends up assassinating Brill. Brill explains his perspective:
There's some appeal in the possibility that the author or narrator might have become an unreal element in his own story, a mere creation of his own imagination. Perhaps the self, after all, is imaginary or even illusory. As might be reality.
The stories seem to diverge when Brill engages in a lengthy conversation with Katya about his relationship with Sonia, her grandmother, a conversation that continues for the last third of the book. Here, Auster is at his most sentimentalistic, while the assassination plot moves off centre-stage for the duration.
This leaves the assassination hanging, so to speak.
A PASTICHE OF AN ENDING
[Apologies to Paul Auster]:
Virginia Blaine drove Owen to her home in Wellington, where she was determined to have her brief moment of joy with him. The man and woman who had met as children would take mutual pleasure in their adult bodies.
Neither of them had had sex for months, and it was mid morning before either of them woke up and went down to the kitchen. Virginia was first, and when Owen eventually followed her down, she had already loaded some food and drinks into a cooler in the front seat of her Mercedes. He couldn't tell whether it was intended for lunch or dinner.
By the time they got back on the highway, and were heading towards Vermont, they could hear helicopter engines, followed soon after by strafing each side of the car.
Virginia saw a side road that she turned down, and soon they were obscured by the tree cover. She switched the car engine off and waited for any sign that the armed forces had found their location. They waited there until it started to get dark, when she resumed their trip towards Vermont.
She placed her hand in Owen's lap, and asked if he wanted anything. By this time, the only thing on his mind was food, and he asked for a sandwich. Virginia passed one over to him, without taking her eyes off the road.
Meanwhile, twenty miles to the northwest, in a white wooden house in southern Vermont, August Brill got up from his desk and decided to take a hot bath before turning into bed. He turned the hot tap on and watched the water pour into the enamel tub. He estimated that it would take a quarter of an hour to fill the tub.
Virginia parked on the street outside Brill's home, kissed Owen and wished him good luck. Owen took his knife out of his back pack, ran his thumb along the edge and confirmed its sharpness. It was a domestic knife, rather than standard military issue.
The front door was unlocked, and Owen walked into the empty lounge. He observed that the stairs were carpeted, so he hoped that he could go upstairs without being heard, which he did. As he got to the top of the stairs, he detected the sound of running water. He walked along the corridor in the direction of the sound, where he found the bathroom door to be open. Brill clearly wasn't expecting a visitor.
When Owen looked through the doorway, he saw that Brill was already in the tub, looking away from the door and towards the night sky over the street.
Brill's arms were submerged in the steamy water. Owen wondered whether he should slit Brill's throat. However, while he was considering his options, Brill lifted his arms onto the side of the tub, exposing the flesh of his arms. Owen's decision was made for him. If he slit Brill's wrists, then not only would he die quickly, but it would look like he had actually committed suicide, once he'd dropped the knife in the bath.
Owen took less time to do the act then it might have taken you to read the previous paragraph. Brill didn't even open his eyes, to see who the perpetrator was. He just let his arms slip back into the hot water. It was as if he knew what was coming and was comfortable with his fate. Of course, there is always the chance that Brill had written what Owen was going to do.
The bath water was totally red by the time Brill ceased breathing, and Owen went back down the stairs. When he opened the passenger door, Virginia asked, cryptically, "Done?" Owen nodded and kissed her, then he placed his hand on her left breast and squeezed it gently. Virginia asked, "Are you ready for bed?" Owen nodded again, and Virginia responded, "Good. Let's go home."
SOUNDTRACK:
A Sleeping Man in a Hole
To date, I've enjoyed most of Paul Auster's high concept post-modernist fiction.
This novel is an amalgam of two stories that, in the end, don't quite amalgamate or cohere.
One story concerns a 72 year old former book critic (August Brill) who has been injured in a car accident and is confined to a wheelchair. He reminisces about his deceased wife (Sonia) with his granddaughter (Katya), whose estranged husband has been murdered in Iraq.
During bouts of insomnia, when he is "alone in the dark", he tells himself stories, one of which is the story within the main story that we're reading. It's set in a parallel world in which there is a four year old civil war in the United States:
"There is no single reality...There are many realities. There's no single world. There are many worlds, and they all run parallel to one another, worlds and anti-worlds, worlds and shadow-worlds, and each world is dreamed or imagined or written by someone in another world. Each world is the creation of a mind."
At times, the novel could almost have been written by Philip K. Dick.
Brill invents the character, Owen Brick, and puts him in a hole, in a corporal's uniform:
"That felt like a good start, a promising way to get things going. Put a sleeping man in a hole, and then see what happens when he wakes up and tries to crawl out."
This could also be the premise for a Murakami novel. Or even one of Kurt Vonnegut's
The Character Assassin
Brick is rescued by a sergeant who introduces him to another officer (Lou Frisk) who wants to assign him to a mission in which he must assassinate August Brill. In this other world ("the weird world, the battered world, the weird world rolling on as wars flame all around us"), Brill -
"...owns the war. He invented it, and everything that happens or is about to happen is in his head. Eliminate that head, and the war stops. It's that simple...He sits in a room all day writing it down, and whatever he writes comes true."
Brick extrapolates, "You're saying it's a story, that a man is writing a story, and we're all part of it..."
This is a common postmodern trope, which has previously attracted Auster. For the characters, the fiction of the story is their truth, their reality. It's only fiction for the author and the reader. So the characters' reality must conclude with the end of the novel or the death of the author:
"And after he's killed...the war ends...and everything goes back to normal."
So Frisk's plan is that Brill will effectively commit suicide by character assassination.
The Juxtaposition of Two Stories
You wonder how these two stories will interact with each other: will they converge or diverge, or will they run in parallel?
Brill himself asks: "The question is: at what point did [or will] the two stories begin to diverge?"
There's little scope to separate the stories. There are no chapters or clear divisions within the text. Auster often switches from one story to the other within the space of a paragraph (the second story is, after all, in the head of a character in the first story). Characters resemble each other or appear in both stories (e.g., the attractive schoolgirl sweetheart, Virginia Blaine). Both Brill and Brick have had multiple wives. They're broken mirror images of each other.
Most readers would expect the stories to converge, which would mean that Brick ends up assassinating Brill. Brill explains his perspective:
"The story is about a man who must kill the person who created him, and why pretend that I am not that person? By putting myself into the story, the story becomes real. Or else I become unreal, yet one more figment of my own imagination..."
There's some appeal in the possibility that the author or narrator might have become an unreal element in his own story, a mere creation of his own imagination. Perhaps the self, after all, is imaginary or even illusory. As might be reality.
The stories seem to diverge when Brill engages in a lengthy conversation with Katya about his relationship with Sonia, her grandmother, a conversation that continues for the last third of the book. Here, Auster is at his most sentimentalistic, while the assassination plot moves off centre-stage for the duration.
This leaves the assassination hanging, so to speak.
A PASTICHE OF AN ENDING
[Apologies to Paul Auster]:
Virginia Blaine drove Owen to her home in Wellington, where she was determined to have her brief moment of joy with him. The man and woman who had met as children would take mutual pleasure in their adult bodies.
Neither of them had had sex for months, and it was mid morning before either of them woke up and went down to the kitchen. Virginia was first, and when Owen eventually followed her down, she had already loaded some food and drinks into a cooler in the front seat of her Mercedes. He couldn't tell whether it was intended for lunch or dinner.
By the time they got back on the highway, and were heading towards Vermont, they could hear helicopter engines, followed soon after by strafing each side of the car.
Virginia saw a side road that she turned down, and soon they were obscured by the tree cover. She switched the car engine off and waited for any sign that the armed forces had found their location. They waited there until it started to get dark, when she resumed their trip towards Vermont.
She placed her hand in Owen's lap, and asked if he wanted anything. By this time, the only thing on his mind was food, and he asked for a sandwich. Virginia passed one over to him, without taking her eyes off the road.
Meanwhile, twenty miles to the northwest, in a white wooden house in southern Vermont, August Brill got up from his desk and decided to take a hot bath before turning into bed. He turned the hot tap on and watched the water pour into the enamel tub. He estimated that it would take a quarter of an hour to fill the tub.
Virginia parked on the street outside Brill's home, kissed Owen and wished him good luck. Owen took his knife out of his back pack, ran his thumb along the edge and confirmed its sharpness. It was a domestic knife, rather than standard military issue.
The front door was unlocked, and Owen walked into the empty lounge. He observed that the stairs were carpeted, so he hoped that he could go upstairs without being heard, which he did. As he got to the top of the stairs, he detected the sound of running water. He walked along the corridor in the direction of the sound, where he found the bathroom door to be open. Brill clearly wasn't expecting a visitor.
When Owen looked through the doorway, he saw that Brill was already in the tub, looking away from the door and towards the night sky over the street.
Brill's arms were submerged in the steamy water. Owen wondered whether he should slit Brill's throat. However, while he was considering his options, Brill lifted his arms onto the side of the tub, exposing the flesh of his arms. Owen's decision was made for him. If he slit Brill's wrists, then not only would he die quickly, but it would look like he had actually committed suicide, once he'd dropped the knife in the bath.
Owen took less time to do the act then it might have taken you to read the previous paragraph. Brill didn't even open his eyes, to see who the perpetrator was. He just let his arms slip back into the hot water. It was as if he knew what was coming and was comfortable with his fate. Of course, there is always the chance that Brill had written what Owen was going to do.
The bath water was totally red by the time Brill ceased breathing, and Owen went back down the stairs. When he opened the passenger door, Virginia asked, cryptically, "Done?" Owen nodded and kissed her, then he placed his hand on her left breast and squeezed it gently. Virginia asked, "Are you ready for bed?" Owen nodded again, and Virginia responded, "Good. Let's go home."
SOUNDTRACK:
February 2, 2015
Me da igual que Auster empiece a jugar a las mu帽ecas rusas en la p谩gina 3, me da igual que me recuerde a Travels in the Scriptorium, me da igual que sus personajes me recuerden a otros, me da igual que haya tanto escritor suelto en Nueva York, me da absolutamente igual todo, porque una vez m谩s, Auster me engancha desde la primera p谩gina y no me deja ir. Y estoy tan a gusto dentro de su mundo... el otro d铆a sal铆a por esta p谩gina el tema de nuestros autores vivos favoritos: bien, yo me ir铆a de copas con Nick Hornby, sin dudarlo. Me hubiera gustado tener un affaire adolescente con Baricco, de 茅sos medio plat贸nicos, con vino, rosas y poemas. Me hubiera encantado que Benedetti fuera mi abuelo. Y tener de profesor a Camus, aunque no este vivo, hubiera sido lo m谩ximo. Incluso me gustar铆a una charla con Palahniuk, aunque estar铆a toda ella sufriendo. Y Stephen King hubiera sido un compa帽ero de juegos genial en la infancia y preadolescencia.
Pero para compartir mi vida adulta, quiero a Auster. Quiero su inteligencia sin pedanter铆a, quiero sus historias dentro de historias, quiero su sinceridad sin afectaci贸n, quiero su tristeza y su infinita curiosidad... quiero compartir m谩s cosas con 茅l. Y por eso, aunque vivo en Barcelona y cada a帽o por Sant Jordi podr铆a ir a que mis autores favoritos me firmaran sus libros, nunca lo hecho. Y sin embargo, nada me impedir谩 estar en el Sal贸 de Cent del Ayuntamiento de Barcelona el 6 de Octubre para poder contemplar a Mr. Auster in person.
Pero para compartir mi vida adulta, quiero a Auster. Quiero su inteligencia sin pedanter铆a, quiero sus historias dentro de historias, quiero su sinceridad sin afectaci贸n, quiero su tristeza y su infinita curiosidad... quiero compartir m谩s cosas con 茅l. Y por eso, aunque vivo en Barcelona y cada a帽o por Sant Jordi podr铆a ir a que mis autores favoritos me firmaran sus libros, nunca lo hecho. Y sin embargo, nada me impedir谩 estar en el Sal贸 de Cent del Ayuntamiento de Barcelona el 6 de Octubre para poder contemplar a Mr. Auster in person.
March 5, 2015
卮毓乇鬲購 兀賳 亘賵賱 兀賵爻鬲乇 賯丕賲 亘爻丨亘 丕賱亘爻丕胤 賲賳 鬲丨鬲 乇賵丕賷丞 貙貙賰丕賳鬲 丕賱丕丨丿丕孬 賲卮賵賯丞 賵丕賱鬲乇丕亘胤 賲賲賷夭丕賸 賱兀丨丿丕孬 丕賱賯氐丞 丕賱鬲賷 賲夭噩賴丕 亘賷賳 丕賱賮丕賳鬲丕夭賷丕 賵亘賷賳 賳賮爻賴 賮賷 丕賱賵賯鬲 毓賷賳賴..
丕賱丿禺賵賱 丕賱賶 丕賱毓賵丕賱賲 丕賱賲賵丕夭賷丞 孬賲 廿賳賴丕卅賴丕 亘卮賰賱 賲爻鬲賮夭 賵睾賷乇 賲賳胤賯賷..
毓賱賶 賰賱 兀爻賲鬲毓鬲 亘丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 丨賷孬 兀丿禺賱 賯氐氐 賰孬賷乇丞 賵睾賳賷丞 丕賱賶 丿丕禺賱 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 亘卮賰賱 賲丨亘亘 賵賯乇賷亘 賱賱賵丕賯毓 賵賱賲 賷丐孬乇 賮賷 丕賱爻乇丿 亘卮賰賱 賰亘賷乇..
兀丨賷丕賳丕賸 卮毓乇鬲 亘丕賱鬲賷賴 丿丕禺賱 兀乇賵賯丞 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 賵賱賰賳 丕賱賳賴丕賷丞 兀噩丕亘鬲 毓賱賶 賰賱 鬲爻丕丐賱丕鬲賷 賵賳噩丨鬲 賮賷 鬲亘丿賷丿 丨賷乇鬲賷..
賱賲 兀賳丿賲 毓賱賶 賯乇丕卅鬲賴丕.. 毓賲賱 賷爻鬲丨賯 丕賱鬲賯丿賷乇
丕賱丿禺賵賱 丕賱賶 丕賱毓賵丕賱賲 丕賱賲賵丕夭賷丞 孬賲 廿賳賴丕卅賴丕 亘卮賰賱 賲爻鬲賮夭 賵睾賷乇 賲賳胤賯賷..
毓賱賶 賰賱 兀爻賲鬲毓鬲 亘丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 丨賷孬 兀丿禺賱 賯氐氐 賰孬賷乇丞 賵睾賳賷丞 丕賱賶 丿丕禺賱 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 亘卮賰賱 賲丨亘亘 賵賯乇賷亘 賱賱賵丕賯毓 賵賱賲 賷丐孬乇 賮賷 丕賱爻乇丿 亘卮賰賱 賰亘賷乇..
兀丨賷丕賳丕賸 卮毓乇鬲 亘丕賱鬲賷賴 丿丕禺賱 兀乇賵賯丞 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 賵賱賰賳 丕賱賳賴丕賷丞 兀噩丕亘鬲 毓賱賶 賰賱 鬲爻丕丐賱丕鬲賷 賵賳噩丨鬲 賮賷 鬲亘丿賷丿 丨賷乇鬲賷..
賱賲 兀賳丿賲 毓賱賶 賯乇丕卅鬲賴丕.. 毓賲賱 賷爻鬲丨賯 丕賱鬲賯丿賷乇
June 21, 2008
Back when I was an undergraduate in college (not that I ever did any graduate work, but I'm about to make fun of myself, and making fun of 'undergraduates' is a literary tradition in these parts) I got a total boner* for structuralism. And then post-structuralism. I was dating Sarah and she was like, 'Hey, you like this soulless pomo bullshit, you should read this book I just read and didn't like, the New York Trilogy,' I was all, sweet, empty soulless pomo bullshit! And read it, and didn't really like it much, and realized that- as we learned from Alain Robbe-Grillet- fiction rooted in structuralist or post-structuralist theory is way more fun to talk about than it is to read.
So anyway, I was all, fuck Paul Auster, that guy writes boring experimental novels that don't make me have any feelings. Y'know, judging his twenty or so books on the basis of one early work. And then person after person who I respected- and probably more relevantly, who could give a fuck about Roland Barthes- were like, 'oh man, that Paul Auster book rules, it's told from the perspective of a dog' or 'dude the Brooklyn Follies is the best book I've ever read' or 'man I get so hopeless when I read Paul Auster.'
Which always perks up my jaded ears. Hopeless? Yeah?
So a proof of his new book came into the store, it was short, and I said, what the fuck. Why not. And it was good! Turns out I've been an asshole the whole time, which I love to find out. I think it'd be hard to make a five-star book out of a hundred and eighty pages, but that's just me- this book worked really well. It approached metafiction but never got to the heights of plasticity and masturbation that that word implies to me- it was kind of self-referential, but only insofar as the protagonist was referring to himself for himself. Or whatever. The point is, three quarters of the way through- um, spoiler- the Auster just kind of abandons the whole metafiction conceit and tells a story.
Which, I mean, let's metaphorize- are we talking about metafictionalyzing as a way to avoid telling direct emotional truths? And is this book then kind of a refutation of the experimentalism of the New York Trilogy? Are you saying, Paul Auster, that I was right not to like your signature work much? Or is this just a bunch more postmodern redirection and shuffling of signs?
Either way, as a story, this works on its own, and in the context of what I know of Auster's work (which like I said isn't much) it's pretty friggin interesting. So yes! It felt like there wasn't quite enough novel to give it five stars, but it's definitely worth four.
*How in love with the phrase 'total boner' am I lately? Jesus, I feel like I use it once or twice in every review, like back when I started every single one with 'maaaaaaaan...'
So anyway, I was all, fuck Paul Auster, that guy writes boring experimental novels that don't make me have any feelings. Y'know, judging his twenty or so books on the basis of one early work. And then person after person who I respected- and probably more relevantly, who could give a fuck about Roland Barthes- were like, 'oh man, that Paul Auster book rules, it's told from the perspective of a dog' or 'dude the Brooklyn Follies is the best book I've ever read' or 'man I get so hopeless when I read Paul Auster.'
Which always perks up my jaded ears. Hopeless? Yeah?
So a proof of his new book came into the store, it was short, and I said, what the fuck. Why not. And it was good! Turns out I've been an asshole the whole time, which I love to find out. I think it'd be hard to make a five-star book out of a hundred and eighty pages, but that's just me- this book worked really well. It approached metafiction but never got to the heights of plasticity and masturbation that that word implies to me- it was kind of self-referential, but only insofar as the protagonist was referring to himself for himself. Or whatever. The point is, three quarters of the way through- um, spoiler- the Auster just kind of abandons the whole metafiction conceit and tells a story.
Which, I mean, let's metaphorize- are we talking about metafictionalyzing as a way to avoid telling direct emotional truths? And is this book then kind of a refutation of the experimentalism of the New York Trilogy? Are you saying, Paul Auster, that I was right not to like your signature work much? Or is this just a bunch more postmodern redirection and shuffling of signs?
Either way, as a story, this works on its own, and in the context of what I know of Auster's work (which like I said isn't much) it's pretty friggin interesting. So yes! It felt like there wasn't quite enough novel to give it five stars, but it's definitely worth four.
*How in love with the phrase 'total boner' am I lately? Jesus, I feel like I use it once or twice in every review, like back when I started every single one with 'maaaaaaaan...'
January 5, 2012
*Fanfare*
Yes, it is Paul Auster time again ladies and gentlemen.
Paul. I love you.
Almost as hard to write as it is to say, although technically my fingers are more limber and better versed at communication as they are without the subtle patina of sceptical hoar frost which coats my cryogenically chilled cardio-vascular chambers.
As I have previously discussed, my first few dates with Paul were suspicious, sullen affairs where I peered at the pages with an arched eyebrow trying to decided... " genius or arty-toss?" There was no love, oh no. For a while I was swerving towards arty-toss, then actually I realised just how wrong I was. And then there was the love, oh yes.
Man in the Dark treads a familiar but not unwelcome path with a story, within a story, within a story but not in the David Mitchell Cloud Atlas-y five tale matrioshka way. This is more subtle - more intricately folded than conveniently stacked. A Man in the Dark, alone, lulls himself to sleep by telling a fictional tale of a parallel world where America did not go to war with Iraq, instead it went to war with itself. For this man a re-imagining of the past helps him come to terms with the present for there is another story which does not want to be told.
Paul Auster is the master of literary origami and I am a big fan of the way his stories unfold. They unfold and unfolds and oh look, it's a crane. But wait, if you keep unfolding it becomes one of those weird six sided fortune telling things that you used to make in the playground when you were a kid. You know the kind I mean? Pick a colour, pick a number... either way it's not the same shaped thing that you started out with but it is still the same book.
I have In the Country of Last Things lined up to be read this month. Expect more love and possibly more bad origami references.
Yes, it is Paul Auster time again ladies and gentlemen.
Paul. I love you.
Almost as hard to write as it is to say, although technically my fingers are more limber and better versed at communication as they are without the subtle patina of sceptical hoar frost which coats my cryogenically chilled cardio-vascular chambers.
As I have previously discussed, my first few dates with Paul were suspicious, sullen affairs where I peered at the pages with an arched eyebrow trying to decided... " genius or arty-toss?" There was no love, oh no. For a while I was swerving towards arty-toss, then actually I realised just how wrong I was. And then there was the love, oh yes.
Man in the Dark treads a familiar but not unwelcome path with a story, within a story, within a story but not in the David Mitchell Cloud Atlas-y five tale matrioshka way. This is more subtle - more intricately folded than conveniently stacked. A Man in the Dark, alone, lulls himself to sleep by telling a fictional tale of a parallel world where America did not go to war with Iraq, instead it went to war with itself. For this man a re-imagining of the past helps him come to terms with the present for there is another story which does not want to be told.
Paul Auster is the master of literary origami and I am a big fan of the way his stories unfold. They unfold and unfolds and oh look, it's a crane. But wait, if you keep unfolding it becomes one of those weird six sided fortune telling things that you used to make in the playground when you were a kid. You know the kind I mean? Pick a colour, pick a number... either way it's not the same shaped thing that you started out with but it is still the same book.
I have In the Country of Last Things lined up to be read this month. Expect more love and possibly more bad origami references.
November 23, 2013
I enjoy the 'tricks' in Auster's fiction, even if they are repetitive throughout his oeuvre. Though this novel contains none of his usual tricks, Auster seems to explain why he sometimes puts himself into his own works through the words of August Brill, his narrator. Brill is telling himself a story, in the dark, because he can't sleep:
This slim novel is about more than creativity and insomnia. Its musings have more to do with humanity's seemingly insatiable desire for war (the idea that if a certain war was eliminated, up would pop a different one) and the stories we tell ourselves to try to distance ourselves from the horrors. In its ending (giving me a frisson of discomfort, I saw it coming at the first mention of -- no, I won't say it) Auster ends up looking at one of the horrors unblinkingly, a tribute to the other meaning of the title.
Perhaps because its themes are executed in a span of relatively few pages, I was reminded (superficially?) of Martin Amis' . And the man in the hole in the story-within-the-story helped me understand more fully the possible meanings of characters of (another writer with his own 'tricks') also finding themselves in deep holes in the ground.
The story is about a man who must kill the person who created him, and why pretend that I am not that person? By putting myself into the story, the story becomes real. Or else I become unreal, yet one more figment of my own imagination. Either way, the effect is more satisfying, more in harmony with my mood--which is dark, my little ones, as dark as the obsidian night that surrounds me.
This slim novel is about more than creativity and insomnia. Its musings have more to do with humanity's seemingly insatiable desire for war (the idea that if a certain war was eliminated, up would pop a different one) and the stories we tell ourselves to try to distance ourselves from the horrors. In its ending (giving me a frisson of discomfort, I saw it coming at the first mention of -- no, I won't say it) Auster ends up looking at one of the horrors unblinkingly, a tribute to the other meaning of the title.
Perhaps because its themes are executed in a span of relatively few pages, I was reminded (superficially?) of Martin Amis' . And the man in the hole in the story-within-the-story helped me understand more fully the possible meanings of characters of (another writer with his own 'tricks') also finding themselves in deep holes in the ground.
May 10, 2019
听 听 听 听 听 听 听 听 听 听 听 听 听 听 听 听(23)
丕賱賯乇丕亍丞 丕賱兀賵賱賶 賱亘賵賱 兀賵爻鬲乇 賵賰丕賳鬲 賳賵毓丕賸 賲丕 睾賷乇 賲賵賮賯丞... 毓噩賵夭 賮賷 丕賱爻亘賷毓賷賳丕鬲 賲賳 毓賲乇賴 賱丿賷賴 賴賵丕賷鬲丕賳 賲賮囟賱鬲丕賳: 丕賱兀賵賱賶 賴賷 賲卮丕賴丿丞 丕賱兀賮賱丕賲 賲毓 丨賮賷丿鬲賴 賵賲賳丕賯卮鬲賴丕貙 賵丕賱孬丕賳賷丞 丕禺鬲賱丕賯 丕賱賯氐氐 賰賱 賲爻丕亍 賯亘賱 丕賱賳賵賲.
鬲卮鬲鬲 賮賷 丕賱爻乇丿 賵孬睾乇丕鬲 賮賷 丕賱丨亘賰丞 毓賱賶 丕賱乇睾賲 賲賳 兀賳 丕賱賮賰乇丞 賱胤賷賮丞 噩丿丕賸. 賱賷 賱賯丕亍 丌禺乇 賲毓 丕賱賰丕鬲亘 廿賳 卮丕亍 丕賱賱賴.
*鬲賲賾鬲* 10/3/2019
丕賱賯乇丕亍丞 丕賱兀賵賱賶 賱亘賵賱 兀賵爻鬲乇 賵賰丕賳鬲 賳賵毓丕賸 賲丕 睾賷乇 賲賵賮賯丞... 毓噩賵夭 賮賷 丕賱爻亘賷毓賷賳丕鬲 賲賳 毓賲乇賴 賱丿賷賴 賴賵丕賷鬲丕賳 賲賮囟賱鬲丕賳: 丕賱兀賵賱賶 賴賷 賲卮丕賴丿丞 丕賱兀賮賱丕賲 賲毓 丨賮賷丿鬲賴 賵賲賳丕賯卮鬲賴丕貙 賵丕賱孬丕賳賷丞 丕禺鬲賱丕賯 丕賱賯氐氐 賰賱 賲爻丕亍 賯亘賱 丕賱賳賵賲.
鬲卮鬲鬲 賮賷 丕賱爻乇丿 賵孬睾乇丕鬲 賮賷 丕賱丨亘賰丞 毓賱賶 丕賱乇睾賲 賲賳 兀賳 丕賱賮賰乇丞 賱胤賷賮丞 噩丿丕賸. 賱賷 賱賯丕亍 丌禺乇 賲毓 丕賱賰丕鬲亘 廿賳 卮丕亍 丕賱賱賴.
*鬲賲賾鬲* 10/3/2019
August 17, 2022
August Brill sufer膬 at芒t de tare (pentru c膬 a r膬mas v膬duv, pentru c膬 este plin de remu葯c膬ri pentru ce fel de so葲 a fost, pentru c膬 absurdul vie葲ii le-a lovit 葯i pe fiica 葯i nepoata lui, pentru c膬 starea lui e "mai 卯ntunecat膬 dec芒t noaptea obsidian膬" ce 卯l 卯nconjoar膬) 卯nc芒t 卯葯i inventeaz膬 propriul lui (chiar a葯a se exprim膬) r膬zboi civil 葯i propriul uciga葯.
Mi-a pl膬cut ideea unui al doilea r膬zboi civil american, 卯n care statele progresiste 卯ncearc膬 s膬 creeze o societate utopic膬, f膬r膬 arme, cu asigurare medical膬 universal膬 葯i cu profesori cu salarii cvadruple (ca s膬 卯i atrag膬 pe cei mai sclipitori tineri 卯n 卯nv膬葲膬m芒nt). Poate m-a mi葯cat acest r膬zboi inventat (cu ironie) 葯i pentru c膬 am citit cartea 卯n aceast膬 s膬pt膬m芒n膬 de ianuarie 2021 卯n care conspira葲ioni葯tii conservatori au invadat Capitoliul 卯n numele lui Trump 葯i o lume 卯ntreag膬 a 卯ntrez膬rit posibilitatea unui r膬zboi civil american.
Mi-a pl膬cut c膬 un critic literar premiat cu Pullitzer 卯ncepe la 70 de ani s膬 creeze fic葲iune, pe care nu o noteaz膬 nic膬ieri, pentru a-葯i 卯mbl芒nzi insomniile.
Mi-a pl膬cut de c芒nd am deschis cartea s膬 v膬d c膬 acest micro-roman 卯i e dedicat lui David Grossman (葯i familiei lui, care a pierdut un membru, la fel ca familia din roman), unul dintre cei mai dragi scriitori ai mei.
Eu v膬d aceea葯i ironie afectuoas膬 la Auster 葯i la Grossman, chiar dac膬 par at芒t de diferite stilurile lor.
E o carte mult mai pu葲in tenebroas膬 dec芒t Trilogia New York-ului sau 4321, trecerea dintr-o lume 卯n alta e mult mai clar膬. Dar am g膬sit aceea葯i intens膬 scrutare a sufletului 葯i aceea葯i limpezime t膬ioas膬 葯i emo葲ionant膬 卯n descrierea ororilor 葯i luminilor pe care le g膬se葯te 卯n膬untru.
Mi-a pl膬cut ideea unui al doilea r膬zboi civil american, 卯n care statele progresiste 卯ncearc膬 s膬 creeze o societate utopic膬, f膬r膬 arme, cu asigurare medical膬 universal膬 葯i cu profesori cu salarii cvadruple (ca s膬 卯i atrag膬 pe cei mai sclipitori tineri 卯n 卯nv膬葲膬m芒nt). Poate m-a mi葯cat acest r膬zboi inventat (cu ironie) 葯i pentru c膬 am citit cartea 卯n aceast膬 s膬pt膬m芒n膬 de ianuarie 2021 卯n care conspira葲ioni葯tii conservatori au invadat Capitoliul 卯n numele lui Trump 葯i o lume 卯ntreag膬 a 卯ntrez膬rit posibilitatea unui r膬zboi civil american.
Mi-a pl膬cut c膬 un critic literar premiat cu Pullitzer 卯ncepe la 70 de ani s膬 creeze fic葲iune, pe care nu o noteaz膬 nic膬ieri, pentru a-葯i 卯mbl芒nzi insomniile.
Mi-a pl膬cut de c芒nd am deschis cartea s膬 v膬d c膬 acest micro-roman 卯i e dedicat lui David Grossman (葯i familiei lui, care a pierdut un membru, la fel ca familia din roman), unul dintre cei mai dragi scriitori ai mei.
Eu v膬d aceea葯i ironie afectuoas膬 la Auster 葯i la Grossman, chiar dac膬 par at芒t de diferite stilurile lor.
E o carte mult mai pu葲in tenebroas膬 dec芒t Trilogia New York-ului sau 4321, trecerea dintr-o lume 卯n alta e mult mai clar膬. Dar am g膬sit aceea葯i intens膬 scrutare a sufletului 葯i aceea葯i limpezime t膬ioas膬 葯i emo葲ionant膬 卯n descrierea ororilor 葯i luminilor pe care le g膬se葯te 卯n膬untru.
February 22, 2020
Numa casa convivem tr锚s gera莽玫es, tr锚s pessoas a viver diferentes tipos de luto, mas em profundo sofrimento. Na escurid茫o, que 茅 intr铆nseca e extr铆nseca, Brill, de 72 anos, assiste a filmes antigos com a neta, debate-se com ins贸nias e as recorda莽玫es da mulher falecida e escreve uma hist贸ria em que o protagonista parece ter nas m茫os o destino do seu criador. Muito inteligente e bem arquitectado, mas a decis茫o de Paul Auster largar a distopia que decorria em paralelo para dar primazia 脿s reminisc锚ncias e aos fantasmas do passado desiludiu-me um pouco.
鈥淩ose Hawthorne n茫o era grande coisa como poeta, pois n茫o?
(...) Mas h谩 um verso... um grande verso. Creio que 茅 das melhores coisas que alguma vez li.
Que verso 茅? Pergunta ela, virando-se para mim.
'Enquanto o bizarro mundo continua a girar'."
鈥淩ose Hawthorne n茫o era grande coisa como poeta, pois n茫o?
(...) Mas h谩 um verso... um grande verso. Creio que 茅 das melhores coisas que alguma vez li.
Que verso 茅? Pergunta ela, virando-se para mim.
'Enquanto o bizarro mundo continua a girar'."
January 23, 2016
It is weird that when I see Paul Auster鈥檚 works included on the list of best novels of all time according to a magazine site, I have the compelling hunch that they are nifty reads. Also, when I see his images on Google, his physical aura of literary skills , his deep stare at the camera tends to pierce me as if everything stops moving just like the two of us in a motionless world. It is as though staring back at him renders me powerless ,frozen in awe. Thereby, I start having been borne upon the idea that whenever I spot his books heaped on a mountain of books, there is a feeling that the author is a sacred cow to whom every book vulture should pay homage. And me? I am wildly and outrageously glad to jump at them as if I should kowtow to them even if all book vultures milling around the place cringe at my losing sense of decorum. What do they know? They may be in the dark that the books I long to gorge myself on are freshly nutritious. How do I know? They may not know that I have wolfed on one of his works- . ( The title has nothing to do with the title of my blog.) The book gave me the appetite that Auster is a gifted writer. There is something in his style that left a good aftertaste in my mouth then. So, no need to wonder why perhaps I am one of those book vultures who bear that desire to scavenger on his other works.
In his , the first thing I noticed was his light sentence structure- very well-written and prosy. At the same time, the concept of the story is philosophically interesting. I apologize for the spoiler. Timbuktu is a dog who has deeply intimate relationship with a hard-pressed, terminally-ill writer. At the end , I assure that you will find it heart- breaking . Alas, I never got the chance to write my review of it ; at that time , I still was not active on 欧宝娱乐 and was ignorant of blogging. You may find the story common, for you have seen it in movies or TV dramas, but you will be amazed at what I call 鈥� Auster鈥檚 simply brilliant work鈥�. If you have not started reading his other works yet, I believe that Timbuktu is the springboard for discovering his talent. Go for it!
Now I have given a try at his Man in the Dark. I was a little astonished to find out that his writing style in this novel bears complete resemblance to his Timbuktu. I do not have the foggiest idea if his other works do likewise. Here I felt the lightness of his sentence structures, how he must choose the right words, phrases, or sentence structures ditto. So I enjoyed reading the novel without cease, without putting it aside if there were odds and ends I had to futz around first. When I was done with them, I would throw myself into it forgetting the world I was in. No wonder I did finish it all at once given the fact that it only consists of 180 pages.
Concept of the story:
August Brill is a seventy-two-year-old widower. He recovers from a car accident at his daughter鈥檚 house in Vermont. To kill time, he watches films which he criticizes since he is a retired book critic. He does it with his granddaughter who has the same interest. When he cannot sleep, he lies in bed in the dark staring into the ceiling and trying to tell himself stories. At the same time, in doing so, he cannot remember his wife and the heinous murder of his granddaughter鈥檚 boyfriend, Titus.
I may be familiar with the setting that there is 鈥渁 minor story in the story鈥�, but for me, I do not look at that perspective; rather, I find the essence of the story mind-boggling. For instance, what is the relevance to the dystopian settings that the World Trade did not fall apart, that the U.S did not fight with Iran, instead the 2000 election results caused secession, that the state after state pulled away from the union and a bloody civil war broke out? I mused over this essence, on the way to work by bus, during my 10-minute break in school, or even during my processing inside a john. That is why it took me a few days to review it. Unfortunately, I was at my wits鈥� ends. Sorry, folks, I even have my hands full. Maybe you could help me squeeze it out of me. You may claim it not to be a brain surgery at all. ^^ Anyway, I may come to that literary epiphany sometime in the future. For this reason, therefore, Auster injected this enigmatic idea into this story that only he could expound what those ideas in question mean all about. Indeed, he is remarkable. I wish I had attended his launching this book ( Man in the Dark ) if I were American. In a pig鈥檚 eye!
Given that I found 鈥渢he minor story鈥� somewhat bothering, I could not divert my emotional attention from the main character鈥檚 role which may be the crucial part of the story. In that part, I immersed myself , feeling my tears welling up in the cups of my eyes, reminding me of two people whom I deeply love: my mother who already departed the world and my father, a widower too, whom I have been cold with. Likewise, in the end, it is all about life, life, life as famous writer Ethan Hawthorne鈥檚 sister Rose Hawthorne put it, 鈥� As the weird world rolls on.鈥�
Now I have devoured two of Auster鈥檚 books , although I am still assimilating their substance thoroughly, when I visit the heap of books in the mountain, I will not hesitate to scrounge on his other works, notably and . I can鈥檛 wait for them! ^^
In his , the first thing I noticed was his light sentence structure- very well-written and prosy. At the same time, the concept of the story is philosophically interesting. I apologize for the spoiler. Timbuktu is a dog who has deeply intimate relationship with a hard-pressed, terminally-ill writer. At the end , I assure that you will find it heart- breaking . Alas, I never got the chance to write my review of it ; at that time , I still was not active on 欧宝娱乐 and was ignorant of blogging. You may find the story common, for you have seen it in movies or TV dramas, but you will be amazed at what I call 鈥� Auster鈥檚 simply brilliant work鈥�. If you have not started reading his other works yet, I believe that Timbuktu is the springboard for discovering his talent. Go for it!
Now I have given a try at his Man in the Dark. I was a little astonished to find out that his writing style in this novel bears complete resemblance to his Timbuktu. I do not have the foggiest idea if his other works do likewise. Here I felt the lightness of his sentence structures, how he must choose the right words, phrases, or sentence structures ditto. So I enjoyed reading the novel without cease, without putting it aside if there were odds and ends I had to futz around first. When I was done with them, I would throw myself into it forgetting the world I was in. No wonder I did finish it all at once given the fact that it only consists of 180 pages.
Concept of the story:
August Brill is a seventy-two-year-old widower. He recovers from a car accident at his daughter鈥檚 house in Vermont. To kill time, he watches films which he criticizes since he is a retired book critic. He does it with his granddaughter who has the same interest. When he cannot sleep, he lies in bed in the dark staring into the ceiling and trying to tell himself stories. At the same time, in doing so, he cannot remember his wife and the heinous murder of his granddaughter鈥檚 boyfriend, Titus.
I may be familiar with the setting that there is 鈥渁 minor story in the story鈥�, but for me, I do not look at that perspective; rather, I find the essence of the story mind-boggling. For instance, what is the relevance to the dystopian settings that the World Trade did not fall apart, that the U.S did not fight with Iran, instead the 2000 election results caused secession, that the state after state pulled away from the union and a bloody civil war broke out? I mused over this essence, on the way to work by bus, during my 10-minute break in school, or even during my processing inside a john. That is why it took me a few days to review it. Unfortunately, I was at my wits鈥� ends. Sorry, folks, I even have my hands full. Maybe you could help me squeeze it out of me. You may claim it not to be a brain surgery at all. ^^ Anyway, I may come to that literary epiphany sometime in the future. For this reason, therefore, Auster injected this enigmatic idea into this story that only he could expound what those ideas in question mean all about. Indeed, he is remarkable. I wish I had attended his launching this book ( Man in the Dark ) if I were American. In a pig鈥檚 eye!
Given that I found 鈥渢he minor story鈥� somewhat bothering, I could not divert my emotional attention from the main character鈥檚 role which may be the crucial part of the story. In that part, I immersed myself , feeling my tears welling up in the cups of my eyes, reminding me of two people whom I deeply love: my mother who already departed the world and my father, a widower too, whom I have been cold with. Likewise, in the end, it is all about life, life, life as famous writer Ethan Hawthorne鈥檚 sister Rose Hawthorne put it, 鈥� As the weird world rolls on.鈥�
Now I have devoured two of Auster鈥檚 books , although I am still assimilating their substance thoroughly, when I visit the heap of books in the mountain, I will not hesitate to scrounge on his other works, notably and . I can鈥檛 wait for them! ^^
April 17, 2021
A short, but interesting read. The story the narrator tells himself in the dark reminded me of Murakami, though Auster stops where he, I think, would have dissolved the barrier between reality and fiction completely.
August 26, 2024
It is undoubtedly not Auster's best work, but it is worth reading, especially for its construction. August Brill, immobilized following a car accident, lives with his daughter Myriam, who is not recovering from her divorce, as is Katya, who is also drifting after the death of her lover: 3 generations who suffer, who seek meaning for meaning. August, during his sleepless nights, invents stories and creates characters - for the sole purpose of avoiding thinking about Sonia, his late wife. If I liked August, Myriam, and his daughter, I was less fond of the story within the story, even if the allegory is subtly woven against the backdrop of September 11, leaving the readers intrigued.
October 27, 2012
乇噩賱 賮賷 丕賱馗賱丕賲 鬲噩丕賵夭 丕賱爻亘毓賷賳 賵 亘爻丕賯賺 賲賰爻賵乇丞 賵 賷丨鬲賱 丕賱胤丕亘賯 丕賱兀乇囟賷 賵 賮賷 丕賱兀毓賱賶 丕亘賳鬲賴 丕賱兀乇賲賱丞 賵 丨賮賷丿鬲賴 丕賱鬲賷 賮賯丿鬲 賱賱兀亘丿 氐丿賷賯賴丕 賲丐禺乇丕賸 . 賵 賱兀賳賴 賷卮賰賵 丕賱兀乇賯 賷毓賲丿 廿賱賶 爻乇丿 丕賱賰孬賷乇 賲賳 丕賱賯氐氐 賵 丕禺鬲賱丕賯賴丕 賵 亘賴匕賴 丕賱胤乇賷賯丞 賷爻丕毓丿 毓賯丕乇亘 丕賱爻丕毓丞 毓賱賶 丕賱毓賲賱 兀賵 毓賱賶 賵噩賴 丕賱丿賯丞 賷賱賴賵 毓賳 賲乇丕賯亘丞 丕賱賵賯鬲 .
賷賮囟賱 丕賱毓鬲賲丞 毓賱賶 丕賱囟賵亍 丕賱賲夭毓噩 賱毓賷賳賷賴 貙 賮賷 賰賱 丕賱兀丨賵丕賱 匕丕賰乇丞 兀賵睾爻鬲 亘乇賷賱 賲囟丕亍丞 亘丕賱賰丕賲賱 . 賷爻鬲賷賯馗 亘胤賱 亘乇賷賱 賮賷 丨賮乇丞 賱丕 賷賲賰賳賴 丕賱禺乇賵噩 賲賳賴丕 賵 亘毓丿 賱兀賷 賵 賷兀爻 賷禺乇噩賴 兀丨丿賴賲 賮賷噩丿 兀賲乇賷賰丕 鬲禺賵囟 丨乇亘丕賸 賵 賱賰賳賴丕 賴匕賴 丕賱賲乇丞 鬲禺賵囟賴丕 囟丿 兀賲乇賷賰丕 賳賮爻賴丕 . 兀賵睾爻鬲 亘乇賷賱 賳賮爻賴 鬲丨丿賶 丕賱丨乇亘 丕賱毓丕賱賲賷丞 賵 賱賰賳 爻賳賾賴 丕賱氐睾賷乇 丨丕賱 丿賵賳賴丕 賵 賱賲丕 兀乇丕丿 兀賳 賷鬲胤賵毓 丨丕賱 丿賵賳賴 鬲卮禺賷氐 胤亘賷 禺丕胤賷亍 賵 賮賷 夭賲賳 賮賷鬲賳丕賲 賰丕賳 賯丿 鬲噩丕賵夭 丕賵睾爻鬲 丕賱爻賳 丕賱賱丕卅賯丞 賱賱賯鬲丕賱 . 亘胤賱 賯氐丞 丕賵睾爻鬲 亘乇賷賱 毓賱賶 丕賱毓賰爻 賲賳 乇噩賱 丕賱馗賱丕賲 賱賲 賷乇睾亘 賮賷 禺賵囟 丨乇亘 賲賳 兀賷 賳賵毓 賮賴賵 爻丕丨乇 賳丕噩丨 賵 睾賷乇 胤賲賵丨 賷賰賮賷賴 兀賳 鬲亘賯賶 夭賵噩鬲賴 廿賱賶 噩丕賳亘賴 . 賵 賰賱賲丕 丕爻鬲卮乇賶 丕賱兀乇賯 亘兀賵睾爻鬲 丿賮毓 兀賵賷賳 亘乇賷賰 丕賱爻丕丨乇 廿賱賶 賱賵孬丞 丕賱丨乇賵亘 . 兀賵爻鬲乇 爻賷賳賮乇丿 亘兀氐睾乇 鬲賮丕氐賷賱 丕賱丨乇亘 賵 爻賷鬲賳丕賵賱 賲賯鬲賱 爻丕卅賯 賮賷 丕賱丨乇亘 賮賯胤 . 丕賱丨乇亘 賴賳丕 丨乇亘 丕賱毓乇丕賯 賵 賴賳丕賰 鬲賲 賳丨乇 賵 亘鬲爻噩賷賱 賮賷丿賷賵 毓乇囟 毓賱賶 賲賵丕賯毓 丕賱賳鬲 氐丿賷賯 丨賮賷丿丞 兀賵睾爻鬲 賵 爻鬲噩丿 毓夭賷夭賷 丕賱賯丕乇賷亍 賴匕丕 丕賱鬲賯丕胤毓 丕賱賴賳丿爻賷 毓賱賶 胤乇賷賯丞 睾丕賵丿賷 貙 賲賱賮鬲 賱賱賳馗乇 賴匕賴 丕賱胤乇賷賯丞 丕賱鬲賷 賰鬲亘 亘賴丕 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 . 毓亘賯乇賷丞 賲丨囟丞 鬲丨爻亘 賱兀賵爻鬲乇 . 賱丕 賷丿賵乇 賰賱 卮賷亍 丨賵賱 丕賱丨乇亘 貙 爻賵賮 賷賯囟賷 兀賵睾爻鬲 兀賵賯丕鬲丕賸 賲胤賵賱丞 賲毓 丨賮賷丿鬲賴 賮賷 賲卮丕賴丿丞 丕賱兀賮賱丕賲 亘卮賰賱 賷賵賲賷 賲丨丕賵賱丕賸 丕賱鬲禺賮賷賮 毓賳賴丕 賵 賲丕 兀噩賲賱 鬲賱賰 丕賱兀丨丕丿賷孬 丕賱鬲賷 鬲亘丕丿賱丕賴丕 . 爻賷丨賰賷 丕賱賰賴賱 兀賷囟丕賸 賯氐丞 夭賵丕噩賴 毓賱賶 賲爻賲毓賴丕 . 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 噩賲賷賱丞 噩丿丕賸 .
October 24, 2017
"賵丨賷丿丕 賮賷 丕賱馗賱丕賲 兀賯賱亘 賮賷 乇兀爻賷 丕賱毓丕賱賲 賲賳 丨賵賱賷 亘賷賳賲丕 兀睾丕賱亘 賳賵亘丞 兀乇賯 噩丿賷丿丞, 賱賷賱賷丞 亘賷囟丕亍 噩丿賷丿丞 賮賷 丕賱亘乇丕乇賷 丕賱兀賲乇賷賰賷丞 丕賱卮丕爻毓丞"
孬賱丕孬丞 兀卮禺丕氐 賷賲孬賱賵賳 孬賱丕孬丞 兀噩賷丕賱 賲禺鬲賱賮丞, 賷噩賲毓 亘賷賳賴賲 廿賱賶 噩丕賳亘 丕賱毓賱丕賯丞 丕賱兀爻乇賷丞 廿賳鬲賲丕賴賲 賱毓丕賱賲 賲賳 丕賱賵丨丿丞 賵 丕賱廿賳賰爻丕乇. 賱賰兀賳 亘賵賱 兀賵爻鬲賷乇 賷丨丕賵賱 兀賳 賷賯賵賱 賱賳丕 賲賳 禺賱丕賱 賴匕賴 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 : 丨鬲賶 賵 賱賵 賰賳鬲 毓賱賶 亘毓丿 丌賱丕賮 丕賱兀賲賷丕賱 賱丕 亘丿 兀賳 鬲氐賱 廿賱賷賰 丕賱丨乇亘 賵 鬲賯乇毓 亘丕亘 亘賷鬲賰, 賵 丨鬲賶 賵 廿賳 賰賳鬲 賮賷 賵丕賯毓 丌禺乇 賱丕 亘丿 賱賱賵賱丕賷丕鬲 丕賱賲鬲丨丿丞 兀賳 鬲禺賵囟 丨乇亘丕 賵 廿賳 囟丿 賳賮爻賴丕.
丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 毓賲賷賯丞 噩丿丕 賱賰賳 賲丕 兀夭毓噩賳賷 賴賷 丕賱賳賴丕賷丞 丕賱賲賮丕噩卅丞 賱賯氐丞 亘乇賷賱 賴賰匕丕 丿賵賳 賲賯丿賲丞 鬲匕賰乇. 賴賷 賯乇丕亍鬲賷 丕賱兀賵賱賶 賱亘賵賱 兀賵爻鬲乇 賵 賯乇丕亍鬲賷 丕賱兀賵賱賶 賱兀丿亘 兀賲乇賷賰賷 賰鬲亘
丨丿賷孬丕 亘毓賷丿丕 毓賳 乇賵丕賷丕鬲 丕賱廿孬丕乇丞 , 丕賱兀賱睾丕夭 賵 丕賱乇賵賲賳爻賷丞. 鬲噩乇亘丞 賲丕鬲毓丞 亘丨賯 賵 爻兀乇睾亘 亘鬲賰乇丕乇賴丕 賲噩丿丿丕 亘賰賱 鬲兀賰賷丿
August 16, 2012
There are some books which I find seem unpromising but quickly catch you up and sweep you along and this is one of them. An old man, August Brill, newly widowed and bed-ridden owing to a car accident lies unable to sleep as does his daughter, a writer discarded by her husband; and his granddaughter, newly bereaved after the violent death of her ex-boyfriend. In order to pass the bleak, black time of the depths of night he tells himself stories. Stories in which he desperately tries to close his mind off to the encroaching reality of the sadnesses and heartbreaks which echo and re-echo around the house.
The initial long-running story he imagined of a young children's entertainer transported into a parallel universe and given the job of killing the man responsible for creating the story in which there is no twin towers attack and no war with Iraq but instead a full scale civil war between the United States, is bizarre and clever and shocking all at the same time. It reminded me of 'Slaughterhouse 5' in its surreal flight of fancy but here the traveller, unlike Billy Pilgrim, leaps not from world to world but is imprisoned in someone else's imagination. Brill is himself the imaginer of the story and therefore he is imagining the plot of his own assassination. He is desperate to avoid encountering the effects of the War in Iraq for reasons that unfold so he imagines it never happened, he is desperate to avoid the pain of his loneliness and the loneliness of those he loves so he imagines his own death and escape from that pain even only if through a story.
Gradually through a long night's conversation with his granddaughter, they both begin to come to terms with the pain and responsibilty in-built into life and its decisions. It is an incredibly moving reflection on love and the implications inherent in the fact that once love has been acknowledged and 'owned' it becomes unstoppable and immeasurable in the sense that it is bestowed unguardedly not counted out in the fashion of misers. It speaks of missed opportunities and squandered chances and the wonder of new life fighting its way through any amount of crap to spear the frozen surface of an icy heart.
The power of imagination is celebrated for good or ill. Katya, the young mourner, watches film after film after film and analyses and rejoices in their ingenuity; she celebrates the ability of the inanimate object to speak long and loud about the emotions of the filmaker and it is only towards the end of the long conversation she has with her grandad that we are confronted as with a brick wall the reaon for this seeming obsession.. August uses his imagination to escape reality but in the end all comes full circle and he sees that reality needs to be faced, truths need to be told and genuine responsibilty needs to be accepted. In this way, and only in this way, " can the weird world roll on".
Re-reading I realize that as is so often the case I have not done the book justice but thats why i am a part time reviewer and Auster the writer he is. Nevertheless this is a really beautiful book, very powerful and well worth the time and effort. I leave the last word to Auster.
"Books force you to give something back to them, to exercise your intelligence and imagination"
The initial long-running story he imagined of a young children's entertainer transported into a parallel universe and given the job of killing the man responsible for creating the story in which there is no twin towers attack and no war with Iraq but instead a full scale civil war between the United States, is bizarre and clever and shocking all at the same time. It reminded me of 'Slaughterhouse 5' in its surreal flight of fancy but here the traveller, unlike Billy Pilgrim, leaps not from world to world but is imprisoned in someone else's imagination. Brill is himself the imaginer of the story and therefore he is imagining the plot of his own assassination. He is desperate to avoid encountering the effects of the War in Iraq for reasons that unfold so he imagines it never happened, he is desperate to avoid the pain of his loneliness and the loneliness of those he loves so he imagines his own death and escape from that pain even only if through a story.
Gradually through a long night's conversation with his granddaughter, they both begin to come to terms with the pain and responsibilty in-built into life and its decisions. It is an incredibly moving reflection on love and the implications inherent in the fact that once love has been acknowledged and 'owned' it becomes unstoppable and immeasurable in the sense that it is bestowed unguardedly not counted out in the fashion of misers. It speaks of missed opportunities and squandered chances and the wonder of new life fighting its way through any amount of crap to spear the frozen surface of an icy heart.
The power of imagination is celebrated for good or ill. Katya, the young mourner, watches film after film after film and analyses and rejoices in their ingenuity; she celebrates the ability of the inanimate object to speak long and loud about the emotions of the filmaker and it is only towards the end of the long conversation she has with her grandad that we are confronted as with a brick wall the reaon for this seeming obsession.. August uses his imagination to escape reality but in the end all comes full circle and he sees that reality needs to be faced, truths need to be told and genuine responsibilty needs to be accepted. In this way, and only in this way, " can the weird world roll on".
Re-reading I realize that as is so often the case I have not done the book justice but thats why i am a part time reviewer and Auster the writer he is. Nevertheless this is a really beautiful book, very powerful and well worth the time and effort. I leave the last word to Auster.
"Books force you to give something back to them, to exercise your intelligence and imagination"
October 22, 2018
Paul Auster (n. 1947) pelo ilustrador portugu锚s Andr茅 Carrilho
鈥滺omem na Escurid茫o鈥� (2008) 茅 o d茅cimo segundo livro que li do escritor norte-americano Paul Auster (n. 1947).
Com setenta e dois anos de idade August Brill, um cr铆tico liter谩rio reformado, est谩 a viver nos arredores de Brattleboro, Vermont na casa da sua filha 煤nica Miriam, com quarenta e sete anos e com a sua neta Katya, de vinte e tr锚s anos, uma obsessiva cin茅fila, que abandonou a escola de cinema em Nova Yorque, em consequ锚ncia de um acontecimento tr谩gico; a sua mulher, Sonia, morreu de cancro.
August Brill est谩 sozinho na escurid茫o com mais uma ins贸nia. H谩 mais de um ano a tentar recuperar de um acidente de via莽茫o, perscruta o negro das noites, conta hist贸rias a si pr贸prio e v锚 e rev锚 com Katya: 鈥滱 Grande Ilus茫o鈥�, 鈥滾adr玫es de Bicicletas鈥� e 鈥漁 Mundo de Apu鈥�.
Na(s) sua(s) hist贸ria(s) ou no seu livro, August Brill, conta que Owen Brick est谩 num buraco cil铆ndrico e n茫o sabe como foi l谩 parar. Para sua grande surpresa enverga um uniforme militar. Nesta Am茅rica as Torres G茅meas n茫o ca铆ram, mas as elei莽玫es presidenciais de 2000 conduziram a uma guerra de secess茫o, com os estados a abandonar a uni茫o.
August Brill 茅 assombrado por pensamentos dram谩ticos.
Paul Auster constr贸i o romance em v谩rios n铆veis narrativos conjugando as influ锚ncias liter谩rias e as influ锚ncias cinematogr谩ficas, com uma obsess茫o 鈥� a guerra. Apesar de o conflito poder ser imagin谩rio, a desintegra莽茫o do territ贸rio americano revela uma inquietude efectiva e realista.
鈥滺omem na Escurid茫o鈥� 茅 um romance engenhoso na constru莽茫o 鈥� um livro dentro de um livro -, uma obra de mem贸rias dolorosas, numa narrativa inteligente e original, uma excelente medita莽茫o sobre a diferen莽a entre as hist贸rias que queremos contar e as hist贸rias que acabamos contando, com personagens impregnadas de tristeza e de dor.
鈥滺omem na Escurid茫o鈥� 茅 igualmente um somat贸rio de diversas hist贸rias que se entrela莽am; o arrependimento e a culpabilidade surgem do confronto entre a perda e o remorso. A ansiedade das personagens deriva n茫o s贸 da sua solid茫o mas tamb茅m dos equ铆vocos dos seus actos.
鈥滾uz radiosa, depois escurid茫o. O sol que se derrama de todos os cantos do c茅u, seguido pela escurid茫o da noite, as estrelas silenciosas, o vento que se agita nos ramos. Tal 茅 a rotina.鈥� (P谩g. 7) 鈥� este par谩grafo 茅 apenas um exemplo da mestria e do controlo da escrita e da narrativa que tanto me tem atra铆do nos romances de Paul Auster.
Paul Auster 茅 um escritor imprescind铆vel.
Read
June 13, 2017What it Means to be Too Professional, Too Fluent
There is something primitive about Paul Auster. This primitiveness is lodged exactly where it should not be, in the fluency and ease of his storytelling. As reviewers always say, he is an inexhaustible source of stories, and in this book the stories never stop: there鈥檚 never any danger of slowing down; that is fitting because somehow slowing down feels like treacherous thing to do. What would happen if one story failed to succeed the last in a seamless sequence? Why should that seem like a problem? It feels that way, I think, because despite Auster鈥檚 themes鈥攖he book is about a widowed older man, his daughter who was abandoned by her husband, and the daughter鈥檚 daughter whose boyfriend died in Iraq鈥攖his is a book in which stories are used as distractions to avoid thinking more deeply. Auster is absolutely accomplished as a storyteller, and that theme (using stories to distract yourself) is built into the book. The principal character invents some stories of his own, to help him not to think about his family. That much Auster knows, and controls. He even has his principal character kill off the protagonist of his own invented story. But at another level, Auster doesn鈥檛 seem aware that all the stories in his book, and not just the ones invented by his narrator, serve the function of avoiding real introspection, real difficulty. As evidence of that I take the quality that binds all the stories in this novel together: the stories all run with a predictable, uninterrupted fluency. They are like driving by the scene of an accident: you slow up a little, but not enough to get involved. The story that the narrator invents in order not to think about his own past is itself as threadbare as they come (a post-apocalyptic fantasy, along the lines of any number of TV fantasy movies), but that doesn鈥檛 seem to bother either the narrator (who is supposedly a literary critic, and should really show some embarrassment at his own story), or the novelist (who is actually a prolific writer, and could easily have added a subtle sign that he didn鈥檛 find his narrator鈥檚 invented stories as entrancing as his narrator does).
That is what I mean by 鈥減rimitive鈥�: the architecture of the postmodern novel is there, and there鈥檚 a clarity of structure and pacing that few novelists can match, but Auster seems relentlessly to misunderstand the function of narrative: it cannot only be a balm or distraction. Narrative has to break down or get itself in trouble, or falter, or question itself鈥攏ot just the way a character might question the truth of a narrative, or its appropriateness, or its usefulness in distracting him鈥攂ut the way a character might fail just telling a story, fail in the telling and not just in deciding whether to tell, the way this sentence is failing because I can鈥檛 quite get my thought about it right.
There are a few moments in Man in the Dark when the flow of stories stop, but they are stage-managed to create a little shocks, or streams of tears: and that, too, is a kind of evasion, an easier sort of crisis, something not at all genuinely persistently moving. The surprise ending of the entire book is one such moment.
Spoiler alert: I鈥檓 about to say what that surprise is. But note: books that can actually be spoiled by giving away their endings are trivial sorts of books like murder mysteries and detective stories. This book presents itself as literary fiction, and there probably shouldn鈥檛 be a spoiler in it. In this book the surprise is that the grand-daughter鈥檚 boyfriend was kidnapped in Iraq, and the family has seen his gruesome execution video on the internet.
When I read that I groaned. Isn鈥檛 ordinary human suffering enough to create empathy and significance? Is it really necessary to tack on something spectacular, something topical and political, something garish and horrible? Doesn鈥檛 that sort of ornament just distract from what really counts鈥攚hich is, in this case, that a person has died? The surprise ending is tremendously irritating, not for its politics, but because it functions just the way an elaborate murder does in Agatha Christie: it helps us not to think about what we are actually witnessing, a death. Readers of murder mysteries expect that kind of superficiality. Here, where there are literary ambitions, and where many pages are devoted to people鈥檚 feelings and thoughts, it is not just annoying: it is bewildering that a novelist could think such a surprise is sufficient, justified, necessary, sensible, or even expressive.
There is something primitive about Paul Auster. This primitiveness is lodged exactly where it should not be, in the fluency and ease of his storytelling. As reviewers always say, he is an inexhaustible source of stories, and in this book the stories never stop: there鈥檚 never any danger of slowing down; that is fitting because somehow slowing down feels like treacherous thing to do. What would happen if one story failed to succeed the last in a seamless sequence? Why should that seem like a problem? It feels that way, I think, because despite Auster鈥檚 themes鈥攖he book is about a widowed older man, his daughter who was abandoned by her husband, and the daughter鈥檚 daughter whose boyfriend died in Iraq鈥攖his is a book in which stories are used as distractions to avoid thinking more deeply. Auster is absolutely accomplished as a storyteller, and that theme (using stories to distract yourself) is built into the book. The principal character invents some stories of his own, to help him not to think about his family. That much Auster knows, and controls. He even has his principal character kill off the protagonist of his own invented story. But at another level, Auster doesn鈥檛 seem aware that all the stories in his book, and not just the ones invented by his narrator, serve the function of avoiding real introspection, real difficulty. As evidence of that I take the quality that binds all the stories in this novel together: the stories all run with a predictable, uninterrupted fluency. They are like driving by the scene of an accident: you slow up a little, but not enough to get involved. The story that the narrator invents in order not to think about his own past is itself as threadbare as they come (a post-apocalyptic fantasy, along the lines of any number of TV fantasy movies), but that doesn鈥檛 seem to bother either the narrator (who is supposedly a literary critic, and should really show some embarrassment at his own story), or the novelist (who is actually a prolific writer, and could easily have added a subtle sign that he didn鈥檛 find his narrator鈥檚 invented stories as entrancing as his narrator does).
That is what I mean by 鈥減rimitive鈥�: the architecture of the postmodern novel is there, and there鈥檚 a clarity of structure and pacing that few novelists can match, but Auster seems relentlessly to misunderstand the function of narrative: it cannot only be a balm or distraction. Narrative has to break down or get itself in trouble, or falter, or question itself鈥攏ot just the way a character might question the truth of a narrative, or its appropriateness, or its usefulness in distracting him鈥攂ut the way a character might fail just telling a story, fail in the telling and not just in deciding whether to tell, the way this sentence is failing because I can鈥檛 quite get my thought about it right.
There are a few moments in Man in the Dark when the flow of stories stop, but they are stage-managed to create a little shocks, or streams of tears: and that, too, is a kind of evasion, an easier sort of crisis, something not at all genuinely persistently moving. The surprise ending of the entire book is one such moment.
Spoiler alert: I鈥檓 about to say what that surprise is. But note: books that can actually be spoiled by giving away their endings are trivial sorts of books like murder mysteries and detective stories. This book presents itself as literary fiction, and there probably shouldn鈥檛 be a spoiler in it. In this book the surprise is that the grand-daughter鈥檚 boyfriend was kidnapped in Iraq, and the family has seen his gruesome execution video on the internet.
When I read that I groaned. Isn鈥檛 ordinary human suffering enough to create empathy and significance? Is it really necessary to tack on something spectacular, something topical and political, something garish and horrible? Doesn鈥檛 that sort of ornament just distract from what really counts鈥攚hich is, in this case, that a person has died? The surprise ending is tremendously irritating, not for its politics, but because it functions just the way an elaborate murder does in Agatha Christie: it helps us not to think about what we are actually witnessing, a death. Readers of murder mysteries expect that kind of superficiality. Here, where there are literary ambitions, and where many pages are devoted to people鈥檚 feelings and thoughts, it is not just annoying: it is bewildering that a novelist could think such a surprise is sufficient, justified, necessary, sensible, or even expressive.
May 19, 2024
I love Paul Auster. His recent death gave me the excuse I didn't need to dig out all the books I've read and realise there were gaps in my library - worse, there were gaps in my reading of his work. So I bought Man in the Dark and Travels in the Scriptorium to complete the set.
Man in the Dark is typical of Auster's atypical work. It is beautifully written, doesn't really go anywhere fast and it's the sort of book you can read again and again and find something new.
I'm not academically minded and I read a book for the story. Man in the Dark gives us several. First there is the man - August Brill - getting on a bit, confined to a wheelchair after a crash, a bit of an insomniac and living with his daughter and granddaughter. He's lying in bed making up stories to pass the night.
Then there's Brick who is Brill's protagonist. Brick has been ripped from his America and dropped into another where he must find Brill and kill him because only by killing Brill can Brick go back to his own life.
And then we have Brill's history, told to his granddaughter as they both try to get through the night.
For a short book (only 180 pages) Auster packs a lot in but it never feels crowded.
I repeat, I love Paul Auster.
Man in the Dark is typical of Auster's atypical work. It is beautifully written, doesn't really go anywhere fast and it's the sort of book you can read again and again and find something new.
I'm not academically minded and I read a book for the story. Man in the Dark gives us several. First there is the man - August Brill - getting on a bit, confined to a wheelchair after a crash, a bit of an insomniac and living with his daughter and granddaughter. He's lying in bed making up stories to pass the night.
Then there's Brick who is Brill's protagonist. Brick has been ripped from his America and dropped into another where he must find Brill and kill him because only by killing Brill can Brick go back to his own life.
And then we have Brill's history, told to his granddaughter as they both try to get through the night.
For a short book (only 180 pages) Auster packs a lot in but it never feels crowded.
I repeat, I love Paul Auster.
September 14, 2021
賱丕 賯氐丞 賳乇賵賷賴丕 - 賲賴賲丕 賰丕賳鬲 禺賷丕賱賷丞 賵睾賷乇 賵丕賯毓賷丞 - 賲賳賯胤毓丞 毓賳 匕賵丕鬲賳丕 賵鬲丕乇賷禺賳丕 丕賱卮禺氐賷 貙 賮乇賵丕賷丞 賯氐丞 賴賷 兀卮亘賴 亘丕賱爻賷乇 毓丕乇賷丕 賵爻胤 丕賱賳丕爻
鬲毓鬲賯丿 賮賷 丕賱亘丿丕賷丞 丕賳賴丕 乇賵丕賷丞 毓賳 丕賱丨乇亘 貙 乇孬丕亍 兀禺乇 賱賱丨丕賱丞 丕賱廿賳爻丕賳賷丞貙 丿賵爻鬲賵亘賷丕 賲丨鬲賲賱丞 貙 賱賰賳 賮噩丕丞 鬲兀禺匕賰 丕賱賶 賵噩賴 丕禺乇 貙 丕賰孬乇 匕丕鬲賷丞 貙 賷丨賲賱 丕賱爻亘亘 賵丕賱賳鬲賷噩丞 - 丕賳 賰丕賳 賮賷 丕賱丕氐賱 賴賳丕賰 乇丕亘胤 亘賷賳賴賲丕 !- 鬲噩丿 賳賮爻賰 丕賲丕賲 賯氐鬲賷賳 貙 賵丕丨丿丞 丨丿孬鬲 亘丕賱賮毓賱 賵丕禺乇賶 禺賷丕賱賷丞 賵 賲禺鬲賱賯丞 貙 賵賱賰賳 賮賷 賱丨馗丞 鬲噩丿 丕賳賴賲丕 賳賮爻 丕賱賯氐丞 貙 賰兀氐賱 賵丕賳毓賰丕爻 賮賷 丕賱賲乇丌丞
亘賵賱 丕賵爻鬲乇 賷禺胤賵 乇賵賷丿丕 賱鬲賱賰 丕賱賲爻丕丨丞 丕賱氐睾賷乇丞 賮賷 賯賱亘賷 賱賱賰鬲丕亘 丕賱賲賮囟賱賷賳
鬲毓鬲賯丿 賮賷 丕賱亘丿丕賷丞 丕賳賴丕 乇賵丕賷丞 毓賳 丕賱丨乇亘 貙 乇孬丕亍 兀禺乇 賱賱丨丕賱丞 丕賱廿賳爻丕賳賷丞貙 丿賵爻鬲賵亘賷丕 賲丨鬲賲賱丞 貙 賱賰賳 賮噩丕丞 鬲兀禺匕賰 丕賱賶 賵噩賴 丕禺乇 貙 丕賰孬乇 匕丕鬲賷丞 貙 賷丨賲賱 丕賱爻亘亘 賵丕賱賳鬲賷噩丞 - 丕賳 賰丕賳 賮賷 丕賱丕氐賱 賴賳丕賰 乇丕亘胤 亘賷賳賴賲丕 !- 鬲噩丿 賳賮爻賰 丕賲丕賲 賯氐鬲賷賳 貙 賵丕丨丿丞 丨丿孬鬲 亘丕賱賮毓賱 賵丕禺乇賶 禺賷丕賱賷丞 賵 賲禺鬲賱賯丞 貙 賵賱賰賳 賮賷 賱丨馗丞 鬲噩丿 丕賳賴賲丕 賳賮爻 丕賱賯氐丞 貙 賰兀氐賱 賵丕賳毓賰丕爻 賮賷 丕賱賲乇丌丞
亘賵賱 丕賵爻鬲乇 賷禺胤賵 乇賵賷丿丕 賱鬲賱賰 丕賱賲爻丕丨丞 丕賱氐睾賷乇丞 賮賷 賯賱亘賷 賱賱賰鬲丕亘 丕賱賲賮囟賱賷賳
October 30, 2020
丕購爻鬲乇 丿乇丿 毓噩蹖亘蹖 乇丕 乇賵丕蹖鬲 讴乇丿貨 亘蹖鈥屬囒屭� 丌睾卮鬲賴鈥屭� 亘賴 賮賱爻賮賴_
賴賳乇 丕賵 賴賲蹖賳 丕爻鬲: 禺賵丿賽 乇賵丕蹖鬲
July 12, 2015
乇噩賱 賮賷 丕賱馗賱丕賲
亘賭賭賵賱 兀賵爻鬲賭乇
賴賳丕 爻鬲鬲爻丕亍賱 賰孬賷乇丕 毓賳 兀賷 馗賱丕賲 賷鬲丨丿孬 賴匕丕 丕賱亘賵賱 兀賵爻鬲乇貙 賴賱 賷鬲丨丿孬 毓賳 貨
馗賱丕賲 丕賱賵丨丿丞貙 馗賱丕賲 丕賱丨乇亘貙 馗賱丕賲 丕賱賯丿乇 丕賱匕賷 賷爻賵賯賳丕 丿賵賳 賯丿乇丞 賲賳丕 毓賱賶 丕賱鬲睾賷賷乇 兀賲 馗賱丕賲 禺胤丕賷丕賳丕 丕賱氐睾賷乇丞 丕賱賯丕亘毓丞 賮賷 兀噩夭丕亍 賲賳 匕丕賰乇鬲賳丕 賵丕賱鬲賷 鬲賯囟 賲囟丕噩毓賳丕 丿賵賲丕
馗賱丕賲 丕賱賵丨丿丞
鈽锯樉鈽锯樉鈽锯樉鈽锯樉鈽锯樉
賷鬲丨丿孬 兀賵爻鬲乇 毓賳 馗賱丕賲 丕賱賵丨丿丞 賵丕賱兀乇賯 丕賱匕賷 賯丿 賷睾夭賵賳丕 賮賷 兀賷 賵賯鬲 賱賷丨賷賱 丨賷賵丕鬲賳丕 廿賱賶 噩丨賷賲 丨賯賷賯賷 賲賳 禺賱丕賱 丕賱卮禺氐賷丞 丕賱乇卅賷爻賷丞 (兀賵睾爻鬲 亘乇賷賱) 賵丕賱匕賷 賷鬲卮丕睾賱 毓賳 賴匕丕 丕賱兀賲乇 亘鬲兀賱賷賮 賯氐氐 禺賷丕賱賷丞 賱賷鬲爻賱賶 亘賴丕 賱丕 賱賷賰鬲亘賴丕 賮賷 丕賱氐亘丕丨 毓賳丿賲丕 賷亘丿兀 丕賱毓氐賮賵乇 丕賱賲噩丕賵乇 賱賳丕賮匕鬲賴 兀賵賱賶 爻賯爻賯丕鬲賴 亘乇睾賲 毓賲賱賴 賰丕鬲亘丕
馗賱丕賲 丕賱丨乇亘
鈽锯樉鈽锯樉鈽锯樉鈽锯樉鈽锯樉鈽�
賷噩爻丿 兀賵爻鬲乇 馗賱丕賲 丕賱賵丨卮 丕賱賮馗賷毓 丕賱匕賷 丕禺鬲乇毓鬲賴 丕賱亘卮乇賷丞 - 丕賱丨乇亘 - 賲賳 禺賱丕賱 毓丿丞 卮禺氐賷丕鬲 賮賷 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞貨 卮禺氐賷丕鬲 丕賱賲爻鬲賵賶 丕賱鬲禺賷賱賷(爻賷乇噩 鬲賵亘丕賰 賵賱賵賵 賮乇賷爻賰 賵賮乇噩賷賳賷丕 亘賱丕賷賳 賵丕賱賳丕丿賱丞 賲賵賱賷 賵賵賱丿) 廿匕 賷毓乇囟 賱賳丕 兀賵爻鬲乇 賲賳 禺賱丕賱 賴匕賴 丕賱卮禺氐賷丕鬲 賵噩賵賴 賲鬲毓丿丿丞 賲賲丕 鬲賮毓賱賴 丕賱丨乇亘 賮賷 毓丿丿 賲賳 噩賵丕賳亘 丕賱丨賷丕丞 賵兀賴賲賴丕 睾乇賷夭丞 丕賱亘賯丕亍 賵賲丕 鬲賮毓賱賴 賲賳 鬲兀孬賷乇 賮賷 丕賱爻賱賵賰 丕賱廿賳爻丕賳賷 賮賷 賴匕賴 丕賱馗乇賵賮
兀賲丕 毓賳 卮禺氐賷丞 丕賱賲爻鬲賵賶 丕賱賵丕賯毓賷貙 賮賷賯丿賲 賱賳丕 兀賵爻鬲乇 亘卮丕毓丞 丕賱丨乇亘 賲賳 禺賱丕賱 卮禺氐賷丞 賵丨賷丿丞 賵賴賷 卮禺氐賷丞(鬲丕賷鬲賵爻 - 氐丿賷賯 丨賮賷丿丞 丕賱卮禺氐賷丞 丕賱乇卅賷爻賷丞 兀賵睾爻鬲 亘乇賷賱) 丕賱匕賷 賷匕賴亘 廿賱賶 丕賱毓乇丕賯 賰爻丕卅賯 卮丕丨賳丞 賱丿賶 卮乇賰丞 廿賲丿丕丿丕鬲 賱賵噩爻鬲賷丞 賱賱噩賳賵丿 賱賲丿丞 毓丕賲 賲賯丕亘賱 賲丕卅丞 兀賱賮 丿賵賱丕乇 賱丕 賷毓賵丿 賱賷賯亘囟賴丕 賱兀賳賴 賳購丨乇 賮賷 丕賱毓乇丕賯 毓賱賶 兀賷丿賷 廿丨丿賶 丕賱噩賲丕毓丕鬲 賮賷 賲卮賴丿 賷噩爻丿賴 兀賵爻鬲乇 亘丨乇賮賷丞 毓丕賱賷丞 鬲卮毓乇 禺賱丕賱賴丕 兀賳賰 鬲乇賷丿 丕賱鬲賯賷丐 賱賲丿賶 亘卮丕毓丞 爻賱賵賰 丕賱噩賳爻 丕賱廿賳爻丕賳賷貙 賱賰賳賴 賷賯賵賱 亘乇睾賲 匕賱賰貨
馗賱丕賲 丕賱賯丿乇 丕賱賲丨賰賵賲賵賳 賱賴 亘丕賱囟乇賵乇丞
鈽锯樉鈽锯樉鈽锯樉鈽锯樉鈽锯樉鈽锯樉鈽锯樉鈽锯樉鈽锯樉鈽锯樉鈽锯樉
賴賳丕 賷鬲氐乇賮 兀賵爻鬲乇 亘亘乇丕毓丞 賵亘噩賳賵賳賴 丕賱賲毓鬲丕丿 賮賷 賰賱 乇賵丕賷丕鬲賴 賵賷賳賯賱賰 廿賱賶 匕乇賵丞 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 亘亘爻丕胤丞 賵丕賳爻賷丕亘賷丞 賮匕丞 賯賱賲丕 兀噩丿賴丕 賱丿賶 賲賳 兀丨亘賴賲 賲賳 丕賱賰購鬲賾丕亘貙 賷鬲氐乇賮 賴賰匕丕 賲賳 禺賱丕賱 丕賱卮禺氐賷丞 丕賱賲鬲禺賷賱丞(兀賵賷賳 亘乇賷賰) 賵賴賷 丕賱卮禺氐賷丞 丕賱鬲賷 丕禺鬲乇毓賴丕 亘胤賱 兀賵爻鬲乇 丕賱乇卅賷爻賷 (兀賵睾爻鬲 亘乇賷賱). 賷亘賷賳 賱賳丕 兀賵爻鬲乇 賰賷賮 兀賳 丕賱賯丿乇 賷乇睾賲賳丕 毓賱賶 丕賱爻賷乇 賮賷 賲爻丕乇丕鬲 賲毓丿丞 賱賳丕 賲爻亘賯丕 賱丕 賳爻鬲胤賷毓 兀賳 賳丨賷丿 毓賳賴丕 亘丕賱乇睾賲 賲賳 馗賳賳丕 兀賳賳丕 賳賲賱賰 丕賱禺賷丕乇 賵賯丿 賳賯丿賲 毓賱賶 賮毓賱 賷睾賷乇 賲爻丕乇賳丕. 賴賳丕 賷丨丕賵賱 (亘乇賷賰) 兀賳 賷睾賷乇 丕賱賯丿乇 丕賱匕賷 丕禺鬲乇毓賴 (兀賵睾爻鬲) 賵賷賳賴賷 丕賱丨乇亘 賱賰賳賴 賱丕 賷爻鬲胤爻毓 亘亘爻丕胤丞 賱兀賳 (兀賵睾爻鬲) 賯乇乇 丕賱鬲禺賱氐 賲賳 (亘乇賷賰) 賯亘賱 兀賳 賷爻鬲胤賷毓 丕賱廿賯丿丕賲 毓賱賶 兀賷 賮毓賱
馗賱丕賲 禺胤丕賷丕賳丕 丕賱氐睾賷乇丞
鈽锯樉鈽锯樉鈽锯樉鈽锯樉鈽锯樉鈽锯樉鈽锯樉鈽�
賱賰賱 賲賳丕 禺胤丕賷丕 氐睾賷乇丞 賯丕亘毓丞 賮賷 兀毓賲賯 丨噩乇丞 賲賳 丨噩乇丕鬲 匕丕賰乇丕鬲賳丕 賱賰賳賴丕 丿賵賲丕 賲丕 鬲禺乇噩 廿賱賷賳丕 賮賷 賵賯鬲 丕賱兀乇賯 賵丕賱毓夭賱丞 賱鬲爻賲丨 賱賳丕 兀賳 賳賯囟賷 兀賵賯丕鬲 丕賱毓鬲賲丞 賵賳丨賳 賳噩賱丿 丕賱匕丕鬲 賵賳鬲匕賰乇 兀賳賳丕 賱爻賳丕 丕賱兀賳丕爻 丕賱胤賷亘賷賳 丕賱匕賷賳 賳丿毓賷 兀賳賳丕 賴賲. 賴匕丕 賲丕 賷馗賴乇賴 兀賵爻鬲乇 賲賳 禺賱丕賱 丕賱卮禺氐賷丞 丕賱乇卅賷爻賷丞 (兀賵睾爻鬲 亘乇賷賱) 賵丨賮賷丿鬲賴(賰丕鬲賷丕)貙 丕賱賱匕丕賳 賷賯囟賷丕 賱賷賱賴賲丕 賷鬲匕賰乇丕賳 賰賷賮 禺匕賱丕 賲賳 賷丨亘丕賳 丿賵賳 兀丿賳賶 賲賯丿丕乇 賲賳 賲爻丕賲丨丞 丕賱匕丕鬲
丕賱爻賷卅賵賳 賷毓乇賮賵賳 兀賳賮爻賴賲 毓賱賶 兀賳賴賲 胤賷亘賵賳貙賱賰賳 丕賱胤賷亘賷賳 賱丕 賷毓乇賮賵賳 卮賷卅丕. 廿賳賴賲 賷賯囟賵賳 丨賷丕鬲賴賲 賵 賴賲 賷睾賮乇賵賳 賱賱丌禺乇賷賳貙 賱賰賳賴賲 賱丕 賷爻鬲胤賷毓賵賳 兀賳 賷睾賮乇賵丕 賱兀賳賮爻賴賲
亘賵賱 兀賵爻鬲乇
丕賱丌賳 賱賳鬲賰賱賲 賯賱賷賱丕 毓賳 兀爻賱賵亘 兀賵爻鬲乇
亘胤亘毓賷 兀丨亘 丕賱乇賵丕賷丕鬲 丕賱鬲賷 鬲鬲亘毓 賴匕丕 丕賱賲賳丨賶 賮賷 兀丨丿丕孬賴丕
兀賷 兀賳賴丕 鬲亘丿丕 賮賷 丕賱丕丨丿丕孬 賲賳 賳賯胤丞 丕賱氐賮乇 孬賲 鬲氐毓丿 亘賰 鬲丿乇賷噩賷丕 廿賱賶 賳賯胤丞 丕賱匕乇賵丞 丨賷孬 鬲鬲卮丕亘賰 丕賱兀丨丿丕孬 賵賷氐賱 亘賰 丕賱鬲卮賵賷賯 丨丿賴 孬賲 賷賴亘胤 亘賰 鬲丿乇賷噩賷丕 賵亘乇賮賯 廿賱賶 丕賱賳賴丕賷丞 賮鬲賰賵賳 乇丕囟賷丕 賯丕賳毓丕 亘爻賷乇賰 賲毓 賴匕丕 丕賱賰丕鬲亘
亘丕賱賳爻亘丞 賱兀賵爻鬲乇 賮廿賳賴 賵亘丕賱乇睾賲 賲賳 兀賳賴 兀丨丿 賰鬲丕亘賷 丕賱賲賮囟賱賷賳 廿賱丕 兀賳賴 賱丕 賷鬲亘毓 賴匕丕 丕賱兀爻賱賵亘 兀亘丿丕貙 賮兀爻賱賵亘賴 賷卮亘賴 賴匕丕 丕賱賲賳丨賶
賮賴賵 睾丕賱亘丕 賲丕賷亘乇毓 賮賷 亘丿丕賷丕鬲賴 賵賷賵氐賱賰 亘賰賱 乇賵毓丞 廿賱賶 賳賯胤丞 丕賱鬲兀夭賲 賮賷 兀丨丿丕孬賴 賵禺賱丕賱 賲丕兀賳鬲 鬲毓賷卮 賴匕賴 丕賱匕乇賵丞 賮賷 賯賲丞 丕賱丕爻鬲賲鬲丕毓 賷噩毓賱賰 鬲賴賵賷 賮噩兀丞 賵賷賳丨丿乇 丕賳丨丿丕乇丕 丨鬲賶 賷氐賱 廿賱賶 賳賴丕賷鬲賴 丕賱鬲賷 睾丕賱亘丕 賲丕 鬲兀鬲賷 賲亘鬲賵乇丞. 賱丕 兀丿乇賷 賱賽賲賻 賴匕丕 丕賱賳賴乇 丕賱噩丕乇賮 丕賱匕賷 賮賷 毓賯賱 兀賵爻鬲乇 賷丨賷丿 毓賳 賲爻丕乇賴 亘毓丿 賲賳鬲氐賮 丕賱賯氐丞 亘丕賱囟亘胤
賴匕丕 賲丕 賵丕噩賴鬲賴 毓賱賶 丕賱兀賯賱 賴賳丕 賵賮賷 賱賷賱丞 丕賱鬲賳亘丐
亘乇睾賲 賲丕爻亘賯 賮賴賷 乇賵丕賷丞 賲賲賷夭丞 賱賷爻鬲 賰丕賱乇賵丕賷丕鬲 丕賱賲毓鬲丕丿丞 賵賷亘賯賶 賱兀賵爻鬲乇 兀爻賱賵亘賴 賮賷 丕賱賯氐 丕賱賲賲鬲毓 賵賯囟丕賷丕賴 丕賱鬲賷 賱丕 賷鬲賵丕賳賶 毓賳 匕賰乇賴丕 賮賷 噩賲賷毓 乇賵丕賷丕鬲賴
鬲賳賵賷赖
鈽犫槧鈽犫槧鈽�
賴匕賴 賯乇丕亍鬲賷 賵乇丐賷鬲賷 兀賳丕 丕賱禺丕氐丞 賱賱乇賵丕賷丞 .. 賯丿 賱丕 鬲噩丿 鬲卮丕亘賴丕 亘賷賳 賯乇丕亍鬲賷 賵丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 .. 賱丕 鬲賯乇兀 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 亘賳丕亍 毓賱賶 賲乇丕噩毓鬲賷
2015貙 12 賷賵賱賷賵
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