Take a photo of a barcode or cover
I'm not sure that I've ever read a book about which my opinion varied so wildly while in the midst of reading. Originally, I was a bit skeptical, finding the device of four simultaneous lives being covered at the same time a bit gimmicky, but after the first few hundred pages, I was enjoying the device immensely - so from an initial 3 stars, I moved to a very strong 5. But at some point, while not wearying of the device, I began to dislike the main character immensely. Although, I am not one of those readers who feel it necessary to like or even care about a main character in order to stay interested in a book, Ferguson just about continually made me want to either gag at his preciousness or smack him a good one.
At some point along the way, fairly early on really, Auster opts for a main character (or four of them) who is not an everyman type whose life could go in strikingly different directions based on the whims of fate -- a death, a job lost or gained, a personal misunderstanding – but opts instead for a wonder-boy, whose brilliance and abilities awe those who he deigns to recognize as worthy of his love no matter which embodiment of him we are considering at the moment. Every adult he meets is either a narrow-minded jerk throwing obstacles in his way or an insightful individual willing to do anything to enable this brilliant 16-18 year old’s path to be as clear and uncluttered as possible so that the world will know of his greatness. I may be laying it on a little thickly, but that is about the size of it. In addition, Ferguson, while being fully enamored of himself (he belittles his full scholarship to Princeton because the place is not worthy of him, but he opts for the school anyway since he can’t afford otherwise but runs off to New York every weekend to breathe the air), still attempts to denigrate his work (“Oh, woe is me, I wrote this book at the tender age of 18, but it is totally trash and no one will ever understand it or want to read it.”) despite the adoration of those with whom he comes in contact (“No, Archie, this is the best thing ever written. I’ll find a publisher and you’ll see.” Publisher: “This book will live on long after you are dead (clumsy foreshadowing).” (BTW, those aren’t direct quotations but close enough to the sort of thing that occurs again and again and again.)
As for the four-lives-at-once concept, Auster handles the device well in most regards, but fails to confront the real complexity of the idea. For example, the nature vs. nurture question is pretty much decided on the nature side to a very weird and specific degree. All of the Fergusons are brilliant and language/music oriented individuals, which is understandable from a genetic point of view; however, they are all also extremely attracted to classical music, old and foreign films, ancient poetry, etc., while being utterly clueless about contemporary music (this is the 60s and the Beatles get mentioned once, but Bach? Oh, yes, Ferguson rarely cries except for the time he and Gil sat listening to the three-hour long St. Matthew’s Passion and he broke down somewhere on the third LP side.) What? I’ve taught 30+ years of high school English students and have never run across anyone remotely like the Fergusons: one of him, for example, quits the basketball team because of something he read in Crime and Punishment at 15 years of age.
On the other hand, if the four Fergusons are the same at birth with only the random acts of nature and society to interfere with and shape him/them, how does one of the beings turn out to be bisexual? This runs entirely contrary to his nature over nurture slant deeply embedded in the rest of the book. Ferguson is picked up by a guy in a movie theater, is seduced, and suddenly decides either direction works for him and pursues both. I don’t think it works this way.
4321 seems to be a case of an author’s having fallen deeply in love with his main character to the deficit of the book.
At some point along the way, fairly early on really, Auster opts for a main character (or four of them) who is not an everyman type whose life could go in strikingly different directions based on the whims of fate -- a death, a job lost or gained, a personal misunderstanding – but opts instead for a wonder-boy, whose brilliance and abilities awe those who he deigns to recognize as worthy of his love no matter which embodiment of him we are considering at the moment. Every adult he meets is either a narrow-minded jerk throwing obstacles in his way or an insightful individual willing to do anything to enable this brilliant 16-18 year old’s path to be as clear and uncluttered as possible so that the world will know of his greatness. I may be laying it on a little thickly, but that is about the size of it. In addition, Ferguson, while being fully enamored of himself (he belittles his full scholarship to Princeton because the place is not worthy of him, but he opts for the school anyway since he can’t afford otherwise but runs off to New York every weekend to breathe the air), still attempts to denigrate his work (“Oh, woe is me, I wrote this book at the tender age of 18, but it is totally trash and no one will ever understand it or want to read it.”) despite the adoration of those with whom he comes in contact (“No, Archie, this is the best thing ever written. I’ll find a publisher and you’ll see.” Publisher: “This book will live on long after you are dead (clumsy foreshadowing).” (BTW, those aren’t direct quotations but close enough to the sort of thing that occurs again and again and again.)
As for the four-lives-at-once concept, Auster handles the device well in most regards, but fails to confront the real complexity of the idea. For example, the nature vs. nurture question is pretty much decided on the nature side to a very weird and specific degree. All of the Fergusons are brilliant and language/music oriented individuals, which is understandable from a genetic point of view; however, they are all also extremely attracted to classical music, old and foreign films, ancient poetry, etc., while being utterly clueless about contemporary music (this is the 60s and the Beatles get mentioned once, but Bach? Oh, yes, Ferguson rarely cries except for the time he and Gil sat listening to the three-hour long St. Matthew’s Passion and he broke down somewhere on the third LP side.) What? I’ve taught 30+ years of high school English students and have never run across anyone remotely like the Fergusons: one of him, for example, quits the basketball team because of something he read in Crime and Punishment at 15 years of age.
On the other hand, if the four Fergusons are the same at birth with only the random acts of nature and society to interfere with and shape him/them, how does one of the beings turn out to be bisexual? This runs entirely contrary to his nature over nurture slant deeply embedded in the rest of the book. Ferguson is picked up by a guy in a movie theater, is seduced, and suddenly decides either direction works for him and pursues both. I don’t think it works this way.
4321 seems to be a case of an author’s having fallen deeply in love with his main character to the deficit of the book.