Although Paul Auster has written 18 novels, non-fiction and screenplays, I was completely unfamiliar with his work. He’s won more than 20 awards, none major, at least to my knowledge. I just finished his ninth novel, Leviathan, an absorbing account of male friends, both writers. One is as normal as an author can be, the other eccentric. It is the first person account of the former, detailing the life of the latter, who experiences several extraordinary events. Except for one incidence of extreme coincidence, the narrative is grounded, believable. In fact, the overall realistic take makes the coincidence seem even more stark, although such occurrences do happen in life. The characters, even the minor, are all interesting. They exhibit the mystery that characterizes humanity. We do not understand them entirely, nor do they understand themselves entirely. The dialogue and prose are first rate except for a writerly quibble: the author frequently uses “Neither of them” instead of just “Neither.” Of course, it may have been intentional, but, since the narrator is a writer who should know better, it bothered me, although it does not detract from the worthiness of the book. It is a smooth, fast read at 275 pages. On a scale of five, 3.75. According to his profile at Wiki, Auster is more popular in Europe than America. Leviathan has much more substance than popular fiction. Auster is a writer of serious matter, and that is always refreshing.
I moved into my co-op apartment in August 1988. That winter, when the heat first started to come up, I was surprised at its force. It was so hot I chose to turn the radiator off. The heat from the pipe in the bathroom was more than enough for me back in those days when I was young and strong. Last year, stretched out on the rug in front of the TV, I’d fall asleep and sometimes wake up shaking, but I toughed it out. This year I finally caved. Now when I enter the studio it’s as if I’m going into the furnace room at my old house. I have to open the window a crack to tolerate the heat. I’m sweating more now than in summer. Then again, it’s a good problem to have. Some poor souls have no heat at all.
I was going to open the floating book shop briefly today, despite the wind and cold, but not a single parking spot opened up. I did manage one sale, however. A lady upstairs made me promise to hold a copy of E L James' 50 Shades of Gray, if I ever came across one. I quashed the temptation to tease her in the way my contemporaries did when an erotic novel was passed around the dorm. "Are the pages stuck together?" That's going back to the cusp of the sexual revolution. Since then I imagine college kids haven't needed erotica to quell the beast, at least not on the scale we did.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx
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